Dead and Buried Puns

I said a coffee machine. Most likely be dead tired.

A decomposer.

"What happened to the first one?" "Poison Mushrooms." "What happened to the second one?" "Poison Mushrooms." "And the third?" "Fractured skull." "How did that happen?" "She wouldn't eat the bloody poison mushrooms."

So the sad day comes that a family must lay their grandfather to rest. He wished to be buried alongside his wife in the family plot. Unfortunately the family plot is up a long, tall hill and the access road doesn't reach all the way.

The pallbearers dutifully begin to haul the casket up the hill when disaster strikes! One of the pallbearers twists his ankle and instinctively grabs for the casket to steady himself, resulting in all the other pallbearers falling along with him and grandpa going Rogue, his casket sliding down the hill and steadily gaining speed. People are leaping, diving, scrabbling to try to stop their runaway corpse when the pastor charged with giving the graveside sermon calmly reaches into his pocket, retrieves a piece of candy, and--with expert aim--tosses it ahead of the casket. When it reaches where the candy dropped the casket stops dead in its tracks. One of the family members, surprised beyond grief, asks "What on earth did you throw!?"

The pastor responds "Oh, ever since I started doing these services regularly I've kept a packet of lozenges with me. They help stop the coffin."

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

It is a known fact that the penguin is a very ritualisticbird which lives an extremely ordered and complex life.

The penguin is very committed to its family and will mate for life, as well as maintain a form of compassionate contact with its offspring throughout its life.

If a penguin is found dead on the ice surface, other members of the family and social circle have been known to dig holes in the ice, using their vestigial wings and beaks, until the hole is deep enough for the dead bird to be rolled into, and buried.

The male penguins then gather in a circle around the fresh grave and sing:

"Freeze a jolly good fellow." "Freeze a jolly good fellow."

Dad: do you know who's buried here?
Kids: ...
Dad: Dead people.

My aunt and dad told me that my grandfather liked to tell this joke all the time.

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..."

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.

[Driving past the cemetery] Me: Hey kids, you know how many dead people are buried in that cemetery?

kids: Uhhhhhh. . . .

Me: All of 'em.

Backstory: My grandfather would always do this gag when I was a kid and it was YEARS before I understood it. I'd think, "how could all the dead people in the world be buried in there?" Then one day it all made sense, and I did laugh.

This was at a funeral, so even more dad-like. We're sitting there during the viewing, and Dad asks, "Did you know that if you live in (community), you're not allowed to be buried in (community) graveyard?" "Why's that?" "You have to be dead first". I thought the guy behind us was going to cry of laughter.

My dad said in a dead serious quiet voice "I know something you don't know about this place. The people living in this town aren't allowed to be buried here."

And I was really confused, so I asked why.

He said "because they are still alive."

"Do you know why I can't be buried there?"

And we all say, "Why?"

"Because I'm not dead yet."

He told me, dead serious and in a low voice, “I know something you don’t know about this place. The people living in this town aren’t allowed to be buried here.”

I was confused so I asked him why.

His response, “they’re still alive”