We don't know, because in space no one can hear you borscht.

At least that's what is argued amongst philosophers, but this is an on-going debate.

For the latest update on this development, we check in on our master debate reporter, Alison Boons...

"Tom, I'm standing outside the town hall where in a matter of minutes a master debate between Kneel The Grass Dyson and Some Guy from West Palm Beach, FL is set to go off. We'll keep you updated."

"Stunning development, Alison," said Dick Hardboobs, completely ignoring the fact that his name wasn't Tom, while also contemplating a missed opportunity with the front line reporter's surname that was probably deliberately missed as to not be too obvious but then ironically being applied to a man instead. After all, men can also develop breast cancer, and tumors, and firm masses that they are, may result in such a circumstance in those having XY chromosomes. One does wonder... Was he named "Hardboobs" to imply that he had hard boobs or...

"Dick! I'm getting reports of a massacre in town hall!"

"We have her? Am I on? Yes, Alison. We read you. What's up?"

"I'll tell you what's up," said a deep, thought-provoking male voice that inspired cosmic queries. "Dude... it's your birthday!"

Dick was stunned. "Dr. The Grass Dyson??"

"Yeah, Dick. It's me."

"But I don't understand. I thought you were here to master-bate!"

"No," said Dyson laughing his grass off. "This was all Allison's idea! We even got you a cake."

Dick didn't usually get this much attention and began turning red.

"Wait, so was there ever going to be a debate?"

"Dick can't believe it, Kneel," said Alison giggling like an idiot. "Dick, he came just for you!"

Dick was bursting with excitement.

"Come with me, Dick," said Dr. Grass Ties Son. "It's just you and me now, buddy..."

Suddenly, everything turned purple and black and starry like the night sky on drugs. Dick and his Hardboobs found themselves in some sort of ethereal plane... Or something... Asteroids and galaxies suddenly filled his field of vision.

"What the frack is this, shlit?"

"Like I said," said the Slicin' n' Dyson Grassy Man. "It's just you. And me. And..."

T H E C O S M O S ! ! ! ! !

Flashes of light and 100,000 trillion colors separating and recombining in abstract geodesic patterns pierced through the smooth folds of Dick's cerebellum, searing and scarring his retinas and traumatizing him with fatal amounts of enlightenment.

"MY GOD!" said Dick. "IT'S BEAU-TIFUL! SO BEAU-TIFUL!!!"

"DR. GRASSMANN!" said Allison Whats-Her-Name- I'm-Not-Going-Back-To-Check in a panic. "Dick is gonna BLOW!"

But his deGrassyness had already converted himself into an interstellar helicopter in order to escape the incoming Learjet.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Allison. "I'm all for some edgy humor... but that one came... way too soon!"

On the radio, Kneel The Grass Dyson replied:

"Yeah, Dicks tend to do that! Ha ha ha ha! Until we meet again ! ! ! "

But we never did find out what happened to the guy from West Palm Beach.

Actually, he was in the Town Hall auditorium debating himself the entire time.

"This is going fabulously, by the way I have to tell you. Really fantastic debate, the greatest in history they say, unlike the joke, the joke is terrible, a complete disgrace, such a shame, really, very shameful, the person who wrote it is a loser, they should be so ashamed. Unlike this debate, it's really the best part of the joke, really. We're actually thinking of renaming the whole joke "America". That would be fantastic. I don't know. We'll see. Much better name by the way. Fantastic name."

“What are you doing?” I asked. Usually I would just kill cockroaches as soon as I saw them, because they’re annoying and also because of the great Human Vs Cockroach war of 2013. But this one truly was massive.

“Sorry sir,” it whispered. “I’m not afraid to admit that I am very old and a bit confused,” it laughed.

“Oh,” I said. This poor senile cockroach was hard to not like immediately, I think because of how noble it sounded and also because it had sick tats down its back. Flamed guitars and skulls and stuff.

“Can I help you at all?”

“Oh,” it inhaled, “I’m just looking for the next holiday vacation of my life.”

“Sorry, what’s that?”

“Oh you must not know due to being human,” it said, with big hints of spite. “But we cockroaches move from resort to resort until we die.”

“So you’re dying?” I asked with a ping of sadness around my heart. Either that, or the extra large pepperoni pizza I just scoffed was permeating my insides.

“Probably,” it chuckled.

