Cue note Puns

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

This was quite a while ago, I was probably in middle school (currently 26). My family took a quick day trip to Universal Studios Hollywood since we live in the greater LA area. Now to set the scene, my dad is a native of Mexico but has lived here since his late teens so his English is pretty good with a tinge of an accent since Spanish is his primary language. We park in the parking garage on property and we do the usual "make a mental note of where we parked for later". That's when I see a smirk come across his face as he turns to me laughing under his breath.

-"What's so funny?"

-"Notice where we parked?"

-"Yeah. Jurassic Park lot, 3B"

Cue dad

-"Jurassic Park..." half expecting me to laugh. He continues "Jurassic Park... Jurr-Ass-is-Parked"

facepalm

As terrible as it was at the time, I've tried to pull this joke out with friends years later, eye rolls and crickets. Thanks dad.

My mom made a delicious chocolate mousse pie for dessert. When my wife noted how delicious it was, my dad said, "Yeah, and she had to work hard to make it too. Those Chocolate Moose are hard to find!" Cue collective groan.

Background: Wife and I took our son to his 1 month pediatrician appointment yesterday, where the only minor issue she noted was a slight flattening on the left side of his head because he likes to look one way instead of the other. Hilarity ensued when we got home.

Wife: "If we're not careful, our son is going to have to wear one of those special helmets because he'll have a flat head."

Me: "Then I guess it's a good thing we didn't name him Phillip!"

/cue rimshot