Door to Death Puns

Save them to your Phone and always have witty jokes at the palm of your hand.

3.14 percent of sailors are pi-rates.

5/4 of people admit they’re bad at fractions.

A bartender broke up with her boyfriend, but he kept asking her for another shot.

A brain walks into a bar and takes a seat. “I’d like some wings and a pint of beer, please,” it says. “Sorry, but I can’t serve you,” the bartender replies. “You’re out of your head.”

A cheeseburger walks into a bar. The bartender says, 'Sorry, we don't serve food here.'

A college education now costs $100,000, but it produces three very proud people: the student, his mama, and his pauper.

A couple of cups of yogurt walk into a country club. “We don’t serve your kind here,” the bartender says. “Why not?” one yogurt asks. “We’re cultured.”

A friend of mine didn’t pay his exorcist. He got repossessed.

A friend of mine is known for sweeping girls off their feet. He’s an extremely aggressive janitor.

A guy walks into a bar, and there’s a horse serving drinks. The horse asks, “What are you staring at? Haven’t you ever seen a horse tending bar before?” The guy says, “It’s not that. I just never thought the parrot would sell the place.”

A guy walks into a bar...and he was disqualified from the limbo contest.

A pirate walks into a bar with a paper towel on his head. The bartender says, “What’s with the paper towel?” The pirate says, “Arrr! I’ve got a Bounty on me head!”

A turtle is crossing the road when he’s mugged by two snails. When the police ask him what happened, the shaken turtle replies, “I don’t know. It all happened so fast.”

Armed robbers—some say they’re a drain on society, but you’ve got to give it to them.

Barbers…you have to take your hat off to them.

Can February March? No, but April May!

Cooking out this weekend? Don’t forget the pickle. It’s kind of a big dill.

Dad, can you put my shoes on? No, I don't think they'll fit me.

Dad, can you put the cat out? I didn't know it was on fire.

Dad, did you get a haircut? No, I got them all cut!

Dad: Did you hear about the kidnapping at school? Son: No. What happened? Dad: The teacher woke him up.

Daughter: I have a lot of friends named Nathan. There’s Nathan Miller, Nathan Radcliff, Nathan Lewis… Me: When they are together, do you call them the United Nathans?

Dear Math, grow up and solve your own problems.

Did I tell you the time I fell in love during a backflip? I was heels over head!

Did you hear about the aquatic sea mammals that escape

They crept in. It was pitch black and stone quiet. They were suddenly starting to regret this dare. Stupidly, only one brought a flash light. The aggressive darkness and inky black yielded with grudging compliance but always seeming to push back. They moved cautiously onward amid the dust and cobwebs. The floor creaked. They breathed in tight, quick breaths. You could hear a pin drop.

Suddenly, there was a deep moan. "OOOOOOOOUUUUU". It seemed from below them. The house had been abandoned for years. Who or what could make such a sound? The boys looked at each other, but continued on, hearts pounding in their chests.

As they proceeded into the kitchen they encountered a swarm of flies. Buzzing and beating their necks and faces, they rushed and stumbled to the door, not stopping to see what they were truly feasting on. They slammed the door behind them. Maybe a body? But no way were they going back to find out. And again came the sound, "ooooOOOOOooooOOUUU" but louder this time, and closer.

They proceeded through the dark into the dining room. They saw a fully set dining table covered in cob webs. Dust-covered regal-looking glasses, goblets and silverware adorned the table. Spiders climbed on ivory plates. Clearly a house of privilege and set for a grand feast which never happened.

Or, perhaps, met a fatal end?

They pushed on. But again that unearthly howl.

"oooooOOOOOOOOOOOUuuuuUUUUuuUUOOOOooo".

They found the basement staircase, and from below, the sounds seemed to be emanating. Could they proceed? Would they? Did they dare? Two of the boys looked at each other, faces filled with worry.

But the third said, confidently, "We're going down there." Not wanting to seem the weaker, the other two boys steeled themselves and nodded.

The stairs creaked and groaned evily under their feet. The rickety banister shook in angry defiance. Insects and vermin scattered underneath them with every step. They were descending into hell, they knew, but none would turn back.

