A list of puns related to "Any Time, Any Place"
My dad, every time he is offered something he doesn't want, will respond with: "No thanks, I'm driving."
For example, having breakfast at a cafe and the waitron asks my dad if he would like a newspaper, to which he responds without hesitation, "no thanks, I'm driving."
Before you let your kids get a puppy, take the Puppy Test.
Best taken in the autumn or mid winter.
That is, at least not long enough to learn any of the many, many important things a frog needs to learn in order to be a frog.
You see, a frog needs to be super slick in order to get by. A frog without proper skills, well, he may as well be a toad.
Anyways, every time Mama Frog went about trying to teach Little Hop something, he would just bounce.. and bounce.. and bounce..
And every time Mama Frog had reached her limit of patience, right before giving up, she’d say to Little Hop, “If you keep on keepin’ on hoppin around all aimless, I’m gonna turn you into a toad!”
Which, upon hearing, Little Hop would stop his hop and settle. You see, he knew well enough that he wanted no part of being a toad.
Well, on one particular day, during one such lesson, Little Hop had taken again to bouncing here, and bouncing there - and just about everywhere besides a place he could listen! And on this same particular day, Mama Frog’s patience was worn real, real, thin, you see, and she got sudden filled with a terrible frustration.
And just like a firecracker went off, in a sudden snap, Mama Frog turned Little Hop straight into a toad!
And when it was done, Mama Frog looked at him direct, shook her head, and said..
“I toad you so.”
Trevor loved tractors. And I mean, really loved tractors. Forget any obsessions or high-level interests you may have, chances are they pale in the face of Trevor’s love for tractors.
Every day Trevor would get up, in his tractor-themed bedroom in his tractor-themed house, with its tractor-themed wallpaper and tractor-themed carpets, and he would make his bed with its tractor-themed duvet and tractor-themed sheets. He would go downstairs in his tractor-themed pajamas into his tractor-themed kitchen, with its tractor-themed tiles and cupboards, and he would eat his breakfast while perusing the latest tractor-themed magazine or annual.
Trevors’s degree in Agricultural Engineering hung on his living room wall, along with a copy of his thesis, which centred around (you guessed it) tractors. The living room was decorated with all sorts of tractor-related trinkets, including die-cast models, paintings and drawings.
The hedges in Trevor’s front garden were trimmed in the shape of tractors. His lawn was vividly decorated with tractor-driving garden gnomes, and his garden furniture was constructed from various parts from vintage tractor designs.
Trevor just had one thing missing from his otherwise tractor-centric life; he had never actually owned, nor driven, a real tractor.
Not for his lack of trying, of course. Trevor had been to many tractor shows over the years, and visited many farms with friends of his, but none of the tractors he had seen had ever been quite right. Trevor was so knowledgeable about tractors that every single one he had come across had possessed some hidden trait that he wasn’t keen on. His first experience of driving a real tractor had to be perfect.
One day, Trevor was flicking through one of his favourite publications, Powertrain Quarterly, when there was a knock at the door. Trevor answered, and it was his friend and fellow tractor enthusiast, Jeff.
Trevor welcomed Jeff in, and over tea and crumpets served on tractor-themed crockery, they discussed the merits of aluminium drawbars and front-end loaders. Eventually Trevor pressed Jeff to explain the reason for his visit.
“Well” said Jeff, “As I’m sure you know the convention comes to town later”.
The convention. Trevor had been thinking of little else the past three weeks. The neighbouring town annually threw a convention for farmers, particularly farmyard machinery. There would be combine harvesters, lawnmowers, and of course, tractors.
“Yes of course” replied Trevor
... keep reading on reddit ➡Update: Thanks for all your applications! Give /u/parin89 and I a few days to take a look and confer!
(if you haven't put your application in yet, you've still got time)
-
Greetings /r/dadjokes subscribers,
Years have passed since this sub started up, and there are now literally millions of you. Whoa.
Two million people is just two many two handle for two moderators. Especially these days, when both /u/parin89 and I have two many other responsibilities and a whole lot less time. I'm 200% sure most of you would agree that more mods are needed.
