Top Rated Riddles of All Time
I am a fruit. If you take away the first letter of my name I become a crime. Take away the first two letters of my name I become an animal. Take away the first and last letter of my name and I become a form of music. What am I?
I can sizzle like bacon,
I am made with an egg,
I have plenty of backbone, but lack a good leg,
I peel layers like onions, but still remain whole,
I can be long, like a flagpole, yet fit in a hole,
What am I?
I'm made for one but meant for two;
I can be worn for many years but usually just a few;
You won't ever need me unless you say you do.
What am I?
I start with the letter e,
I end with the letter e.
I contain only one letter,
Yet I am not the letter e!
What am I?
I turn around once. What is out will not get in. I turn around again. What is in will not get out. What am I?
I can be long, or I can be short.
I can be grown, and I can be bought.
I can be painted, or left bare.
I can be round, or square.
What am I?
You will know that I am coming
From the jingle of my bell,
But exactly who I am is not an easy thing to tell.
Children, they adore me
for they find me jolly,
but I do not see them when the halls are decked with holly.
My job often leaves me frozen,
I am a man that all should know,
But I do not do business in times of sleet or ice or snow.
I travel much on business,
But no reindeer haul me around,
I do all my traveling firmly on the ground.
I love the time of Christmas,
But that's not my vocational season,
And I assure that is because of a sound economic reason.
A boy and his father are involved in a traffic accident, and the father dies. The boy is rushed to hospital, suffering from injuries. The Head Surgeon is called to operate, but on seeing the boy, immediately declares: “I cannot operate. This boy is my son.” How is this possible?
I weaken all men for hours each day.
I show you strange visions while you are away.
I take you by night, by day take you back,
None suffer to have me, but do from my lack.
What am I?
I have a name, but it isn't my name.
My face shows signs of age.
I always mean the same thing, no matter what I say.
I'm born in mourning, and I last 'til the end of days.
Men plant me, but I never grow.
They run from me, but I never move.
They look at me and see their future, rotting in the fields where I bloom.
What am I?