Carrie (name) Puns

"because where there's a Will there's a weigh."

Preg-Nancy.

Since then, the steaks have never been higher.

... just in case

The man says, “Actually, I’m German, but how did you know my name is Walter?”

She only carries one picture because once you’ve seen Juan you’ve seen Amal.

Carrie Oakley

A guy across the street yells to him "Hey mate, are you a pole vaulter?"

So the first guy shouts back "No, actually I am originally from Austria but how did you know my name is Walter?"

(You've got to lay the accent on quite thickly for the last part)

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

She wasn’t unusual, nor was the travel bag she carried, except for one thing. She would approach people who were sitting on the beach, glance around, then speak to them.

Generally, the people would respond negatively and she would wander off, but occasionally someone would nod and there would be a quick exchange of money for something she carried in her bag.

The couple assumed she was selling drugs and debated calling the cops, but since they didn’t know for sure they just continued to watch her.

After a couple of weeks the wife asked, “Honey, have you ever noticed that she only goes up to people with boom boxes and other electronic devices?”

He hadn’t and said so. Then she said, “Tomorrow I want you to get a towel and our big radio and go lie out on the beach. Then we can find out what she’s really doing.”

Well, the plan went off without a hitch, and the wife was almost hopping up and down with anticipation when she saw the girl talk to her husband and then leave. The man walked up the beach and met his wife at the road. “Well, is she selling drugs?” she asked excitedly.”

“No, she’s not.” he said, enjoying this probably more than he should have.

“Well, what is it, then?” his wife fairly shrieked.

The man grinned and said. “Her name is Sally and she’s selling batteries.”

“Batteries?” cried the wife.

“Yes,” he replied. “She sells C cells by the Seashore.”

So I named her Carrie.

He asked the man "Excuse me, but are you a pole vaulter?"

The man replied "Actually I am Ukrainian, but how did you know my name vas Valter?"

There was a boy in high school named Bonnie. As you can imagine, he was bullied and picked on because of his strange name. This lead to social anxiety and a few other issues, but there was one girl who helped him through all of his pain. He had a huge crush on this girl, and after weeks of psyching himself up, he asked her to the school dance coming up.

Much to his delight, he said yes, and off to the dance they went. They had a great time and shortly after, started dating. They spent a lot of time together, calling, texting and always hanging out. They were meant for each other. They continued dating after high school, into college. On their graduation day, he proposed to her on the stage. He was nervous about asking her in public like this, but as he got down on one knee, her face lit up, tears formed in her eyes. He asked her to marry him, she said yes and the crowd cheered.

Fast forward a few years, they've bought their own house, and she's now pregnant with their first child. In the delivery room, Bonnie is standing by her side, their newborn child in her arms.

"I love you so much, hon." Bonnie told his wife, holding one of her hands. "You can name our baby girl anything you wise." he told her.

"Love. I want to name her Love." she replied, looking into his eyes. Bonnie was surprised by the strange name, and at first hesitant to agree, but he told her she could name their daughter anything. He nods in agreement and they carry on with their lives.

Fourteen years later, as with what happened with Bonnie, Love was picked on in high school for her strange name. One day, Love came home crying.

"What's wrong, Love?" Bonnie asked her worriedly.

"I hate you! Why did you give me such a stupid name?!" she screamed at him. She was furious. She was tired of the teasing and the mockery in high school. In a fit of rage, she pulled out Bonnie's handgun she had found in his night stand. She pulled the trigger and a bullet passed into Bonnie's chest.

Love panicked and ran away, and Bonnie's wife came after hearing the gun shot. She ran to Bonnie's side, picking his head up in her hands. She asked him what had happened.

"Shot through the heart... And you're to blame..." He said, weakly. "You gave Love... A bad name."

A guy name Ken is late for his work at the Egg Factory. As he was running to work, he steps on yellow wet paint and it got all over his shoes and pants. He thought about going back home, but he trudged on. Then as he walked by a building a bucket of red paint spilled all over his hair. His hair was all red and thought about going back home, but he kept on going. Finally, he just needed to cross the street to get to work, but suddenly two trucks, one carrying glue and one carrying feathers, crashed into one another and it got all over Ken. He couldn't go home now since he just needed to cross the street to get to work, and so he did. As he went through the sliding doors, his boss said to him "Gee Ken! Your'e late for work!"

Here's a scanned excerpt, via Imgur.

Transcript (Important part in boldface):

Extremely pragmatic and frugal in nature -- "a lot of stuff I see people buying is completely nonessential" -- Paul has a soft spot for absolutely any joke, and the more esoteric, the better. Instead of his proper name on his office template, "The Buck Stops Here" appears. The other day, he stopped me in the hallway and asked "What will the people carrying the coffin at my funeral be called?"

I wait.

"Paul bearers", he declares, followed by a knee-slapping hearty guffaw.

EDIT: Fixed Imgur link.

