If you’re consumed by utter darkness, you have three options: get professional psychiatric help, move out of Scandinavia for the winter or read this baker’s dozen(ish) of delightful jokes.
“My phone will ring at 2 a.m., and my wife’ll look at me and go, ‘Who’s that calling at this time?’ I say, ‘I don’t know. If I knew that, we wouldn’t need the bloody phone.’”
“Alright lads, a giant fly is attacking the police station. I’ve called the SWAT team!”
“Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m a schizophrenic, and so am I.”
“My therapist says I have a preoccupation with vengeance. We’ll see about that.”
“I was in my car driving back from work. A police officer pulled me over and knocked on my window. I said, ‘One minute I’m on the phone.’”
“If we were truly created by God, then why do we still occasionally bite the insides of our own mouths?”
“I’m looking for the girl-next-door type. I’m just gonna keep moving till I find her.”
“I like to imagine the guy who invented the umbrella was going to call it the ‘brella.’ But he hesitated.”
“I’m rubbish with names. It’s not my fault, it’s a condition. There’s a name for it…”
“I have two boys — 5 and 6. We’re no good at naming things in our house.”
“I wasn’t particularly close to my dad before he died. Which was lucky, because he trod on a landmine.”
“For me, dying is a lot like going camping. I don’t want to do it.”
“Apparently one in three Britons are conceived in an IKEA bed, which is mad, because those places are really well lit.”
“Brexit is a terrible name, sounds like cereal you eat when you’re constipated.”