Decision House Puns

there’s three main candidates in the running. first is joe biden, looking to keep the presidency; second is donald trump, looking to take back the presidency, and lastly is obama, wearing a sombrero and a mustache, going by the name… juan-bama. as the election results are tallied in, it’s apparent that it’s a perfect three-way tie in both the popular vote and the electoral college. the nation is in uproar, nobody can reach a decision as to how to choose the next president. but at last a solution comes forward: a literal presidential race. whoever can run the fastest lap around the white house—timed by a secret service member—will be sworn into office.

first up is donald trump. he boldly states “this will no doubt be the fastest lap around the white house, perhaps even the fastest lap run anywhere, ever,” but, not being in the best shape, he takes 18 minutes and 34 seconds.

next is joe biden. he doesn’t waste any breath for trash talk or boasting, he just readies himself at the starting line and—at the count—takes off. he’s running fast, really fast for someone of his age… at least for the first 5 minutes. but he forgets where he’s going, and finishes his lap as a leisurely walk around the grounds, taking 26 minutes and 49 seconds.

lastly is juanbama, who runs like hell around the white house. he’s running fast, faster than he’d ever run before. he completes his lap, collapsing across the finish line, and looks up desperately at the secret service member. “what was it?” he asks. “what was my time?”

the agent looks down at their stopwatch. “twelve oh-three.”

juanbama looks at them in disbelief. “well,” he sputters, “that’s got to be some sort of record!”

the secret service member shakes their head. “no, actually. bush did nine eleven.”

I didn't agree with her decisions, so I packed down and right the house.

(For those who don't get the joke it's like packed up and left the house because no sense of direction.)

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