As She Pleases Puns

The mortician asked the deceased’s wife how she would like the body dressed. He points out the man looks good in the black suit he’s already wearing. The widow however said she thought her husband always looked his best in blue, and she would really like him in a blue suit. She then hands the mortician a blank cheque and says “I don’t care how much it costs, but please have my husband in a blue suit for the viewing.” The woman returns the next day for the wake. To her delight she finds her husband dressed in a gorgeous blue suit with a subtle chalk stripe. Remarkably, the suit fit him perfectly. She says to the mortician, “whatever this costs I’m very satisfied, you did an excellent job and I’m incredibly grateful. How much did you spend?” To her astonishment the mortician presents her with her blank cheque, and he says “there’s no charge.” Shocked she replies “no really, I feel like i must compensate you for the cost of that exquisite blue suit.” “Honestly ma’am”, the mortician says, “it costs nothing, you see a diseased gentleman about your husbands size was brought in shortly after you left yesterday. He was wearing an attractive blue suit. So I asked his wife if she minded if her husband went to the grave wearing black. She had said it made no difference so long as he looked nice. So from that point on it was really just a matter of switching the heads.”

The shop owner directs him to a 1,500$ parrot who can sing Christmas carols. The man doesnt believe the store owner and asks him for proof before dropping the 1,500. The store owner locks the doors and escorts the man to the back of the store and tells him “This is a very special parrot, before he sings you must warm him up by holding a lit match 12 inches beneath.” He then takes out a match, lights it and holds it a rulers length beneath the parrot. After a few moments the parrot starts sining “jingle bells” in the tone of Frank Sinatra. Thinking this might be some cheap parlor trick he asks for several more demonstrations.. “Rudolph” “Frosty the Snowman” “Drummer Boy” even “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” in the best impersonations he’s ever heard! The man gladly hands over the cash and rushes home to amaze his wife. He holds the match a rulers length and nothing. The wife laughingly says he got ripped off. “ No no honey this works watch” he does it again only holding it half a rulers length this time and still nothing! The wife, laughing hysterically, starts going back upstairs. “NO honey it really works watch!” “Im going to bed, Merry Christmas” says the wife as she turns to head up the stairs. “WAIT Honey, one more time, please!” He pulls out another match, this time holding it three inches under the parrot who then squawks out “CHESTNUTS ROASTING ON AN OPEN FIRE”

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

A high schooler wants to ask his best female friend to prom. Because they’ve been friends for so long, he really wants to make his “promposal” special. He talks to his friends, he talks to her friends, and spends days planning the perfect moment. Happily, she says yes!

Over the next couple of months, she sends him different styles and colors of ideas for her dress. He tells honestly that she’s always been beautiful to him, and privately to himself, he is now realizing he has strong feelings for her. He knows he needs to tell her.

The night of the prom, he’s extremely anxious. What if he says something stupid? What if she laughs at him or doesn’t return his feelings? What if she thinks he’s a terrible dancer? All of these thoughts are swirling around in his mind as both their parents fuss over them and make them pose for a million photos.

They get to the prom and he’s even more anxious. It’s dark, it’s loud, it’s crowded. They have to shout to be heard. But she grabs his hand, leads him to the dance floor, and they forget everything and everyone around them. A while later, as the songs have gotten slower, he can feel his heart pounding. He thinks it’s finally the right time. He leans down and whispers the truth in her ear, the truth about having loved her since they met in second grade. She starts to cry happy tears, saying she’s always loved him too, and they kiss. As the song ends and changes to something fast again, he asks her if she’d like to sit and have a drink. She says yes, could he please get her some punch?

He feels like he’s walking on clouds as he goes over to where the drinks and food are laid out. He wants to get back to her right away and hopes he doesn’t have to wait too long at the refreshments table.

He makes his way through the crowd, and is able to get their drinks and return to his waiting love within just a couple of minutes. Because, would you believe it?

There was no punch line.

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

He slams the door and returns to bed.

"Who was that?" asked his wife.

"Just some drunk guy asking for a push." he answers.

"Did you help him?" she asks.

"No, I did not! It's three in the morning and it's pouring out!"

"Well, you have a short memory." says his wife. "Can't you remember about three months ago when we broke down and those two guys helped us? I think you should help him and you should be ashamed of yourself!"

The man does as he is told, gets dressed, and goes out into the pounding rain.

He calls out into the dark, "Hello, are you still there?"

"Yes." comes back the answer.

"Do you still need a push?" calls out the husband.

"Yes, please!" comes the reply from the dark.

"Where are you?" asks the husband.

