Broad On Puns

It has just become clear to me that my parents and I have very different views on the meaning of studying a broad.

She enters a ward full of patients, and notices that they’re all dressed in street clothes and have no obvious sign of injury or illness. The Queen approaches a patient and greets him. The patient replies:

“My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart’s in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer.”

The Queen is confused, but smiles and moves on to greet the next patient. The patient responds:

“Some hae meat an’ canna eat, And some wad eat tha’ want it, But we hae meat an’ we can eat, so let the Lord be thankit.”

Even more confused, and smiling even more broadly, the Queen moves on to the next patient who immediately begins to chant:

“My love is like a red, red rose that’s newly sprung in June; My love is like the melody that’s sweetly played in tune.”

Now very confused, the Queen turns to the accompanying doctor and asks, “Is this a psychiatric ward?”

“No, Your Majesty,” replies the doctor. “This is the serious Burns unit.”

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.”

My dad and I were on Skype with my grandfather, talking about my college life. I said "I might study abroad or something." They both simultaneously said "Which broad are you going to study?"

So today in my physiology lecture we were talking about muscles and we touched on connective tissue and our prof said something about "broad bands of connective tissue" and I turned to my friend next to me and go "If there's broad bands of connective tissue do you think there's Wi-Fi of connective tissue?". He just sighed and told me he was going to punch me before going back to writing his notes with a look of pure hatred on his face.

(I tried to contain my laughter to his reaction and ended up snorting really loudly like a minute later when I heard him snicker)