Lack of emotional comprehension and empathy.

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How do you create a time portal?

^^^
very carefully, from what I've heard, from a substance called unobtanium.

I heard a great joke from one of the kids tonight (the three priests here were dressed as rock, paper, scissors as we handed out candy as the kids told us jokes):

Q: "What does a constipated hotdog say?"
A: "Must-terd."

Hee hee

A woman has twins, and gives them up for adoption. One of them goes to a family in Egypt and is named "Amal." The other goes to a family in Spain; they name him "Juan." Years later, Juan sends a picture of himself to his mom. Upon receiving the picture, she tells her husband that she wishes she also had a picture of Amal.
Her husband responds, "But honey, they are twins-if you've seen Juan, you've seen Amal."

I built a time machine but I ran out of batteries.

There was this one time I discovered a time machine…I still remember it like it was tomorrow.

there is a REAL SHORTAGE of good time machine jokes!

Two behaviourists lay in bed, post-coitus. One says to the other, "It was good for you. Was it good for me?"

dude, I think we killed this thread.....

HAMLET: To be, or not to be--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep--
No more--and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.