So we're looking for 5 more moderators to get involved. If you're keen to apply, read the rest of this post and answer the three questions in your comment response.
Answer these 3 questions in your reply:
Only apply if:
We'd benefit from a few practical things as well, it would be great if:
Don't apply if:
We'll leave this stickied for a week and then come back to message a few people and make some selections.
In my opinion we should beat the shit out of constipated people because:
Laxatives are an unhealthy way of dealing with feces. On the other hand, beating the shit out of someone is a good way to practice sports activities like, running, grip strength, punching techniques etc.
Other methods of dealing with feces take alot of money. Laxatives aren't cheap in our flawed healthcare system! On the other hand, there are people that are willing to pay you to beat the shit out of you. By using this method you can become richer and deal with your shitty problems.
Constipation requires being in the bathroom for a long time. This can be very lonely for the people involved. However, beating the shit out of others can be done in any place. Your home, the local park, or even the shady street corner! Not only that it's a very social activity, requiring a minimum of at least 2 people, but usually done in groups of 2-5 people.
Although some people might say, that beating the shit out of each other is violent, most of them have never been to a public toilet and hence are unable to realize how much more painful and violent the alternative is.
In summery, beating the shit out of people is a good, legitimate, and affordable alternative to laxatives and is a better, more progressive way, to deal with constipation.
Being tired and weary, the lawyer-onion isn't sure whether to go, but decides he needs cheering up.
So he dresses smartly, puts on his favorite aftershave and heads over to his friend's.
He gets to the party to find it quite a packed affair and heads over to the bar - fighting through crowds of reveller-onions - to get a drink.
As he gets to the bar, he notices in one corner a slightly out-of-place female onion.
She looks a bit sad and being the compassionate onion that he is, he heads over to talk to her.
This is quickly affirmed as a good move, as they hit it off immediately; she was abandoned by her friends shortly after arriving and had been minding her own business ever since, but over a night of drinks and talking, they quickly fall into an infatuation and soon end up spending an oniony night of passion together.
When they awake in the morning, they don't find it awkward and a steady relationship between the two is struck.
This lasts a good while, having its ups and downs like any college relationship, but eventually the day comes when they both graduate.
The two couldn't be happier!
They both get jobs close to one another and move into an apartment together.
One day, the partner-onion is anxiously awaiting the lawyer-onion at home.
She's been ill all day and checking has confirmed her suspicions.
She tearfully - and joyfully - breaks the news to the lawyer-onion; they're going to have a tiny baby-onion together.
A shallot, if you will.
A few days later, this prompts the lawyer-onion to propose to his heretofore girlfriend-onion.
They are soon wed, having a fantastic wedding-day and husband and wife-onions are on top of the world.
The day comes of the birth and no complications - a tiny, healthy baby onion is born to two proud parents.
Seeing this little bundle of oniony love in their arms causes them to fall deeper in love than ever.
Over the next few years, husband-and-wife-onions' lives are fantastic.
He's prospering at work, she's really enjoying taking some time to raise the baby-onion and over time the baby-onion grows into a hale and hearty toddler-onion, who then becomes a child-onion.
One day, the idyll of the onions' lives is shattered when tragedy strikes.
The lawyer-onion (now a partner-onion in a prestigious law firm due to chance and hard work) is at work, and mother-onion is washing dishes and watching her child play in the yard.
She glances away to take another plate and turns her vision back to
... keep reading on reddit ➡He was operating a late night train and fell asleep at the controls. He ended up failing to recognise a stop sign and as a result his train hit a person and killed them immediately. He was tried for manslaughter and sentenced to the electric chair. Just before being put in the chair, he was given the choice of final meal and chose a single banana, oddly. His time came and he was placed into the chair, the room vacated and then the switch was thrown.
But... Nothing. No sparks, no burning, nothing. They checked the machine and it was working fine, it just seemed not to harm him. The state law meant that, legally, his sentence had been carried out and he was free to go. He walked away a free man, and actually got another job as a train driver.