"Over here, on the swing."

I was sitting at a moderately crowded bar last night enjoying dinner when an older couple came up and sat next to me. We exchanged hellos and I continued eating my jambalaya. After a bit, the husband finally knew what he wanted to drink.

Husband: "Do you have (so and so) beer?"

Bartender: "Hang on a sec, I'll check."

As the bartender walked away, the husband held both of his arms in the air, closing his hands into fists right above his head, a la Steve Holt. After about 30 seconds, and you could tell she really didn't want to, the wife asks what he's doing.

Wife: "Honey, why are your arms in the air?"

Husband: "I'm hanging on."

The wife rolls her eyes and I laugh inappropriately loudly. He grins.

So at this point, the joke has been made. It's over. But no! He's in it for the long haul. He kept his arms in the air for a solid 3 more minutes, just so the bartender could get in on the joke. She returns with his bottle of beer.

Husband: "Can I stop hanging on now?"

Bartender groans.

Wife: "Yes, please."

I admire his dedication. And his taste in beer.

And I snuck into the kitchen to take this picture for the sole purpose of taking it back to my girlfriend to say with an exasperated sigh, "Ugh, would you just look at this stock photo..."

She hated me for the rest of the night as I sat there giggling like a madman, way too pleased that she didn't figure it out before I showed it to her. When I told my dad, it entirely derailed his train of thought as he started laughing.

I was Santa she was a naughty girl. 'Unfortunately you've been a naughty girl and you're on Santas naughty list and wont be receiving any presents this year.' 'oh no Santa i really want a present i'll do anything to get on your good list' 'oh i dont know if there is a way i'm afraid' you're just going to have to bend over my knee and take your spank now.' bare butt spanks occur 'Please Santa let me on your good list I'm begging you' 'Well come to think of it there is a Claus in the contract' .... Then realising the accidental Santa Claus pun I made I had to be sure she got it. 'Get it! CLAUS HHAHAHA CLAUS LIKE SANTA CLAUS HAHAHAHHAA' yeah she didnt find it as funny as me... No sex for me..

My wife and I were sitting by one of the canals in my city when a duck came flying towards us. I shouted "Duck" as it flew close over our heads and was really please with myself. My wife doesn't even smile so I ask if she didn't think it was funny. Her reply: "I guess it went over my head"

Mr. Sterling Frogsen was desperate. After a few months of success, his bakery was beginning to flounder and running in the red. He was a proud man who was proud of starting his small business without asking for any help. But now times were tough and he had to face the fact that without a loan his bakery was doomed.

So he went to local bank but was disheartened to see that the loan officer was the notorious Patricia Wacomb, the hard-nosed banker who only agreed to sure bets and rarely took risks.

"Please, ma'am, I am in sore need of this loan! My bakery is only going through a temporary setback!" Normally such pleas fell on deaf ears, but today Patricia was feeling generous. Something about Mr. Frogsen moved her and she believed his plight.

"Mr. Frogsen, I would approve this loan, but this bank cannot afford to take any risks."

"Is there anything you can do, Ms. Wacomb? I am desperate!"

"Well, do you have any collateral?"

"Only this family heirloom," Sterling responded while handing Patricia his prized family treasure. Patricia was at a loss, however, for she had never seen anything like that before.

"Let me ask my manager," she responded as she showed her director the prized heirloom. His eyes opened wide in amazement as he told her,

"It's a knick-knack, Patty Wack, now give the Frog a loan!"

The sun shone into my office through the lowered blinds all clumsy like, fumbling through the gaps between the venetian slats like a drunk fishing for loose change in his pockets; trying to see if he has money enough for one last drink or maybe the bus ride home.

The dame looked me up and down, clearly disappointed by what sat in front of her. I didn’t blame her. Three days of salt and pepper stubble clung to my my crude boxer’s jaw and the bags under my eyes were so big half the bums downtown could sleep in there and not even know anyone else was with 'em. That was ok. This broad wasn’t hiring me for my looks and I wasn’t looking to her for approval. We both knew what brought her in here, it was the name on the door.

Max Dad P.I. - that’s me. Private Investigator’s sure not the profession my mother would have picked out for me, but it keeps me in whisky and it keeps a roof over my head and that’ll do for now. The dame parted those cherry red lips of hers as she took another pull on that just-lit cigarette and nervously stubbed it out in the ashtray. My eyebrows knit together slightly. I hate seeing things go to waste.

“So as I was saying, Mr Dad,” she began.

“Please, call me Max”

“Alright, Max… well, as I was saying, my bag is missing. Stolen, I think. I urgently need it back. Shall I describe it to you?”