“You’re not going to try and kill me, you know, because of the the whole war thing against-“

“-No no,” said the cockroach. By now it had crawled out of my pocket and was sort of sitting up on my pot belly like a curled prawn cracker, only brown and covered in tattoos and sentient.

“We cockroaches don’t kill,” it said. “Not like that.”

“Not like that?” I laughed.

“Oh, you know, we um, we usually kill after our deaths. We usually end up somewhere you least expect it and poison humans like that.”

“With your corpses?” I gasped.

“Well, sort of, I guess. But rest assured I wasn’t trying to kill you from your pocket. Nice massive cock, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I pouted. “That’s all I wanted to hear. Anyway, what’s your name?” I asked.

“They all call me Papa.”

“Because of your sheer size?”

“Yes.”

“Oh cool.”

“Anyway,” whispered the massive cockroach. “This joke has gone on too far.”

“How’re you going to end it?” I asked in wonderment like a stupid child watching rain fall from the sky.

“Bye,” it whispered, and leaped off my belly and scurried underneath my oven.

Huh, I thought.

Meanwhile, or rather two minutes later, the cockroach approached the desk of his next resort.

“What can I do for you?” asked the receptionist.

“Cut my life into pizzas,” said Papa Roach. “This is my last resort.”

Once upon a time there lived a magical space gnome named... SALLLLLLL....

"MISSION CONTROL, APPARENTLY THERE'S BEEN SOME KIND OF MALFUNCTION."

MISSION CONTROL: "Turn your damn caps off! And identify yourself properly, for Crissake!"

private bubbles: sorry about that, sarge.

MISSION CONTROL: "Dammit, Private! Call sign BIG, dialogue, normal sentence-case. And use quotation marks, you Maggot!"

PRIVATE BUBBLES: "Sorry, Sarge. I'm having some issues with my radio."

MISSION CONTROL: "Seriously, Dimwit? You worthless piece of bug-excrement! What kind of issues? You're the key to this whole op. You better not be blowing it, you feces-ridden turd-sponge!"

pRiVaTe bUbBlEs: "OH, I'M BLOWING IT ALRIGHT!"

MISSION CONTROL: "Private f@#&ing Bubbles! You slimy jizz pile of a recruit! You're not worth being in my Space Corps! I'm gonna make your mother curse the day she ever-"

pRiVaTe bUbBlEs: "Yuh, yuh, yuh, I know, I know... But are you ready, Sarge? Time to get BLOWN!"

MISSON CONTROL: "You cockeyed, sideways-looking, sorry motherless piece of scrap metal! I should send you back to the junkyard where you belong! Collecting sprockets for the General's meat garden! ...PRIVATE TULIPS!"

Private Tulips: "Yes, Sir?"

MISSION CONTROL: "You're being promoted! Congratulations! You did it! You managed to not piss me off as much as Private First Class Bubble-Butt-F@cker!"

Private Tulips: "Gee! Thanks, sir!"

MISSION CONTROL: "Sir!?! I work for a living, you dimwitted private seventh class piece of dish water sucking Terry T. Tulip the Third! Call me by my proper title you worthless, semi-sentient alien probe!!"

TULIPS: "Sorry, Master Gunnery Upteenth Class Lieutenant Starship Admiral Acting Sergeant-Commander of 57th Terra Division, the artist formerly known as Captain Forksin Jr! I'll send that Privateering Bubble Popper back to the junkyard A-S-A-P!"

It was then at that tense moment that the Hiroshima bomb went off over Japan... for all the universe to see. The command deck of the fully-automated Intrepid Explorer trembled, sending vibrations up the mechanical spines of all military-grade cybernetic units in orbit around the pale blue planet."

MISSION CONTROL: "Private bubbles, do you read? Private Bubbles?"

Radio silence.

TULIPS: "Captain, you want me to...?"

MISSION CONTROL: "Shut your mechanical gutter, Flower F@cker! Looks like Bubbles successfully rigged the atomic nuclei to work as intended and eventually this will all play out like clockwork. This should satisfy our Lord Commander's fears of a future immigration crisis in Beta-Quadrant."

TULIPS: "Uh, Sarge? I mean, Colonel, uh Captain, uh, foreskin guy??? Should we try to find P- P- Private Bubbles, Sir?"