HI I’m Tim the turtle, yes a real turtle. And I would like to tell you the story of my best friend. I once had a friend by the name of Sam. Sam of course was a clam. A real live honest to goodness clam. He was my best buddy, but unfortunately he smoked and drank and ran around with loose women (and a few men). I was more of the goodie two shoes type. I never drank, never smoked, I didn’t even swear. But for some reason Sam and I were the best of friends. I guess you can say we were the epitome of opposites attracting. One day as we were hanging out walking along the beach Sam, after his fifth cigarette in a row, had a heart attack and died. I was heart broken. My best friend died right there in front of me and he never repented his evil ways. I was sure he would spend eternity in damnation. Sigh. Being the goodie two shoes type I was still extremely healthy well into my old age. I missed my friend terribly for many years. On his birthday I would host a party and invite his old stripper girlfriends and poker buddies around to relive stories. It was always a fun evening, but in the end left me more lonely than before. Eventually, my broken heart couldn’t stand it anymore and I too died. I was pleased to find that there was a heaven. Being an almost saint I was whisked directly past the line to the Pearly Gates to be greeted by St. Peter. A big grin erupted on his face and he came right around his desk to give me a great big hug. “Tim”, he said, “You have been such a good person back on earth that God has asked me to grant you any wish you would like before even entering heaven”. To say I was flabbergasted is an understatement. I thought for a minute, I guess God expected me to ask for more time on earth, but I knew what I really wanted to do was to visit with my old friend Sam. So I asked. Poor St. Peter didn’t know what to say. You know Sam is in Hell right? Well I knew that was a strong possibility so I wasn’t surprised. Peter excused himself for a while and went to check with the big guy himself. He was gone quite some time, but eventually he returned. Peter said my request was approved, but under a few conditions. First, I would have to carry a golden harp as a passport back into heaven. This harp could only be carried by a good soul so I couldn’t be replaced by a look alike demon. Second, I would have to return by midnight. God didn’t want me to face too much temptation. I agreed to these conditions and took the highway down to hell. (Nope n

This one was about two years ago, but it was one of my favorite memories of work due to the reaction it got. There's a little bit of a setup/backstory for this.

I landed a job at the local Sam's Club before it opened, so I, along with the other associates, was to attend a credit training event at a very nice bank in town.

There were probably 30 or 40 in the class and most of us knew each other pretty well because we had spent the past few weeks 'blitzing,' or selling Sam's Club memberships at Walmarts in the area.

Anyway, the credit guy (his name fails me) was giving a powerpoint presentation on the ins and outs of the Sam's credit accounts. At one point, he said that for pre-approved members, a piece of paper called a 'chit' will print out. There were a few chuckles and he smiled and said "yeah, I know," and carried on.

Then I raised my hand.

He called on me, and I began: "So if a church with a business membership is pre-approved, who's responsible for applying? A church accountant or one of the clergy or something?"

"Yes, whoever owns the account itself."

"Would that be considered a 'holy chit?'"

The class erupted in laughter and one associate even left the room because she was laughing so hard. I saw one of the managers in class with us had his head buried in his arms laughing to the point of tears.

Probably my finest moment.

During the Olympics in Rio last year, a journalist was walking through the Olympic Village, and passed a guy carrying a long pole over his shoulder.

"Hi! Are you a pole vaulter?"

"No, I'm German, but how do you know my name?"

Our school offers "gently used" semi-formal wear for kids who can't afford to get new things for every dance. It was originally called "my sister's closet" but then It started carrying boys' clothes too, and they wanted a name that didn't sound like a boy might be borrowing his sister's clothes for a formal dance.

"We want something catchy" a student said. "Like...my cousin's closet."

I piped in. "How about the small pox closet? There's not many things more catchy than small pox!"

Single word reaction after an exasperated groan: "no."

My great grandfather, grandfather, and dad all have the same name. So of course my dad carried on the family tradition naming me candyman337 IV.

When they told my grandfather he said "Now we've got the terd and the fart" pointing to my dad and then to me.

My mother was not pleased, but my dad was cracking up!

Had a couple noteworthy ones from my dad in the last few days.

First: I'm carrying a couple of books around, one of which happens to be Atlas Shrugged. My dad sees and asks me, "What are you reading Ayn Walk?" I shoot him a quizzical look and an "Uhh... Wut?" He explains, "Well it's not Ayn Ran(d), it's Ayn Walk!" /facepalm

Then today we happened to pass by a sign for the town of Bruce, WA (whose name my dad shares) which showed the direction and how far away it is. I point it out to my dad saying, "Look, Bruce, 4 miles that way!" Dad replies, "Ah yes that's good but they got it wrong, it should say Bruce 4 miles this way!"

“No,” says the man, “I’m German. But how did you know my name is Walter?”

At the Olympics, I saw a man carrying a long stick. “Are you a pole vaulter?” I asked.‬

‪“No,” he replied. “I’m German, but how did you know my name is Walter?”‬