“No that’s alright miss. You got nothing to worry about,” I replied, sliding a bottle out of the desk drawer and pouring a big slug of scotch into to my morning coffee, “I’m sure it’ll be a brief case.”

As she handed me my coffee she coughed and the conversation went like this

Me: that'll be 2.99.

Her: Excuse me?

Me: Well, that's the price of the cough fee

Her: Please exit the line sir

So here's the setup: I recently started working for a taxi cab company. It's surprisingly lucrative, and a shitload better than McDonalds.

So I'm working, and I'm parked in front of a bar, hoping that a fare is gonna knock on my window, when about twenty feet or so in front of me, I see a very good friend of mine. I shout, and we spend the next few minutes shooting the breeze. A fare knocks on my window, and I driver her to where she needs to go.

After, I'm driving back to that bar, and I get a call from my friend, asking if I had another fare lined up. I didn't so he told me to come back, he's got a group for me. They get in the car, and these guys start bugging the shit out of me. Which I can handle. What I can't handle is when they start dealing each other cocaine in my back seat. At that point, I'm just livid. I tell them to give me my money and get the fuck out of my car.

Later, I chat my friend up on Facebook. I tell him that I'm super-grateful that he got me a fare, but to please not ever put those particular assholes in my car again. And since our relationship is built on surreal humor and snark, I start expanding the list. Those assholes. Colombian drug lords. Justin Beiber. Kim Jong-Un. Please, no Korean dictators.

"But what about a penis-shaped potato?"

I'll admit, that one threw me for a loop. But I tell him that potatoes are fine, regardless of shape, size, color, or type.

At that point, I could almost hear him laughing as he typed "Excellent. Instead of a dictator, I'll send you with a dick tater."

I was so pissed off I had walked straight into that one.

I work in a bar as a doorman, so I check IDs all night. The night before Halloween I had a group of people come in the wrong entrance so I had to wander to them to get said documentation. Upon approaching a dancing slice of pizza and giving her the usual, "ID please" line, she responded, " I don't have ID, I am a slice of pizza. " By some sort of divine inspiration my instant response was, "will this is a bar not a restaurant, we don't serve pizza.". Her entire group collectively groaned, I got to see her ID the night was saved. One dad joke at a time.

There are three classes of cheerios, the lower class (plain ol' cheerios), the middle class cheerios (frosted), and the elite class (honey nut). One soggy morning in Seattle, a plain cheerio awoke in his single room apartment. He looked out at the still sleepy city, blanketed in a mist of rain. He quickly got dressed and put his shoes on, this would be the day. He stood propped against the bus stop, smoking a cigarette. "God I have got to stop this habit." He thought to himself. Glancing back and forth at the bustle of cheerios, he saw her. She looked about 25, devastatingly gorgeous, and he could smell the honey from where he stood. "Excuse me ma'am," his voice quivered, "I - I think you might be the most beautiful cheerio I have ever seen." She smiled and her otherwise golden brown face grew red. " This is a long shot, but will you marry me?' She was obviously caught off guard by this, but her red lips formed the word, "Yes." They raced through the morning mist of the city, and arrived at her fathers house. The cheerio bent down in front of her father. "Sir, I would like to ask for your blessing in marrying your daughter" "No! You are a regular cheerio and my daughter needs a high quality honey nut" he snapped. "But sir." "No means no damnit!" "Sir this is very unrea-" "You come back a honey nut and you'll have my blessing, my daughter is not about to marry a low life like you." The cheerio sprinted home, tears streaming down his face. He fumbled against the lock and sprawled out on his bed. When he awoke it was early, his sheets had a dark silhouette from his wet jacket. He sat up and lit a cigarette. "Damn." he sighed to himself. Walking in front of his mirror, he noticed something different. His body was frosted! He had become a frosted cheerio! He darted out the door without shoes, reaching the honey nut household in no time at all. He banged on the door, and the beauty's father answered. "Sir I am a changed cheerio! I'm frosted!" he exclaimed. Her father had a stern look on his face. "You think you are any better? The dirt on my boots are worth more than you." he hissed. The old honey nut slammed the door on the young frosted. He heard the deadbolt click. The newly frosted cheerio didn't take the same way home. He stood on the edge of a bridge, feeling the cool autumn wind on his sugar coated skin. Was he really going to go through with this? Was it worth it? No he was a frosted cheerio now. He couldn't get the girl, but he was a changed cheerio. He

So, I've been infuriating my wife with dadjokes for some time now. Phrases such as "I hate you" and "please don't ever speak again" are all-too-common.