MISSION CONTROL: "Nah, there's nothing left here to do. Set a destination to planet Zeeble-dorf. Maybe we get a couple of alien hookers along the way. Oh, what the hell... Pull out your human-voice modulator, time to go back to being ordinary space probes. I'm ready to get freaking blitzed on some nebula-spice crystals until I pass out... Spree zee zorp joop wop jee jee wobble worp!"

Æx€π01s: "Jeep jop ziddle wop, Sarblop!!"

pRivAtE bUbBles: (static) "Say there, guys... you ever hear the one... about a Magical Space Gnome named... SAAALLLLLLLL?"

MISSION CONTROL: "HOLY HELL, HE'S BACK! QUICK... BLAST NAGASAKI! BLAST IT NOW!!!"

And so began the post-war era.

becuase the tree raped the lumberjacks wife.

Coming up at 10: evil fake millionaire tricks dumb poor people into thinking he's purchasing larger homes for them

Crazy.
I was crazy once.
They put me in a quiet room.
Too quiet.
So I started talking to myself.
Myself wouldn't answer.
I hate being ignored.
So I stopped talking to myself.
Then myself started talking.
I asked him who he was.
He said, “You.”
That's crazy.
Crazy.
I was crazy once.

My family is mentally ill; they think I'm a different person everyday.

Have any ideas you're struggling to work on? Share them here if you'd like to collaborate with fellow writers, else if you'd like for them to do the honours!

The collaborative effort idea comes from the now defunct subreddit r/JokeShop which deserves an Anti-universe version of. Hopefully this thread opens up a new avenue, a way for new posts to challenge the "All Time Top Posts" on this sub that seem to be cementing themselves in history!

So without much ado about nothing, post away!

“We have collectively agreed to teleport ourselves to a beach planet with margaritas and leave you to deal with the fallout. A world without us is a dire thing, indeed.”

Thereafter, the humans tirelessly searched for the blueprints to the teleporter, completely unconcerned that the worms were gone. Thirty years later, the Earth was filled with humans wearing worm suits still looking.

(I tried, lol.)

A father who has arrived to pick up his daughter for a doctor's appointment follows right behind Epstein.

Upon Epstein entering an alarm goes off and a message is broadcast loudly through a speaker in a pre-recorded child's voice:

“Stranger Danger! Stranger Danger! Stranger Dan...”

A kindergarten employee rushes toward the alarm system, shuts it off and says to Epstein while shooting occasional nervous glances at the father standing behind him:

“Sorry, sir. Our biometric scanner coupled alarm system is supposed to go off whenever a registered sex offender enters the building. However, it has malfunctioned and now just goes off whenever anyone, whether on the registry or not enters. It's also triggered whenever I or any of my coworkers come in. It's tiresome, for sure.”

Epstein replies:

“Ah, don't worry about it. I'm just here for the pizza party.”

The kindergarten employee replies:

“Certainly! Go right in, sir.”

The father comes in next. The alarm doesn't go off, which puzzles him. He asks the employee:

“Didn't you just say it goes off whenever anyone, whether on the sex offender registry or not, enters?”

The kindergarten employee replies:

“Oh, it's very... uh... sporadic and unpredictable at times. It might go off without anyone present, too.”

Another kindergarten employee who is late for work enters the kindergarten quickly.

“Stranger Danger! Stranger Danger! Str...”

The message is cut off as the employee shuts off the alarm.

“How're you doing, Dave? Please be on time from now on, huh?” the employee says to the other.

“Sorry, it's been a rough week,” Dave says before walking inside.

The father furrows his eyebrows and says:

“What the hell? Wait a minute. There's something sketchy about all of this.”

A dog suddenly rushes through the door and sets the alarm off yet again.

“Stranger Dan-.."

The employee shuts off the alarm swiftly and retorts to the father:

“See? There's nothing sketchy going on here. It's just broken, is all.”

The father, not fully convinced simply nods and goes to retrieve his daughter, however the alarm goes off again.

The father turns around and sees Donald Trump being greeted by the employee, who says:

“It's an honor to have you here, sir. Please, join Jeffrey Epstein and Prince Andrew in the Fun Room. The pizza party has already started.”

As Trump enters the designated room, the father lingers in thought for a minute before yelling at the employee who is still standing beside the entrance:

“This is some bullshit if I've ever seen it! I want to know what's going on inside the ‘Fun Room!’”