Sadly, almost exactly the same thing happened again. This time his negligence killed two kids playing around on the tracks when again he'd fallen asleep and failed to stop the train in time. Hauled before the courts again, he got exactly the same sentence - the electric chair. He was asked again for his final meal, chose two bananas this time, and his sentence was carried out again.
And yet again, he didn't die. In fact, he was entirely unharmed. The state law remained the same, so he was let out again, where - somehow - he got another job with another train company. I guess it was the only job he was trained for (pardon the pun). Anyway, this time he did much better and worked hard to stay awake during his late shifts. But sure enough, eventually he slipped back in to old habits and this time killed five people - a family trying to free their dog stuck in the tracks.
Once again he faced a jury, once again they found him guilty and a judge sentenced him to the electric chair. This time he asked for 5 bananas, but the guard was wiley - he has read about this man and how he always had bananas before his sentence was carried out, and so this time (with a grin, it's said) he brought the train driver 5 apples instead. The guilty man plead and begged for bananas, but the guard claimed it was an honest mistake but too late to change now.
The man was lead for a third time to the electric chair. His head was wetted, his arms strapped in, and the guard eyed him with something between wonder and fear. Finally the room was vacated and the switch thrown. Surely this time the machine would do its job? With the process finished, the guard ran back into the room, only to find the man still alive and looking entirely healthy. "I do
... keep reading on reddit ➡I know this might not be the place to post a question but I was wondering if any of you punny peeps can help me out? I got some free stamps and I want to mail a few potatoes out to my relatives. I know this is pretty stupid and a waste of time but I'm laughing at myself just thinking what their reactions and responses will be when they check their mailbox and see a potato. I want to write a potato pun somewhere on the potato. So of you're willing to help me do this; please leave me your potato puns for me to read and decide which ones I'll be using. Thank you for reading.
Dad, did you get a haircut? No I got them all cut.
What do you call a Mexican who has lost his car? Carlos.
Dad, can you put my shoes on? No, I don’t think they’ll fit me.
Can I watch the TV? Dad: Yes, but don’t turn it on.
I would avoid the sushi if I was you. It’s a little fishy.
What do you call a fake noodle? An Impasta.
You know, people say they pick their nose, but I feel like I was just born with mine.
“Every time I hurt myself, even to this day, my dad says, ‘The good news is..it’ll feel better when it quits hurting.'”
What’s brown and sticky? A stick.
Want to hear a joke about paper? Nevermind it’s tearable.
Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon? Great food, no atmosphere.
“I’ll call you later!”- “Please don’t do that. I’ve always asked you to call me Dad!”
Q: Why did the cookie cry? A: Because his father was a wafer so long!
What did the mountain climber name his son? Cliff.
This graveyard looks overcrowded. People must be dying to get in there.
“My dad literally told me this one last week: ‘Did you hear about the guy who invented Lifesavers? They say he made a mint.’”
“Whenever the cashier at the grocery store asks my dad if he would like the milk in a bag he replies, ‘No, just leave it in the carton!’”
I got so angry the other day when I couldn’t find my stress ball.
If I had a dime for every book I’ve ever read, I’d say: “Wow, that’s coincidental.”
I’m not indecisive. Unless you want me to be.
How many apples grow on a tree? All of them.
How does a penguin build it’s house? Igloos it together.
“Me: ‘Dad, make me a sandwich!’ Dad: ‘Poof, You’re a sandwich!’”
“I heard there was a new store called Moderation. They have everything there
A steak pun is a rare medium well done.
“How can you tell if a ant is a boy or a girl? They’re all girls, otherwise they’d be uncles.”
Milk is also the fastest liquid on earth – its pasteurized before you even see it
“What’s Forrest Gump’s password? 1forrest1”
The only thing worse than having diarrhea is having to spell it.
I asked my friend to help me with a math problem. He said: “Don’t worry; this is a piece of cake.” I said: “No, it’s a math problem.”
I keep trying to lose weight, but it keeps finding me.
I don’t play soccer because I enjoy the sport. I’m just doing it for kicks.
Did I tell you the time I fell in love during a backflip? I was heels over head.
