Leave This Town 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

After many years of wandering, he finally arrived in a small village in the middle of nowhere. The people there believed in the same religion as he did, but they had no church; they had to go to the nearest one which was in a small town 25 km's from there. The priest took the initiative, asked the Church for support, and with the help of the local men they built their own temple. From there on, he was celebrating the Sunday masses, joining together men and women in Holy Matrimony, and saying prayers at the funerals.

Many years passed by like that.

At the end of an ordinary mass, in early spring, on a chilly Sunday morning he was just guiding the people out of the church, was about to close the gates when an unknown man stepped into the churchyard.

With his dirty and torn clothes, he stood before the priest and said:

• Priest, please be good and give me half a lemon! - the priest was a good man, and even though he thought the request was a bit strange, he went back to the rectory, took out a lemon, cut it in half, took it back to the man and gave it to him, who looked back to the priest with gratitude. However, the priest was curious. He asked:

• Son, why do you need this half of a lemon? - with a fright on his face, and before the priest could have said a thing, he rushed out of the churchyard gate and took off.

A week later, around the same time, when the priest was leaving the church, he found himself in front of the same man in the churchyard. The man said:

• Priest, please be good and give me half a lemon! - the priest was surprised by the appearance of the man and his strange request. Of course he was good, went back to the rectory, and brought the half lemon. Placed it in the stranger’s hand and immediately he asked:

• Here it is, my dear son, but please tell me why do you need this half a lemon? - the man was obviously frightened and immediately ran away but the priest was not sluggish either and ran after him. He wasn’t in a very good condition, he has never run so much and so fast before so he was out of breath by the end of the village, almost fainted. He thought the strange man might appear again next week, and it would be nice if he could keep up with him, so he spent his week working on his cardio. It turned out to be a good idea, because as he thought, the stranger entered the churchyard on Sunday. The priest didn’t even wait for the request, he was good, and brought the half lemon. He received these words from the man:

• Thank you

My family/town has socially alienated me for my sexuality. This has lead to quite a couple of problems, as you could imagine.

I've been behind on my taxes for quite a bit and it was only a matter of time before the government found out. They've been having a field day confiscating all my belongings.

That leaves me on the street.

I make enough money panhandling and doing under the table stuff to get me food every day and even enough to pay for an unlimited data plan, which I'm using to write this.

I need support. I can't continue on like this.

Life's not easy.

Especially if you're a homelessexual like me.

So this group of Irish monks needs to make payments on their belfry, and they've begun to run out of money, so after racking their brains for a few nights, and trying everything they could to get some cash together, they decide to sell flowers to make money. For weeks they sell flowers, and it's going well. Too well in fact, they've begun to run the local florist, Patty O'Flannigan out of town. Well, a bit cheesed at the monks jumping in on his territory, he decides to confront them. He asks them to step off, politely, but they simply respond that, "That's no way to talk to men of God!", and throw him out of their monastery. For weeks this goes on, the monks selling flowers, and the florist getting more and more desperate to make them stop. Finally, he goes to Hugh Mactaggart, the biggest, baddest man in town -- he could get anyone to leave town -- so Patty decides he's the best way to get rid of the monks, gives him the rest of the money, and retires to bed, wary of the results. In the morning, a knock on his door reveals Mactaggart, offering a firm handshake and saying, "They shant be botherin' ya again Patty." The moral of the story is, Hugh, and only Hugh, can prevent florist friars.

My wife's going out of town, and I mentioned that we should make a run to the grocery store before she leaves. In case either of us get stranded because of snow.

"I just want to make sure it snow problem."

groan

"Hey, you married me, and that snowbody's fault but yours.

Frantically grabs her overear headphones and puts them on. She hasn't yet plugged them in.

"Snow way you can't hear me!" I shout.

She scrambles for the cord plugging it in. A few minutes later she looks up.

"This is how I know you'll make a great dad."

We were driving through a "country" town near by that's locally famous for being riddled with with camo everything. When we were leaving, he said;

"Well, I didn't see any camo this time!"

So of course, in honor of it being Father's Day, I said;

"None of us did."

He told me it was a dad-esq joke, I'm so happy!