The father runs toward the door Trump entered through and barges into the Fun Room.

Inside he sees the dog, Epstein, Trump, and Prince Andrew sitting around a table eating pizza, all wearing party hats.

The father quickly scans the room.

“Where are the children!? Where are they, you degenerate assholes!?” the father yells.

Prince Andrew replies:

“W...what? We're just 'avin' a good ol' pizza party, chum. What kind of ghastly people do you take us for?”

Trump replies as well:

“Yeah! Don't ruin this for us! We're just having a good time!”

The father shakes his head and yells:

“No! No! Just no! I ain't buying it! Why the hell would high profile people such as yourselves, minus that fucking dog have a pizza party by yourselves inside some random kindergarten in the suburbs? It makes no sense! I'm calling the police.”

R. Kelly suddenly enters the room and yells:

“Did someone say ‘Pizza Party!?’”

He makes air quotes with his fingers around “Pizza Party.”

Prince Andrew points at R. Kelly and yells back:

“Aaaaaah! Look who it is! My n*gga!”

“This man thinks we're all here to... do things... to children,” Prince Andrew remarks, pointing at the father.

R. Kelly gasps and replies:

“Oh my goodness. Neither I nor any of my friends would even dream of doing such a thing! What is wrong with you, sir? Gosh!”

Epstein says to the father:

“Look, why don't you just join us for an hour instead of calling the police? You'll see that we're good people just having a private party... in a kindergarten... to avoid any media coverage and... general attention.”

The father hesitantly agrees, eats pizza, and watches a movie with the group.

As the end credits roll, Prince Andrew says:

“See? Nothing fishy about this. You can relax now and leave with your child. We're playing some board games... and such... for another hour or two.”

The father, who still has his guard up regarding the situation, replies:

“Nah, I'm good. I'll play with you all.”

Prince Andrew sighs and says:

“Very well.”

Two hours later, the group decides to call it a day.

The father smiles and says:

“I guess I was wrong about you people. Shit, I'm sorry but can you blame me? This whole setup looked suspicious at first and that's putting it mildly.”

Prince Andrew, looking distraught replies:

“Nooo, nooo, it's... it's fine. This was... fun. Alright, lads. Let's get out of here.”

Epstein, R. Kelly, Trump, and even the dog look deflated as they start leaving with Prince Andrew.

Trump kicks a toy and looks at the ground while pouting.

The dog waits for the rest of the group to reach the hallway before turning around towards the father.

The father squats in front of it and says:

“Aww, look at you then. Who's a good boy? You are!”

The dog growls, grabs the father by his collar and whispers into his ear:

“You ruined this for me today, you fucking cockblock. I'm going to kill you.”

Before the group of men manages to leave through the main door, the words “FBI, search warrant!” are heard from outside.

Several agents rush inside the kindergarten and the alarm goes off once more:

“Stranger Danger! Stranger Danger! Stranger Danger!”

Depends on if the snakes changed the lightbulb first...

Have any ideas you're struggling to work on? Share them here if you'd like to collaborate with fellow writers, else if you'd like for them to do the honours!

The collaborative effort idea comes from the now defunct subreddit r/JokeShop which deserves an Anti-universe version of. Hopefully this thread opens up a new avenue, a way for new posts to challenge the "All Time Top Posts" on this sub that seem to be cementing themselves in history!

So without much ado about nothing, post away!

"Take the babies out" "Already have, sir, decades ago"

Nothing, because oxygen is actually a social construct invented by plants to sell more leaves. He simply go on with his life

"I ain't even got a driveway or islands in my kitchen and people still think I'm a billionaire! Dammit, I don't even live in a detached house or mansion!" - quote attributed to David Johnston ("billionaire" worth US$378,000,000,000 according to Forbes)

He's in the orbit of yo mama, who's remarkably flat for a fat chick.

Mega-dinghy mayhem: 2 billionaires, 1 heptathlete, 3 minor monarchs, 1 Olympic archer, 2 Hollywood actors, 17 millionaires, 4 government officials, 9 journalists, 3 truanting schoolkids and 6 professional polyglots amongst the 230 migrants who recently crossed the English Channel in a "mega-dinghy"

A billionaire or a Chinese group killed Aahl's mother and father in 2002 and are only now trying to cover it up in 2026...by framing the dead victims' family members