First Place Again Puns

A chef entered his kitchen one day struggling with holding onto a large pumpkin. He noticed three male sheep standing next to his oven. One of them had a collar on him with the letter “A” written on it. The second had a collar with “B” and the third had “C.” The chef didn’t know what to do with the sheep, and they were standing in front of the only place he could put the pumpkin down. He put the pumpkin on the first sheep’s head and nothing happened. He then put it on the second sheep’s head and again, nothing happened. He then put it on the third sheep’s head, and immediately the sheep started cooking a gourmet meal and swearing at anyone who passed by him.

That’s what happens when you put a gourd on ram C in the kitchen.

They told me that recently they had come into ownership of a small ball of string. At first, they thought nothing of it. One day, they walked into their house and the ball of string was on the table, when they had specifically left it in a closet. They put it away again, but the next day when they came home from work, the ball was on the table again. It kept happening, and eventually it became a sort of game for my friend. They'd leave it somewhere they thought it could never come back from, and return to find it on their table.

Then it began to appear in other places.

It appeared in the middle of a company meeting. One moment, the table was empty, the next, it had a ball of string in the middle. While driving, they spotted it in the back of their car. They saw it inside of a vending machine. But at the end of every day it would return to their table.

Eventually, my friend decided enough was enough. They took the string, and threw it off a bridge into a river. As they were driving home, a car swerved and hit them, wrecking both cars. My friend staggered to check on the other driver, and all he found was a small pile of soggy string on the seat.

After that, he never saw the string again.

So after he told me this tale, I turned to him, and said, "Wow... that was quite a yarn."

My first son was recently born 5.5 weeks early (he's doing great!)

As such, we hadn't set up a crib or nursery room yet in our apartment. Sitting around with my wife and aunt last night talking about how stressed we were bringing a new baby home to an apartment where we had no place to put him inspired the following exchange.

Wife: "It was kind of like the baby Jesus...no room at the inn kind of situation." Me: "Yeah, we ended up having to have him spend the night with our goat."

(Pause)

Me again: "I felt really bad for the kid. And our son too."

Hey guys. As I'm sure most of you know, it's currently Thanksgiving in Canada. This time of year for me has, in the past, caused a lot of issues in my life.

To give a little bit of background on me, I'm usually an extremely healthy and fit guy, as I play high-level sports and have a physically demanding job. However, for much of my life, my willpower began to crumble around this time of year.

I first started taking my diet seriously when I was about 12 years old. I had some kind of realization where like, I dunno, I started looking at how jacked these movie stars were and was all, "wow, I want to be that cool too." Judging by the bowl cut I had when I was 12, my perception of cool may have been a little skewed, but I digress.

Anyhow, it was my first Thanksgiving where everything started falling apart. One of my relative's families ended up no-showing for dinner, so we were left with a load of Thanksgiving leftovers. For the next week, every single meal or snack I had was Thanksgiving themed. Sandwich? Turkey sandwich. Breakfast? Let's dollop some cranberry sauce on that bad boy. By the next week, my BGC (blood gravy content) was probably at like 1.0%.

You'd think I'd be sick of holiday food after that. But no. I loved it.

The tradition of refrigerated Thanksgiving snacks continued throughout the rest of my teen years. Like clockwork, the numbers on the scale would significantly jump upwards in October, with Halloween candy adding an extra layer of calories on top. By the time I reached 17, my waist had begun noticeably ballooning, and I realized it was all due to Thanksgiving turkey. Sure, I had some at Christmas and sometimes at Easter, but never like that. My mother would encourage this habit, making more food each year to be stuffed into our packed refrigerator.

The movie star bod I wanted for so much at the age of 12 was slipping a way. I needed to put an end to this.

Flash forward to October 2015, age 18. I had made a vow: I never again would place such putrid poultry onto my tastebuds. And ever since that fateful week of 2014, my vow had held true.

Each Thanksgiving, I can feel that craving for chilled turkey knocking on the refrigerator door of my fragile ego. For three years, I've held strong. But when will the garrison fall? When will that soft, biting flesh of the big bird smash it's way back into my life.

But so far, I've quit cold turkey.

Oh boy do I have a joke for you kids! Its called the cheerio joke.

So there is this land called cheerio land and in cheerio land there are 7 classes of cheerio, 0-5 and the frosted cheerios. Now there is this level 0 cheerio. Hes homeless, living out on the street, probaly an alchoholic. But he falls in love with a frosted cheerio princess. So one day he sneaks into the royal gala and goes up to the princess and asks her "will you marry me?" Now she says "I like your style, youre a good looking guy, a bit scruffy but I like you. Tell you what I will marry you if you can become a frosted cheerio" So our guy goes back with a determination and gets a job and starts to pay off his debts. Now by having a job and his debts paid he becomes a level 1 cheerio. So he works, and he works, and he works, and he WORKS and he finally becomes a level 2 cheerio. Now he goes back to the princess and askes her again, "will you marry me?" she says "no honey you really do have to become a frosted cheerio first." So he goes back and he works and works, hes a fryboy at McGrubers or something, I dont care. So he works and he works and he gets promoted at the restraunt and is making more money. And he works and he works and he works and by having that income raise he finally becomes a level 3 cheerio. He feels sucessful for the first time in his life but he is starting to fall back on his old ways. One day he goes to the casino and he loses and he loses and he loses and he gambled all his money away and he gets fired to boot because gambling is against company policy. So he is back down to a level 1 cheerio. He gets a job on a production line at a nearby factory and determines himself not to fall back ever again. So he works and he works and he works and he works and he WORKS, level 2, level 3, and he is doing great again. He is promoted to Floor manager of the factory and he is doing great and becomes a level 4 cheerio. But then one day a rival company sabotages their operation by putting poison in their toothpaste or whatever the hell they were making. They have to pay out damages and PR and the like and they declare bankruptcy. He is knocked back down to level 2 for the lack in income. But he is hired almost straight away by a branch of a huge conglomerate because they recognized how hard of a worker he is. So he works, level 3, works, level 4, and he works and works and WORKS. So he is promoted t

For all of my life, my brain has played a soundtrack. At all times, in all places, I hear music going through my head, from the moment I awaken in the morning until I go to sleep at night. I can only shut it off by listening to other music, watching a movie, etc. but it soon starts up again once the outside source of stimulus is removed.

