This story is about a man called Trevor, and his obsession with tractors.

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.

β€œWell” said Jeff, β€œAs 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.

β€œYes of course” replied Trevor

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πŸ‘€︎ u/ShredderSte
πŸ“…︎ Aug 07 2020
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Dough Boy

Veteran Pillsbury spokesman Pop N. Fresh died Wednesday of a severe yeast infection. He was 71. He was buried Friday in one of the biggest funerals in years. Dozens of celebrities turned out including Mrs. Butterworth, the California Raisins, Hungry Jack, Betty Crocker, and the Hostess Twinkies. The graveside was piled high with flours, as longtime friend Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy, describing Fresh as a man who "never knew he was kneaded". Fresh rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a smart cookie, and wasted much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Still, even as a crusty old man, he was a roll model to millions. Fresh is survived by his second wife. They had two children, and one in the oven. The funeral was at 3:50 for 20 minutes.

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πŸ‘€︎ u/natesplace19010
πŸ“…︎ Oct 06 2016
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"Do you know who's buried there?"

Several years ago, a bunch of college friends were visiting me in NY during Columbus Day weekend. My parents offer to drive us into NYC, and on the way my father points out a huge cemetery. "Hey, do you know who's buried there?" My father asked. "Who?" We all asked excitedly. "Dead people." Cue collective groans and "God damnit..."

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πŸ‘€︎ u/behemoth32
πŸ“…︎ Oct 04 2013
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Dadjoked going to the beach

I rode down to the beach today with my son, my husband, and my husband's best friend. We drove past a cemetery when ny hubby said "I can't be buried in that cemetery." I asked him why not, and he told me "because I'm not dead." Many sighs were had.

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πŸ‘€︎ u/Rykersmom
πŸ“…︎ Sep 06 2015
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My Pops dadjoked my mom at dinner.

My mom was rambling on with a story at dinner and describing a friend's daughter's age.

Mom: "I don't know, maybe she was 8, 10?"

Dad: "Thats pretty tall for a little girl."

She just buried her face in her hands. I walked out.

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πŸ‘€︎ u/Mt_wawa
πŸ“…︎ Sep 25 2014
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