Black drink Puns

In space no one can here use cream.

I guess you could say, I drink to spaghett.

It was a crow-bar.

free

She excitedly says yes, and the boy spends the entirety of the next day preparing for the big day.

The first thing he does to make it extra fancy is to rent a limousine for a day (yes, he is rich), but when he arrives at the rental center, he notices that many other people had the same idea. There was an enormous line that stretched out the building. Nevertheless, this boy was determined to make this night a special night, and waited for hours. Luckily, he succeeded in the end, and rented a shiny black limo. He was starting to get really excited.

After that, he goes to the tailor to pick up a brand new suit and tie to look as sharp as possible. But once again, the line for that wrapped around the block and forced the boy to wait another long hour. He sighed, but still waited in line, as he was quite persistent and knew it would be well worth it in the end. In the end, though, he got a perfect suit that fit him well. No wrinkles, no nothing; it was just pure handsomeness.

Then, the moment came. In his limousine, he once again drove up to his crush's house, well-dressed in the brand new suit he just bought. She came out looking stunning as well in an aqua dress that sparkled in the evening sunlight. Excited as ever, she leaped into the fancy limo and rode to prom with him, ready for the big night.

When they arrived, however, there was yet another long line into the ballroom, as many people needed to be accepted. It was quite a busy night. After half an hour of waiting, the couple finally made it through and began dancing. It was all going really well, and everyone was having quite a grand time.

A few hours later, they became thirsty and went to get a drink. Both him and his girlfriend were in the mood for fruit punch, but nobody else seemed to want it. When they entered the snack bar, they noticed more long lines of people wanting to get other snacks and drinks, but surprisingly... there was no punchline.

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

"Greetings, comrade." says the spy, but before he could finish his sentence, the Russian says, "I think you are American spy."

The spy is alarmed, but being a skilled, trained, spy, he says, "That is not true! I am the proudest Soviet there is! I can sing the anthem more beautifully than any other man in the country!"

He then proceeds to sing the Soviet anthem, so melodically and beautifully, that everybody in the bar cheers.

"Very good, very good!" says the politician. "But I still think you are spy."

The man continues to keep his cool.

"I am a historian! I can tell you everything about this glorious country!"

He then spends about two hours recounting the Revolution, the Great Patriotic War, about how superior to the Russia is in terms of technology compared to America and makes a great argument about how communism is beneficial to society.

"Amazing! You are skilled!" says the politician.

The spy smirks.

"But I still think you American spy."

The spy is getting frustrated, but still unfazed.

He replies, "I am good drinker, a true Russian! Let us drink, and see who can come out top!"

The bar turns its attention to the politician and the spy, who are now in a drinking contest.

The bartender serves drink after drink of vodka.

After about an hour of drinking, the politician nearly passes out, unable to hold as much liquor as the spy, to a resounding cheer amongst the bar.

In the midst of the cheering, the Russian politician gets up, smiling, and in a slurred speech, repeats, "You are good, you are good... but I still think you are spy."

The American spy, piss drunk, loses his skill and gives up.

"Okay, you got me. I am an American. But what made you think that way, after all this time?"

The Russian politician replies, "There aren't many black people in Russia."

So, my table was ordering their drinks and the father of the table ordered by saying, "I'll have a coffee and a water. Black please." I responded, "we don't have black water here, sir." I am still ashamed.

Because in space, no one here use cream