Yesterday I was travelling. When I visited the restroom prior to boarding my flight, the the music in my head suddenly switched tracks from "I've Been Everywhere Man" (that got really old after the first hour. Oy!) to "Africa" by Toto. "That's odd", I thought to myself, "the music in my head usually doesn't switch tracks unless something has changed around me." I finished my business, cleaned up, stood up, and turned around to flush.

Then I saw it. There, emblazoned on the porcelain, was the word "TOTO". The manufacturer of the toilet. "Nice job, brain, funny, hah-hah," I thought to myself.

The song in my head came to an abrupt halt. Silence, for just one moment. Blessed silence. Rare for me. Then I realized. My brain was giving me time to digest the previous joke. Waiting for me to think I'd arrived at the punch line. Pausing for a beat before it delivered the next one. "Africa" started over again, telling me exactly why the DJ deciding songs in my head had picked this exact moment, this exquisite situation, this exact set of circumstances to deliver the internal Dad Joke of the year:

"Doodoo doo-doo doodoo do dooooooooo...."

John started working in a color pigment company which specialises in mixing and editing different color pigments according to their customers's demands. Once the color pigments were done, they would be mailed out to the customers with a detailed note commenting on the properties of the produced color pigments. John was placed in the 'Pink Pigment' department which was incidentally between the 'Red Pigment' and 'White Pigment' departments. He was really good at his job and was constantly praised for the great work he produced.

However after a month or so, John found that a number of his work was being duplicated and mailed to almost all of his customers. Worse of all, instead of a proper note commenting on the color pigment properties, these duplicated products were accompanied with rather bad puns and jokes. One repeating joke which irritated him the most was: 'What do you call a country with only pink cars? A pink car-nation.'

Upset, he went to his manager to complain about the problem. After listening to John, his manager said, "Oh boy, looks like I need to talk to the manager of the 'Red Pigment' department again. This is not the first time that it has happened. Those Red-editors in that department love to copy and repost other people's original work as their own."
John then asked, "How are you so sure that it was them who are responsible?"
His manager replied, "Well, you can be certain that it is them as they always love jokes or puns especially in the comment section."

A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a trip
to Rome with her husband..

She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded: " Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded and dirty.
You're crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?"

"We're taking Continental," was the reply. "We got a great rate!"

"Continental?" exclaimed the hairdresser. "That's a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late.
So, where are you staying in Rome?"

"We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome's Tiber River called Teste."

"Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks it's going to be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump."

"We're going to go to see the Vatican and maybe get to see the Pope."

"That's rich," laughed the hairdresser. "You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it."

A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo.
The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.

"It was wonderful," explained the woman, "not only were we on time in one of Continental's brand new planes, but it was overbooked, and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful,
and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot..
And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million remodeling job, and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city.
They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at no extra charge!"

"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but I know you didn't get to see the Pope."

"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me.
Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."

"Oh, really! What'd he say?"

scroll down.....

He said: "Who fucked up your hair?"

Let me preface this with some info. Firstly, me and my father are idiots; our jokes can become insensitive if we aren't careful, as we have few filters. My parents live in a tiny town amidst a thousand other tiny towns. One of the tiny towns right beside us (let's call it Townsburg) has a lot of forest and extra land, so towards the end of the summer when it's still hot but the land is starting to dry out, it's rather susceptible to fires. The other day, Townsburg caught fire in a few different places. The town my parents live in (we'll call it Cityville) is the sausage capital of our state. Yep. Sausage capital. Like brisket and such. Our proudest export is meat. Meat is what we are most proud of. I don't live there anymore, thank the universe.

So I went by my parents house on the way home from work one day to check on my retired, sick father, and watch the news with him (something I try to do whenever I can). And what happened next, well, it all just happened so fast...

Me: "Whoa, Townsburg is on fire again. I guess Cityville isn't the barbecue capital anymore, AYO." Dad: "Nope. Looks like they're about to be the barbecued capital." Me: "...we may need to stop hanging out so much."

So this was a few years back for me and I best give a bit of background info: I was in the beginning of a new relationship with a girl, in my late teens . We were both at the same bording school, so I had to ask permission from her parents and my parents if she'd be allowed to come visit for weekend and all that. Got all the permissions sorted out, and planned a dinner at a chinese place. My dad and step mum came along for the ride, along with my sister.

Now, my dad has a weakish bladder and went to the toilet upon entering the restaurant. Upon emptying his bladder, he announced to us "There was a penny in the toilet. Now there is Two Pee."

I groaned, my sister rolled her eyes and my step mum nearly killed him. My then girlfriend was just mortified (first time she'd met my dad).

At the end of the meal, my dad went to the toilet again. This time he came out with a 2p coin in a tissue, drying it. My then girlfriend was just looked at me as if to say "you're father is mental how are you sane."

I pointed out to my dad the flaw in his trick, stating he'd said it was a penny, not a 2p coin. I think my step mum hit him shortly after he dropped me off at my mum's...