I used to work in a shoe recycling shop. It was sole destroying.
Why do you never see elephants hiding in trees?
... keep reading on reddit ➡Once upon a time there were three little pigs, Pork Chop, Hambone, and Bacon.
The boys lived at home with their mother. One day their mother said, “I no longer have enough food to feed you boys, you need to go out on your own and find your fortunes.”
Not wanting to upset their mother they left the house together to seek their fortunes.
Several miles into their journey Bacon, the little pig everyone liked best, said, “Let’s build our houses here! This seems like a great place to start making our fortunes.”
Pork Chop and Hambone agreed. So they all began building their houses.
Pork Chop, the laziest of the bunch, decided to build his house out of straw, which he apparently stole from a nearby field. It was not a very sturdy building material, but Pork Chop didn’t care. All he wanted to do was play all day, and he didn’t want to spend too much time building.
Hambone was willing to work a bit harder and he decided to build his house out of sticks which he procured by de-limbing every tree within a 300 meter radius of their homestead.
Hambone and Pork Chop were happy. Now all they had to do was to play and sleep the rest of the day.
Now Bacon was a hard worker. He knew that his brothers had used bad materials and shoddy construction methods and he wanted to build the best house he could. He found several tons of bricks stacked in neatly ordered pallets in the forest which he decided to use for his building material. It took him several days, but when he was done Bacon had the best house on the homestead.
The next day a wolf, Scott Howard, happened upon the pig brothers and their new homestead. He spied the straw house and smelled Pork Chop inside and began to think to himself that Pork Chop would make a mighty fine meal, so Scott went and knocked on the door.
Scott said, “Little Pig! Little Pig! Let me in!”
Pork Chop replied, “No way José! Not by the hairs on my chinny chin chin!”
Scott, undeterred by the reply says, “Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your crappy straw house to the ground!”
Scott began to huff and puff. He was evidently having some sort of asthma attack, but after a few tugs from his handy dandy rescue inhaler, he was able to muster enough wind to blow Pork Chops straw house to the ground.
Pork Chop narrowly escaped Scott’s massive jaws. Scared, and now homeless, Pork Chop ran for the nearest shelter he could see. Hambone’s house.
Scott, undeterred, chased Pork Chop to his new hiding place. Scott was very pleas
... keep reading on reddit ➡Back a few decades, I was working in a program with a local college in the Middle East.
The name of the program for ExPats has the clever acronym of "IDEA" (hey, I said it was clever); which stands for "Inter-Departmental Educational Adjunct". It's interdepartmental because my particular specialty not only covers field geology but also paleontology and a bit of archeology thrown in for good measure. Everyone hopes to have a good IDEA...
ahem...
Well, we saddle up and head for the Dune Sea out in the west of the country, where the Precambrian, Cambrian, Silurian, Cretaceous, Pliocene, Pleistocene, and Holocene crop out and access is relatively easy and non-injurious.
Well, we caravan out, some 30 Land Cruisers, Nissan patrol, and the odd Mitsubishi Galloper strong. We all get our maps, compasses and split up into 5 or 6 special interest groups ("SIG's"); where each IDEA has his own GPS and LIDAR laser ranging apparatus. Reason being, that there are very few benchmarks out in the desert, and even those are constantly at the mercy of the shifting and ever-blowing sands.
Since we're split into groups and at any one time, ranging up to and including some 50 km2, when a real find is located, a device called the "DIME" (Digital-Interface Monitor Encoder) is attached and programmed into the GPS for location later; it is a digital sort of low-frequency transponder, developed from technology used by offshore drillers and jacket setters where benchmarks are even more transitory.
The way it works is rather simple. When something is to be marked for later retrieval, a series of wooden posts are pounded in a triangular manner around the find and the DIME is set, programmed with the GPS and attached to one or more of the posts.
That's the theory, at least.
Everything works well, especially all the hardened electronics and computer gizmos, but attaching the DIME to the stakes is the real problem. It can't be nailed, screwed or fastened with any sort of metal contrivance as that farkles the magnetic field and causes all sorts of goofy spurious signals. Zip ties don't last long in the heat and duct tape is right out. Many sites have been lost to the shifting sands this way.