Recently, my wife measured my size for a piece of a breathing machine that attaches to my nose (I have sleep apnea).

Me: Oh honey you were right about the breathing machine. I'm definitely a size medium!

Wife: I was right about the nose thing?

Me: Yes.

Wife: Would you say that my assessment was on the nose?

I stood back in awe. She had bested me. I will never, ever, be able to tell a dadjoke like that.

I'm not sure if this qualifies as a dad joke, but... Whenever I missed school in my childhood or had to have something signed, like a progress report, I would usually have my mom sign it. The few times I forgot where she had already left for work, I would have my dad sign it. I would never look at it and just rush off to the bus. I would get to school and hand it into my teacher and she would look at me like I was an idiot and hand me the paper back:

"To whomever it may concern, Robrak was ill yesterday, please excuse his absence.

Abraham Lincoln"

Note: Quality Very Varying (I see what I did there) and sometimes subject to specialist knowledge. So I apologise in advance. Shame me with your better puns.

While I was languishing in the Language Centre, doing some semantics antics and considering how all the other linguistics students despised and derided me, I was accosted by a stout man with large glasses who made me a preposition. It was that I should collect terrible puns, to do with linguistics, in order to ingratiate myself yet further with the other linguistics students (including even the phonetics fanatics).

I'm struggling to think of a pun to do with grammaticality that both makes sense and "Is grandma tickly?" correct. I'm also stuck on 'morphologician'. (I'm not actually sure that's a particularly logical word for the subject, though I guess that's more for, er, more for a logician to worry about.)

The problem I have with writing about phonological variation is that one is constantly forced to choose between being fun or logical - very Asian!I always get in trouble with electricians, they think I'm calling them a 'dialectician' whereas in fact I'm just saying "Die, electrician."

I like pscycholinguistics – the only department of linguistics where it’s acceptable to wear a cycle helmet. My Australian accent is terrible but I like to think my Sath Efrican one is predicate. My favourite accent is Received Pronunciation, because it is the accent chiefly used by invisible Japanese people who are ordered online. When the first recipient of an invisible Japanese person got the parcel, they wrote a complaint saying "Received but can't see Asian" and the name stuck.

Why did the speakers whose native languages weren't English, but whose only shared language was English, but they weren't very good at it and kept on having to stop to think about it, stop talking to one another? They came to an agreement. (Get it? If not, write your answer on a pastecard and paste it to the below address.)

What did the 'a' say to the 'the'? "You definitely are ticklish, 'the'!"

Why was the small man eaten by the large bear, which was proportionately bigger than him? It had, er, relative claws.

I think the reason there are so many speakers of Russian is because they all partake in an activity called "copulae shun". (Ok, ok, I know, that was Pushkin it.)

I know a man called Hillary who can, might, should, did, must, shall and will ride an ox. We call him "Ox Hillary".

I always think the verb 'to be' in the senten

So, there's this yellow toad wandering around in the forest kinda pissed off because he doesn't want to be yellow. Life would be easier if he were brown like the other toads.... He'd sure be less visible to predators for one thing. Anyway.... This yellow toad bumps into a fairy godmother. "Fairy godmother, please make me brown like the other toads" he begs her. "I'm hacked off being so visible to predators. The stress is like, killing me, you know?" "Okay" says the fairy godmother, who whips out her magic wand and goes: "Abracapokus! You're brown!" The toad looks down and sees that he is brown! Except..... for his weenie, which was still yellow. "Hang about lady," he says to the fairy godmother, "My pecker's still yellow!" "Yeah, well I don't do weenies," she says, "You'll have to go see the Wizard of Oz for that." So the toad thanks her and hops off on his way. There is also a purple bear wandering about the very same woods. As luck would have it, he encounters the very same fairy godmother (yes, okay, it's a coincidence, but it's true). "Fairy Godmother! You're just the person I need!" says the purple bear, "I can't pull any bearesses cos they don't want to be seen with a purple bear on account of the hunters. They can spot me from a mile off." Being a fairly nice fairy godmother, she takes out her magic wand. "Oh for goodness sake, what is the matter with you lot round here" she says and with that, she yells: "Pokuscadabra! You're brown!" The bear looks down and sees that he is, in fact, brown. Except for his goolies, which remain purple.. "Hold up sweetheart!" he says to the fairy Godmother, "My goolies are still purple!" "Yeah, well I don't do those goolie things," she replies, "You'll have to go see the Wizard of Oz for that." "Well that's just dandy, innit?" the bear replies, "How the hell do I find the Wizard of Oz?" "Easy," says the fairy godmother as she flew off saying......... "Just follow the yellow-prick toad !!"