And the sound: "oOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUuuuuUUOOOO". Now loud enough to fill not only their heads but seeming to claw at their very souls!

Now at the basement door! The antique, crying squeak of the hinges eeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEee made the boys wince and almost cover their ears. But they had to know. WHAT is making that horrible, terrible sound?

"ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUoooooUUUUUUUOOOOOOO"

In the center of the basement lay an unholy coffin! A twisted artistic expression of murder, decay and

The friar puts a sign outside that said ‘bell ringer wanted, tryouts Saturday morning’

Saturday morning rolls around, and there were three people lined up out front of the church waiting to try to ring the bell. A tall, muscular man, a skinnier, frail man, and an average sized man.

The friar took them all up one at a time and handed them the hammer to hit the church bells with.

The muscular man grabbed the hammer in one hand, slammed it into the bell, and nearly shattered both with the force behind the swing. The friar said that they’ll have to keep looking.

The frail man could barley pick up the hammer. He swung it pitifully, and managed to ting the bell. The friar just shook his head and chuckled, thanking the man for coming.

The average sized man refused the hammer. Before the friar could question it, the man reared his head back and slammed it into the bell, producing a ring of such pure tone and quality it brought a tear to the friar’s eye. While he was wiping the tear from his face, the man, stumbling from the impact of skull to bell, accidentally tripped and fell off the bell tower to his death.

Well, the townsfolk had heard the beautiful bell, and a small crowd had gathered beneath the bell tower around the man’s body.

Collectively, they said “Who is he Friar? What happened?”

The friar shook his head sadly and said

“I don’t know, but his face rings a bell”

BUT IT ISN’T OVER CAUSE THEY STILL NEED A BELL RINGEE ROUND TWO KIDDOS HERE WE GO!!

So the next morning, when the friar opened the doors in the morning, a man approached him and said “Friar, you don’t know me, but the man who died yesterday was my brother. I’d be honored if you’d let me ring the bell today in his honor.”

The friar nodded and let the new man up the bell tower, handing him the hammer.

With a nightly swing, the man slammed the bell, producing again a high quality ringing tone. Unfortunately, he slipped while off balance and fell off the bell tower too and died.

Again, people were gathered around and they all asked as one “Who is he, Friar, what happened?”

The friar looked at them all in turn and said “I don’t know, but he’s a dead ringer for his brother”

They'd traded jokes, played pop music, and generally made people's lives a touch brighter as they trundled to work.

Now, though, there was silence on the air. Ernie silently reread the fax message from the Department of Defense. As licensed broadcasters they were legally obligated to alert the public, to tell them the nukes were flying and that in a few minutes all the world's troubles would be over. What, though, was the point of that? To torture people with the knowledge of something they couldn't change?

Their eyes met and a decision was reached. Bert put on their most requested song, a sugary top 40 tune while Ernie produced a bottle of bourbon from under the desk. As their producer banged on the locked studio door the colleagues toasted the end of a long career.

Bert, always the consummate professional, turned away from the window as the first explosion split the distant horizon. He straightened his tie, tucked in his shirt, and brushed his hair back. He would meet his fiery death with dignity.

He turned to Ernie and said in a quiet, resigned voice, "How do I look, Ernie?"

Ernie walked slowly over to his friend. He looked into Bert's face and saw the closeness they shared, the strength of their relationship, forged over the years. He took a deep breath and spoke quietly:

"With your eyes, Bert."

(props to my grandpa for this one)

the man is terrified for his life because in his town, coffins were the #1 cause of death. So he starts running and he hears a clunk clunk clunk behind him, so he runs to his house to try to find shelter. The coffin breaks down the door and stars running after him. The man runs into the bathroom where he's cornered by the coffin, so he did the only thing he could think of.

He reached into the medicine cabinet and threw a bottle at it, and it stopped 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

There once was a lumberjack who was known as the hardest working lumberjack in the woods. Old Doolittle Dawort Deigh had a reputation and the complete respect of his coworkers for nearly 60 years. As we all know, tough lumberjacks can’t have sissy names. So many years ago, as was the tradition in the woods, old Doolittle Dawort Deigh was saddled with a nickname and had become known as simply Do Dah.

