Local Fields Puns

He had multiple tractors on his farm, tractor posters on his walls, watched documentaries about tractors, in short, his house was full of tractor paraphernalia.

One day, the Bob's wife, Mary was taking a stroll out in the fields, just where he happened to be riding one of his tractors. Bob was gunning it up and down the fields, having a blast. But then he started driving in the direction of his wife. Despite her screams, Bob couldnt hear Mary over the loud engine of his tractor, and ended up unfortunately running her over.

After this, Bob felt guilty about killing his wife. He sold all of his tractors, he took down all of his posters, and threw away all of his tractor merch. He sold his farm and bought a new house in the suburbs to further distance himself from tractors.

After a few years, Bob felt it was time to start dating again, so he started going to his local coffee shop, hoping to find a new girlfriend. Bob was pleased to find the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, so he introduced himself, and they really hit it off. They started going on dates and got to know each other better.

After a few years of dating, Bob felt it was time to propose, so he prepared a beautiful date in the fanciest restaurant in the city. They had a lovely dinner and before they ordered dessert, he decided it was time to propose. But as Bob got the ring box out of his pocket he dropped it, and bending over to pick it up, he knocked his head on the table, knocking a candle over. The candle set fire to the tablecloth and quickly spread to the carpet.

A waiter quickly came up and poured a big jug of water onto the fire in order to put it out, but this caused a plume of smoke to come up, filling the restaurant. Everyone was choking and coughing, so Bob takes a deep breath, sucking in all of the smoke, and runs out of the restaurant. He pokes his head out the door and breathes out, all of the smoke flying away outside. His date is amazed and asked "Wow! how did you do that?"

Bob laughed and said "It's quite simple, I'm an Ex-Tractor Fan"

Just in case he got a hole-in-one

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 was somewhere around the 6th century after the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, an Anglish man was travelling through Normandy when he sees a local labouring the fields, and asks:

"Hello. What does it take to become a mercenary amongst your King's regiments?"
"Not that much - to be Frank."
"I see. I better give up then.

Every year, the team was in the state championship game, and usually won it handily. Every able lad within a few hundred miles wanted to play football for Central Catholic Fighting Knights.

Those who were familiar with the program, knew that the true heart and soul of the Knights football program was Sister Mary Margaret, an aged nun who would, in full habit, get out on the practice field and work on routes with the receivers, give pointers to the quarterbacks on their stances and releases, but most of all, love them like the second mother that she became to all of the boys in that program.

One year, on the eve of the state championship game, some evil malefactors broke into the convent and kidnapped Sister Mary Margaret. Everyone was stunned by the news, but none more so than the Knights of Central Catholic. They were devastated at the loss of their mentor.

As you might guess, the state championship game didn't go very well. For the first time in the history of the football program, the Knights were shut out. The Spartans beat them 42-0.

The next day, the headline on the local sports section read:

No Offense, Nun Taken

Back a few decades, I was working in a program with a local college in the Middle East.

The name of the program for ExPats has the clever acronym of "IDEA" (hey, I said it was clever); which stands for "Inter-Departmental Educational Adjunct". It's interdepartmental because my particular specialty not only covers field geology but also paleontology and a bit of archeology thrown in for good measure. Everyone hopes to have a good IDEA...

ahem...

Well, we saddle up and head for the Dune Sea out in the west of the country, where the Precambrian, Cambrian, Silurian, Cretaceous, Pliocene, Pleistocene, and Holocene crop out and access is relatively easy and non-injurious.

Well, we caravan out, some 30 Land Cruisers, Nissan patrol, and the odd Mitsubishi Galloper strong. We all get our maps, compasses and split up into 5 or 6 special interest groups ("SIG's"); where each IDEA has his own GPS and LIDAR laser ranging apparatus. Reason being, that there are very few benchmarks out in the desert, and even those are constantly at the mercy of the shifting and ever-blowing sands.

Since we're split into groups and at any one time, ranging up to and including some 50 km2, when a real find is located, a device called the "DIME" (Digital-Interface Monitor Encoder) is attached and programmed into the GPS for location later; it is a digital sort of low-frequency transponder, developed from technology used by offshore drillers and jacket setters where benchmarks are even more transitory.

The way it works is rather simple. When something is to be marked for later retrieval, a series of wooden posts are pounded in a triangular manner around the find and the DIME is set, programmed with the GPS and attached to one or more of the posts.

That's the theory, at least.

Everything works well, especially all the hardened electronics and computer gizmos, but attaching the DIME to the stakes is the real problem. It can't be nailed, screwed or fastened with any sort of metal contrivance as that farkles the magnetic field and causes all sorts of goofy spurious signals. Zip ties don't last long in the heat and duct tape is right out. Many sites have been lost to the shifting sands this way.

Velcro doesn't work too well, as the sand fills the hooks of the receiving piece of velcro and soon renders it useless. String or fishing line work, but that's temporary (they melt). Glue or mastic are out as these are supposed to be temporary. Even plastic sleeves don't work due to the heat out

Tractors were his biggest hobby. He had lots of toy tractors and on weekends he would go and watch the farmers drive their tractors around in the fields. As he grew older, he still liked tractors, but not as much because he started to find other interests. When he turned 20 he met a beautiful girl and fell in love. One night he decided to take her out for dinner to a local restaurant. As they were eating, the whole room started to fill up with smoke. Everyone was panicking so he jumped up and said "calm down, I've got this!". He stood on his chair and sucked in all the smoke in the room, then walked outside and blew it all out. When he returned back into the resturant, his date said to him "oh my god how did you do that?!" To which he replied: "I'm an ex-tractor fan."

Every able lad within a few hundred miles wanted to play football for Central Catholic Fighting Knights.

Those who were familiar with the program, knew that the true heart and soul of the Knights football program was Sister Mary Margaret, an aged nun who would, in full habit, get out on the practice field and work on routes with the receivers, give pointers to the quarterbacks on their stances and releases, but most of all, love them like the second mother that she became to all of the boys in that program.

One year, on the eve of the state championship game, some evil malefactors broke into the convent and kidnapped Sister Mary Margaret. Everyone was stunned by the news, but none more so than the Knights of Central Catholic. They were devastated at the loss of their mentor.

As you might guess, the state championship game didn't go very well. For the first time in the history of the football program, the Knights were shut out. The Spartans beat them 42-0.

The next day, the headline on the local sports section read:

No Offense, Nun Taken