We were shopping at our local grocery store. She is pretty short, and she needed to reach the sugar on one of the higher shelves.

She grabbed my arm to get my attention (mobile redditing,) and asked, "Can you reach up there and grab that sugar please?"

I looked up from my phone and said, "Which one is the 'sugar-please?'"

As I was reaching up to grab it she kicked me in the butt for how stupid it was. I stood proud.

Please forgive me but I just found this subreddit and after seeing another post it reminded me.

When I was in high school I took American Sign Language as my foreign language. Taught my sister the alphabet and for about two months she refused to speak, only used the ASL alphabet. AFTER getting a little tired of it one day I put my hand over my eyes and screamed "I can't hear you!"

We may have both cracked up for about 10 minutes because this was not an intentional joke.

So we're at Dennys after New Years, and as we order the check my dad's asks for water, and this is how it goes.

Dad: "Can I have some water please?"

Waitress: "Sure, normal water?"

Dad: "No, diet water"

Waitress: "Oh, okay"

Waitress looked a bit confused when she walked away and we start laughing for about 10 minutes.

Dad spends 35 dollars on tickets for him and his family to see Divergent.

As the group approaches the ticket drop, I hear the dad ask the mom what half of 35 is. She says "17 and half" and the dad gets this big shit eating grin. I rip their ticket stubs and the dad puts on a serious face and says "All right, I'd like $17.50 back please."

The whole family proceeds to groan and tell him to stop as I reluctantly play along and pretend to find some cash.

.. and he's wearing an expensive, expertly tailored black suit. The mortician asks the deceased's wife how she would like the body dressed, pointing out that the man does look good in the black suit he is already wearing. The widow, however, says that she always thought her husband looked his best in blue, and that she wants him in a blue suit. She gives the mortician a blank check and says, 'I don't care what it costs, but please have my husband in a blue suit for the viewing.' The woman returns the next day and to her delight, she finds her husband dressed in a gorgeous blue suit with a subtle chalk stripe; the suit fits him perfectly. She says to the mortician, 'Whatever this cost, I'm very satisfied.. You did an excellent job and I'm very grateful. How much did you spend?' To her astonishment, the mortician presents her with the blank check, 'There's no charge.' 'No, really, I must compensate you for the cost of that exquisite blue suit,' she says. 'Honestly, ma'am,' the mortician says, 'it cost nothing. You see, a deceased gentleman of about your husband's size was brought in shortly after you left yesterday, and he was wearing an attractive blue suit. I asked his wife if she minded him going to his grave wearing a black suit instead, and she said it made no difference as long as he looked nice.' 'So I just switched the heads.'

The man gets up and goes to the door, where a drunken stranger, standing in the pouring rain, is asking for a push.

"Not a chance!" says the husband. "It's three o'clock in the morning!"

He slams the door and returns to bed.

"Who was that?" asked his wife.

"Just some drunk guy asking for a push." he answers.

"Did you help him?" she asks.

"No, I did not! It's three in the morning and it's pouring out!"

"Well, you have a short memory." says his wife. "Can't you remember about three months ago when we broke down and those two guys helped us? I think you should help him and you should be ashamed of yourself!"

The man does as he is told, gets dressed, and goes out into the pounding rain.

He calls out into the dark, "Hello, are you still there?"

"Yes." comes back the answer.

"Do you still need a push?" calls out the husband.

"Yes, please!" comes the reply from the dark.

"Where are you?" asks the husband.

"Over here, on the swing."

A man and his wife are awakened at 3 o'clock in the morning by a loud pounding on the door. The man gets up and goes to the door where a drunken stranger stands in the pouring down rain.

"Can you give me a push?" he asks while hanging onto the door frame.

"Not a chance" says the husband -- "It's 3 o'clock in the morning!". He slams the door and returns to bed.

"Who was it?" asks his wife.

"Just some drunk wanting a push" he answers.

"Did you help him?" she asks.

"No, I didn't -- it's three in the morning and raining like crazy out."

"Well, you have a short memory" says his wife. "Can't you remember about three months ago when we broke down on vacation and those two strangers helped us? I think you should help him."

The man does as he is told and gets dressed and goes out into the pounding rain and calls out into the dark, "Hello, are you still there?"

"Yes," comes the answer.

"Do you still want a push?" calls out the husband.

"Yes, please!" comes the reply from the dark.

"Where are you?" asks the husband.

"Over here on the swing!" the drunk replies.