One tragic afternoon, old Do Dah was working his trade when a tree happened to fall the wrong way. Poor old Do Dah was squished flatter than a lumberjack flapjack. His coworkers, distraught at the thought of breaking the news of Do Dah’s death to his elderly wife, decided that perhaps if bad news was presented in a somewhat good way, it might soften the blow.

So that afternoon, old Do Dah’s fellow lumberjacks gathered on the stoop of the now widowed Mrs. Deigh and hesitantly knocked on the door. It took a few minutes for the old widow to make it across the room to the door. Finally as the door creaked open, the chorus of lumberjacks launched into a rousing rendition of

♪ Guess who died in the woods today ♫ Do Dah, Do Dah. ♫ Guess who died in the woods today Old Do Dah Deigh. ♬

Did you hear about the magician who grabbed Eminem so hard his SnapBack fell off?

He pulled a rabbit out of his hat

What do you call a magician who is an administrator at a college, but nobody knows what students he is in charge of?

Whose dean’s he?

A magician went out to the store and bought a big metal structure so he could hang upside down and do situps. He also loved painting, but because of his style he often knocked the canvas around while dabbing on the paint. So he bought another, wooden structure, like an easel, but with clamps to hold the painting in place while he prodded it with the paintbrush. His wife asked, as he brought them in, what the hell he had just bought. He replied:

“Ab rack and dab rack”

What do you call a magician with very skinny fingers?

Slight of hand

The magician’s wife brought him to the store to buy gifts for a birthday party. She picked out a lovely candle, but wanted to include a nice note. The magician knew just what to do. He brought her down an aisle, found a section marked “birthday,” and said:

“Pick a card, any card”

The Russian magician, in 1932, found an amazing new piece for his act: a giant, wooden sarcophagus in the shape of a beautiful woman. The piece had giant, metal blades inside at waist level. They were locked in place while it was open, but retracted as it closed, making it seem as though the magician had escaped death. But one day, while he was practicing, the great sarcophagus fell over - door still open - right on the magician. When he was found, he was cut right in two. Moral of the story:

In Soviet Russia, box woman saws you.

Okay that’s it. I’m so sorry, I have nothing better to do.

DEAR NEIGHBOUR: Hi, Fred, this is Richard, next door. I've got a confession to make. I've been riddled with guilt for a few months & have been trying to get up the courage to tell you face-to-face. At least I'm telling you in this text, & I can't live with myself a minute longer without your knowing about this. The truth is that, when you're not around, I've been sharing your wife, day & night. In fact, probably much more than you.
I haven't been getting it at home recently, & I know that that's no excuse. The temptation was just too great. I can't live with the guilt & hope you'll accept my sincere apology & forgive me. Please suggest a fee for usage, & I'll pay you. Regards, Richard

NEIGHBOUR'S RESPONSE: Fred, feeling very angry & betrayed, grabbed his gun, went next door, & shot Richard, killing him. He went back home, shot his wife, poured himself a stiff drink & sat down on the sofa and calmed down. Fred then looked at his phone & discovered a 2nd text message from Richard.

2ND TEXT MESSAGE: Hi, Fred.
Richard here again. Sorry about the typo on my last text. I expect you figured it out & noticed that the darned Auto-Correct had changed "wi-fi" to "wife".
Technology, huh? It'll be the death of us all.

Credit to u/echonight . This is a cross post from r/askreddit

There are two identical twin brothers that live together. One happens to be a well-respected dentist, and the other can't seem to keep a job. Instead of actively looking for work, he likes to sit around at home. One Saturday, the dentist is hungry, and puts his brother on the spot. He tells him to get off his lazy behind and go get them some food. After some protest, the lazy brother takes the car and leaves for the store. In the meantime, the dentist takes a nap on his day off. He turns off his phone so he won't be interrupted.