Velcro doesn't work too well, as the sand fills the hooks of the receiving piece of velcro and soon renders it useless. String or fishing line work, but that's temporary (they melt). Glue or mastic are out as these are supposed to be temporary. Even plastic sleeves don't work due to the heat out
... keep reading on reddit ➡I was raised homeschooled. As a result of this up bringing, I went to many different places to learn things.
One day we went to a farm, and this farm just so happened to have a bee keeper working on it. So I naturally struck up a conversation with the fine man, asking him questions about what he did, and how he liked his job.
Little did I know some time had passed and it was time to go. My mother had called to me from behind my back saying it was time to leave, but I didn’t pay her any attention. Then, in a stern tone, she called to me again from behind that it was time to go.
Then I saw her face, now I’m a bee leaver. Not a trace, of doubt in my mind.
This is the story of Jack and the Beanstalk, after the story ends. After chopping down the beanstalk, Jack realizes that he’s actually pretty damn good with an axe, and casual vegetative vandalism really struck his fancy, so he began chopping down other trees for a living. He became a traveling woodsman, and he enjoyed many years of his simple life of manual labor.
One day, as he chops wood, he hears screams from a nearby cottage. Hurriedly breaking in (because recall: jack has no problem with entering houses uninvited), he sees a cross dressing lycanthrope attempting to devour a little girl dressed all in red and her little grandmother too. Wielding his trusty axe, Jack murdered yet another fantasy creature, and safely led Little Red all the way back home. Answering the door was a beautiful woman of around his age. After sending Little Red to bed, the two of them talked for hours.
One thing led to another, and a year later they were married with a child on the way. They had a beautiful little boy named Jack Junior who followed in his father’s steps to become a woodsman. This was fortunate, because as Junior grew up, Jack was feeling the pain of his previous adventures. An old back injury from jumping from the beanstalk was haunting him, and over time his posture grew more and more hunched. He had a tough time working, but at least Junior was becoming a strapping young man.
One day, Jack and Junior took the long road to the grandmothers place to bring her a meal, just like that fateful trio Red took so many years ago. When they arrived, the grandmother greeted them cheerily, welcoming them in and making conversation. “Oh Junior,” she said, “you’ve grown into such a handsome and strong young man. It’s so kind of you to handle all the work so your poor father, with his bad back and all, doesn’t have to. Why don’t you have a girlfriend yet?” Junior hesitated. “Well Grandma,” he replied. “It’s because... I’m gay”. The close-minded, set-in-her-ways grandma’s expression became stormy. She pulled poor hunched-over Jack into adjacent room, and whispered angrily: “Jack, your life is a mess! Your posture is terrible and your son isn’t giving me any grandsons!” Jack replied: “Ma, we’re happy, you can’t just-“ But she interrupted. “No excuses!” She snapped. “You need to straighten your lumbar, Jack!”
Okay so I get off at 4:00 and I didn't waste any time leaving the office. Shut down my computer, grabbed my keys, and I was on the road by 4:05. It had been a pretty crazy day and I was ready to get home.
As I'm driving home I notice I'm running on Empty. I probably could have made it home but I was really craving a Coca Cola so I decide to stop at the nearest gas station.
Anyways I'm filling my tank I see an old lady a few gas pumps away putting gas in her old beat up station wagon but didn't really think anything of it and just continued to enjoy my icey cold Coca Cola.
Next thing I know I see this old lady holding the gas pump nozzle spewing gas everywhere. I guess she had taken the nozzle out of the vehicle w out disengaging the automatic trigger or whatever but it went EVERYWHERE. Her car, her arms, the ground, all over the place and by the time she got that thing to stop spraying there was at least a gallon of gas everywhere.
So I immediately run over to see if she's okay and she smells like straight up gas. I gave her napkins to dry off her hands and to clean what gas was spilled on the car. She said she was okay and thanked me for my help so I leave and head home.
So now I'm a few blocks from home, driving over the last hill right before my next turn and all of a sudden, almost out of nowhere, she comes flyin past me in that same old beat up station wagon with, I shit you not, her arm CAUGHT ON FIRE. And as if that's not bad enough there are two cops right behind her in hot pursuit. So while I'm freaking out trying to pull over to the side she zooms past so fast I barely catch a glimpse of her frantically flailing her arm out the window as they all go over the hill.
At that point couldn't believe what I was seeing it was just too crazy. So I quickly get back on the road and make my way over the hill and I spot her. She's pulled over in the emergency lane. I see the same old lady being handcuffed and put in the back of the squad car.
Yeah turns out she was arrested for waiving a fire arm in public.
¯_(ツ)_/¯
When my dad is driving my mom and I places, any time he sees a 'Stop Ahead' sign, he immediately places his hand on my mom's forehead. She groans and sighs and I just chuckle in the back seat.
So there is this land called cheerio land and in cheerio land there are 7 classes of cheerio, 0-5 and the frosted cheerios. Now there is this level 0 cheerio. Hes homeless, living out on the street, probaly an alchoholic. But he falls in love with a frosted cheerio princess. So one day he sneaks into the royal gala and goes up to the princess and asks her "will you marry me?" Now she says "I like your style, youre a good looking guy, a bit scruffy but I like you. Tell you what I will marry you if you can become a frosted cheerio" So our guy goes back with a determination and gets a job and starts to pay off his debts. Now by having a job and his debts paid he becomes a level 1 cheerio. So he works, and he works, and he works, and he WORKS and he finally becomes a level 2 cheerio. Now he goes back to the princess and askes her again, "will you marry me?" she says "no honey you really do have to become a frosted cheerio first." So he goes back and he works and works, hes a fryboy at McGrubers or something, I dont care. So he works and he works and he gets promoted at the restraunt and is making more money. And he works and he works and he works and by having that income raise he finally becomes a level 3 cheerio. He feels sucessful for the first time in his life but he is starting to fall back on his old ways. One day he goes to the casino and he loses and he loses and he loses and he gambled all his money away and he gets fired to boot because gambling is against company policy. So he is back down to a level 1 cheerio. He gets a job on a production line at a nearby factory and determines himself not to fall back ever again. So he works and he works and he works and he works and he WORKS, level 2, level 3, and he is doing great again. He is promoted to Floor manager of the factory and he is doing great and becomes a level 4 cheerio. But then one day a rival company sabotages their operation by putting poison in their toothpaste or whatever the hell they were making. They have to pay out damages and PR and the like and they declare bankruptcy. He is knocked back down to level 2 for the lack in income. But he is hired almost straight away by a branch of a huge conglomerate because they recognized how hard of a worker he is. So he works, level 3, works, level 4, and he works and works and WORKS. So he is promoted t
... keep reading on reddit ➡My dad told me this the first time on Halloween night back when I was 9. He tells it to this day to any of my cousins, nephews, or any kids that happen to linger too long at the house when he's giving out candy. It's a long one but I have always enjoyed it.
Back when I was about your age, I went on a Halloween adventure. There was an old abandoned house on our street where a series of grisly axe murders had taken place years before. The house had never sold and was left vacant and was left to fall apart. There was a local legend that if you went into the house on Halloween night, you'd be confronted by the ghost of the murderer himself, still looking for more victims to add to his terrifying story.
My friend Tom and I decided to go through with it one year. Knowing everyone would be too terrified to go into the house, we snuck in easily on Halloween night. The place was falling apart inside, the carpet was wet and moldy and the wallpaper was peeling off everywhere. We headed down carefully to the basement down a set of creaky stairs.
At first we found nothing. Just an empty creepy old house. Suddenly we felt as if we were being watched. I was looking through one of the rooms in the large basement when I suddenly heard Tom shriek. I spun around and turned my flashlight and Tom was being chased by something, no someone. It looked like it was the murderer! A crazed man with an axe!