About 30 minutes later, the lazy brother gets into a head-on collision in the intersection by the grocery store. His vital signs are fading; he's unconscious and barely moving. An ambulance picks him up and rushes him to the hospital. He ends up in the Emergency Room under observation, but his condition is critical. They try calling his dentist brother, but he doesn't pick up because his phone is off.

The dentist wakes to a knock on the door. Suspecting a solicitor, he ignores it, but the knocking continues. Eventually, he resolves to get up and yell at the person at the door. When he does, he reveals--- the grim reaper. He is just as he appears in movies; a full skeleton underneath a tattered cloak.

The grim reaper swears. "Oh no! This always happens with identical twins".

"What do you mean?" asks the dentist.

"Well... if you must know, your brother was in a critical car accident, and I've come to take him to the underworld. I'm afraid his time on Earth has ended. I'll take my leave now."

The dentist is noticeably upset. He says "Wait! Isn't there some way I can challenge you for my brother's life? After all, YOU made the mistake. Certainly there must be a way I can bargain for his life."

The grim reaper asks "What do you have in mind?"

The dentist thinks. "How about a challenge? If I beat you, you let my brother go free."

The grim reaper laughs. "I will beat you in any challenge. What challenge do you propose?"

The dentist smiles. "I propose we see who has the cleanest teeth. 5 minute of brushing each, then we decide."

"Very well" says the grim reaper, who makes his way to the bathroom.

Once there, he pulls back his tattered cloak to reveal his skull. It's glistening. He takes a toothbrush from the bathroom, loads it with toothpaste, and brushes. After 5 minutes, the shiniest teeth anyone has ever seen glisten and make the room bright. The grim reaper gr

Paul has a shitty life, his wife constantly berates him, his job sucks, his boss is a bully, his car is a shitty 85 ford pinto with a cracked windshield and is in bad need of a new transmission and to top it all off he's chubby, balding, and he has a small penis.

The only thing good in Paul's life is his friend Artie. Artie isn't the brightest bulb in the world, but he's always been there for Paul in the tough times. On October 5, 1953 Artie stood up for Paul against his bully in 7th grade. Artie got his ass handed to him at that time, but so did Paul. That incident resulted in a life long friendship. Paul and Artie went to the same High School together. They traveled around Europe that one summer in college. Artie was Paul's best man at his wedding. Everyone thought speech Artie gave was terrible, But Paul loved it Artie was his best friend.

Artie's life wasn't much better either, he never had the smarts for that great Job. In fact he was stuck in a dead end job as a construction labourer. Artie's car was pretty shitty too. Artie never married, but he was happy in the knowledge that at least he didn't end up with Paul's shitty wife.

For Paul's 46th birthday Artie was pretty broke, so all he could get his friend was a single lottery ticket. Artie being the sentimental guy that he was picked the date of the start of their friendship, and their respective ages (46, 45). Paul loved the present, and thought that the two of them should go to the Legion that friday to split a round of beers and listen to them call out the numbers.

On Friday they are both sitting there at the Legion having a laugh over a couple of beers when the cute lottery girl comes on the t.v. to read out the numbers. Paul pulls out the ticket and spreads it out on the beer stained table in front of them. The lottery girl starts reading out the numbers, 45, 10, 05. Both of Paul and Artie's hearts start beating, thats 200$ already. 53, Holy crap thats like a 10, 000 ticket. They both start losing their shit. 46....... Paul feints. He just won the jackpot. 37million dollars.

Two minutes later Artie finally revives Paul. Paul and Artie celebrate the night away, buy round after round for the people at the Legion and get absolutely shittered. They close out the bar and as the ugly lights come on they stumble blitzed, singing, onto the street arm in arm with the winning lottery ticket in hand and start the long walk back to Paul's place.

Halfway home, Paul comes to two drunken

They crept in. It was pitch black and stone quiet. They were suddenly starting to regret this dare. Stupidly, only one brought a flash light. The aggressive darkness and inky black yielded with grudging compliance but always seeming to push back. They moved cautiously onward amid the dust and cobwebs. The floor creaked. They breathed in tight, quick breaths. You could hear a pin drop.

Suddenly, there was a deep moan. "OOOOOOOOUUUUU". It seemed from below them. The house had been abandoned for years. Who or what could make such a sound? The boys looked at each other, but continued on, hearts pounding in their chests.

As they proceeded into the kitchen they encountered a swarm of flies. Buzzing and beating their necks and faces, they rushed and stumbled to the door, not stopping to see what they were truly feasting on. They slammed the door behind them. Maybe a body? But no way were they going back to find out. And again came the sound, "ooooOOOOOooooOOUUU" but louder this time, and closer.

They proceeded through the dark into the dining room. They saw a fully set dining table covered in cob webs. Dust-covered regal-looking glasses, goblets and silverware adorned the table. Spiders climbed on ivory plates. Clearly a house of privilege and set for a grand feast which never happened.

Or, perhaps, met a fatal end?

They pushed on. But again that unearthly howl.

"oooooOOOOOOOOOOOUuuuuUUUUuuUUOOOOooo".

They found the basement staircase, and from below, the sounds seemed to be emanating. Could they proceed? Would they? Did they dare? Two of the boys looked at each other, faces filled with worry.

But the third said, confidently, "We're going down there." Not wanting to seem the weaker, the other two boys steeled themselves and nodded.

The stairs creaked and groaned evily under their feet. The rickety banister shook in angry defiance. Insects and vermin scattered underneath them with every step. They were descending into hell, they knew, but none would turn back.

And the sound: "oOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUuuuuUUOOOO". Now loud enough to fill not only their heads but seeming to claw at their very souls!

Now at the basement door! The antique, crying squeak of the hinges eeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEee made the boys wince and almost cover their ears. But they had to know. WHAT is making that horrible, terrible sound?

"ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUoooooUUUUUUUOOOOOOO"

In the center of the basement lay an unholy coffin! A twisted artistic expression of murder, decay and

They snuck from their beds in the middle of the night and met in the gloomy darkness in front of the house, shivering in the cold.

The first boy said in a loud whisper, "You guys bring anything?" He slid a gun out of his pocket. The second boy nodded and revealed a knife. The third boy pulled out a flashlight.

"You didn't bring a weapon?" the first boy asked. He shrugged and replied, "Sorry". And as if to prove it, he turned his pockets out to show nothing but stray lint and a pack of cough drops.

They crept in. The door shut behind them. It was pitch black and stone quiet. They were suddenly starting to regret this dare. The flash light clicked on. The aggressive darkness and inky black yielded with grudging compliance but always seeming to push back. They moved cautiously onward amid the dust and cobwebs. The floor creaked. They breathed in tight, quick breaths. You could hear a pin drop.

Suddenly, there was a deep moan. "OOOOOOOOUUUUU". It seemed from below them. The house had been abandoned for years. Who or what could make such a sound? The boys looked at each other, but continued on, hearts pounding in their chests.

As they proceeded into the kitchen they encountered a swarm of flies. Buzzing and beating their necks and faces, they rushed and stumbled to the door on the other side, not stopping to see what they were truly feasting on. They slammed the door behind them. Maybe a dead body? But no way were they going back to find out. And again came the sound, "ooooOOOOOooooOOUUU" but louder this time, and closer.

They proceeded through the dark into the dining room. They found a fully set, ornate dining table covered in cob webs. Dust-covered regal goblets, pitchers and silverware adorned the table. Spiders crept over ivory plates. Clearly a house of privilege and set for a grand feast which never happened.

Or, perhaps, met a fatal end?

They pushed on. But again that unearthly howl.

"oooooOOOOOOOOOOOUuuuuUUUUuuUUOOOOooo".

They found the basement staircase, and from below, the sounds seemed to be emanating. Could they proceed? Would they? Did they dare? Two of the boys looked at each other, faces filled with worry.

But the third said confidently, "We're going down there." Not wanting to seem the weaker, the other two boys steeled themselves and nodded.

The stairs creaked and groaned evily under their feet. The rickety banister shook in angry defiance. Insects and vermin scattered underneath them with every step. They were descending into hel