We turned and tried to run anywhere. We were in the basement but couldn't get up the stairs because we were blocked. We ran into the side room which looked like it might have been the laundry years ago. We locked the door and looked for a way out. The only thing we could find was a small window that opened onto ground level. As I climbed out I heard a pounding on the door. I managed to wriggle my way through the window and turned around to help my friend Tom. Panicking, he managed to get his top half through the window when I noticed the pounding stop.
Tom was stuck! I kept trying to pull him up but I couldn't. I pulled as hard as I could as Tom panicked and thrashed even more. I thought something had him caught, but it was even worse. The murderer had gotten behind him and was holding him back! He was too strong for me to overcome and he was pulling Tom's leg!
Just like I've been pulling yours this whole time.
A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a trip
to Rome with her husband..
She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded:
" Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded and dirty.
You're crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?"
"We're taking Continental," was the reply. "We got a great rate!"
"Continental?" exclaimed the hairdresser. "That's a terrible airline.
Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late.
So, where are you staying in Rome?"
"We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome's Tiber River called Teste."
"Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks it's going to be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump."
"We're going to go to see the Vatican and maybe get to see the Pope."
"That's rich," laughed the hairdresser. "You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it."
A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo.
The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.
"It was wonderful," explained the woman, "not only were we on
time in one of Continental's brand new planes, but it was overbooked,
and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful,
and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot..
And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million remodeling job,
and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city.
They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their
owner's suite at no extra charge!"
"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but I know you didn't get to see the Pope."
"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican,
a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the
Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to
step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me.
Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door
and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."
"Oh, really! What'd he say?"
scroll down.....
He said: "Who fucked up your hair?"
My 6th grade teacher had a reputation of being the meanest, strictest teacher on campus, but once I made it through his class, I realized he could be a jokester, too.
-In math class, he liked to tell a long, complicated story about a boy encountering a genie, eventually wishing for some odd things, just to end it with the punchline, "Gee, I'm a tree." (geometry)
-Another one of his long jokes consisted of a man being chased by a hearse. In a fit of desperation, he throws some Halls throat lozenges at it...."and the coffin went away."
-During study time, he would sometimes grab a balloon from his desk, blow it up, and proceed to slowly let air out of it, just to produce the squeaky noise.
-His favorite short joke: "Doctor, doctor, I broke my arm in three places!" "I advise you to stay out of those places."
-He was also probably the all-time leader of correcting, "Can I go to the bathroom?"
-He would also occasionally play opera music at the end of the day, not dismissing the class until we made it through an entire song without laughing.
-There were also a couple words that incited a specific reaction from him. Many of these words showed up often in history class, which is his favorite subject (probably because of all the jokes):
CARGO - "cargo beep beep".
RAY - Whenever the word or name "ray" was mentioned, he would always respond with "You can call me Ray, or you can call me Jay, but ya doesn't have to call me Johnson." Needless to say, we hated the math lesson about rays.
HUDSON - During mentions of the Hudson River in history, he would always sing back "HUDSON 3-2-700."
OKLAHOMA - Whenever Oklahoma came across, he would sing the famous line from Oklahoma! the musical. (with an especially long "ohhhhhhh!")
SURELY - "...and don't call me Shirley." (but of course, who doesn't respond with that?)
GERONIMOOOO!!!! - pretty self explanatory.
Sticking with these obscure quotes and references, his two favorite days of the year are November 5th and March 15th.
Anyway, it was a fun year with that teacher. I'll add more of his quirks if I think of any.
-Also,
... keep reading on reddit ➡First and foremost, this is my first actual reddit post (been a lurker for some time now). Anyways, onto the dad jokes. Recently as I have been getting older, it's becoming more and more apparent that I am doomed to inheritance of the typical dad jokes, especially my dad's favorites. Many a time now have I passed a graveyard in the car, asking any occupants, "you see that place over there? people are dying to get in". cue groans and stifled giggles But what about dad rage? Something his grandfather used to say, and he has said, and now I say....road rage makes for the weirdest rages. "Get out, put it on a string and pull it behind you". Yes, I have said that. I AM DOOMED REDDIT. DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMED.
Please note that this site uses cookies to personalise content and adverts, to provide social media features, and to analyse web traffic. Click here for more information.