Look through approach Puns

And there he comes to the old woman:

— Your ticket.

"Sweethart, I’m sorry, I must have lost it!” the old woman replies, rummaging through her bag. The man grabs the old woman and throws her out the window. She falls and is crushed to death. At the trial, the man is sentenced to death in the electric chair.

— Your last wish.

— You know, I really want to eat a banana.

A man eats a banana brought to him. The leader of the execution turns on the current - the man does not die. The switch is pulled a second time, the third - no effect. According to the law, the defendant must be released. After some time, the man again gets a job as a train conductor. Checks tickets, and then a young girl approaches:

— Your ticket.

— You know, I'm leaving on the next stop ...

A man grabs a girl and throws her out of the train, the girl falls and dies.

Again the court, the death sentence. Before the execution, the electric chair is checked several times - it works fine. They put the man down.

— Your last wish.

— You know, I really want to eat a banana.

A man eats a banana brought to him.

The leader of the execution turns on the electricity - the man does not die. Turns it on again and it doesn't work. Once again, it's all to no use. The man is getting released once again. One of the guards comes up to the him and quietly asks:

“Look, I won’t tell anyone, but I’m still very interested. Tell me why, after eating a banana, you are not afraid of the electric chair?"

— I have loved bananas since childhood. Why I am not dying? I don't know.

Maybe I'm just a bad conductor?

Once upon a time, this guy named Fred decided that he was rough and tough enough to seek his fortune in the Wild West.

So, Fred found his way to a frontier town and became the bartender at the wildest saloon in the territory. He soon proved how rough and tough he was, and the owner of the bar was pleased with how he broke up fights and didn't skim too much off the receipts. He told Fred that he (Fred) was doing a fine job, but he should remember one thing:

"If you ever hear even a rumor that Mad Martin is coming to town, just save what you can, put a bottle of Red Eye on the counter, and head out of town as fast as you can."

Fred was pretty perplexed at this, and sought explanation. He was told that Mad Martin was an old mountain man who lived up in the hills and only came to town once or twice a year. However, Martin was the most dangerous guy they'd ever heard of and few had ever encountered him and lived to tell the tale.

Fred listened carefully and then promptly forgot all about it. Until, one day a few months later, a cowboy came riding through town at full speed, yelling, "Martin's coming! Head for the hills!" The result was incredible. Everybody in town immediately jumped on their horses and took off for the hills. Except Fred. He wanted to see this guy because he didn't believe he could be all that tough. So, Fred just put the bottle of Red Eye on the bar, hid behind the counter, and waited.

He didn't wait long. Soon there was a noise in the street. As Fred looked out a hole in the wall, he saw this huge, mean-looking guy ride down the center of the street on the biggest bull buffalo that Fred had ever seen. The guy stopped the buffalo in front of the bar, jumped off the beast, punched it in the head (dropping the critter to its knees) and bellowed, "Wait here til I get back!"

The fellow turned and walked up the steps. Fred saw that the guy had a pair of huge mountain lions on leashes. He tied them both to a post and kicked them soundly, hollering, "You pussycats stay here til I'm done!" The cats fearfully sat down.

Into the bar stormed the fellow, ripping the doors off the wall as he passed. With two strides he approached the bar, picked up the bottle of Red Eye, bit off the neck, and downed it all in one gulp. Poor Fred, thoroughly frightened by now, let out a little whimper. The guy klooked down over the bar and roared, "What the hell do you think you're looking at!?"

Fred managed to say, "N..n..n..nothing, mister. Do you want another

His best friend, Roy, was known around town for having an adventurous streak that a small town just couldn't satisfy. Roy yearned to travel the world, to rub shoulders with the well-to-do, and to squeeze every drop of excitement he could out of life. While most young folk in town, my grandpa included, were resigned to their lot, Roy was driven by his dream. He worked incredibly hard, taking every hired-hand and handy-man job he could find. He would walk five miles each way to clean a gutter if there was a nickel to be made. His hometown was always spotless, because Roy would pick up every glass bottle he saw to get the deposit back, and every can he found would get turned in for recycling.

The years stretched on. Grandpa settled down with his high school sweetheart in a one-room cottage and had my dad, and not much else. Roy kept hurrying from one job to the next, never spending a dime on a date. Everyone would just roll their eyes and quietly gossip about how poor Roy's obsession was robbing him of a real life.

One day, Roy showed up at Grandpa's house, all decked out in a brand new khaki safari kit, complete with helmet, binoculars, and elephant gun, and announced that he had finally saved up enough for passage to Africa to go big game hunting. He was especially proud of the fine leather boots he was sporting. "Indestructable" he called them, totally impenetrable to water, wind, and snow. No trench-foot for him while he tracked rhinos on the savannah!

Grandpa congratulated Roy on his achievement and wished him bon voyage. Over the next three months, the town felt Roy's absence. Litter lay where it fell, gutters overflowed in heavy rain, small-time farmers rose that bit earlier and bedded that bit later to cover the work Roy used to help with. Of course, the gossipers just turned their chat from how Roy needed a dose of reality to how thoughtless it was of him to just up and leave. Most folks were convinced Roy was gone for good. After all, how could he come back from such a high-falutin' adventure to his tiny, no-account hometown?

But return Roy did, and everyone crowded around at the bar to hear his account of his safari. To their surprise, Roy told them that, for all the time he had been away, he only bagged one trophy that was currently on a slow boat back. It turned out, once Roy got a close-up look at the elephants, rhinos, giraffes, gazelles, and all the fine animals of the African savannah, he lost all heart for hunting. He just couldn't imagi

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

... half a dozen mean-looking tough and muscly guys approached us. The biggest of them said to me in a rough voice, "You're at our table. Get lost. Now."

My mate whispered to me, "Just pretend we're the police".

I thought this was a great idea. But​ >!I only got halfway through the first line of "Roxanne" before they started beating the crap out of us!<

How do two programmers make money? One writes viruses, the other anti-viruses.

Where’s the best place to hide a body? Page two of Google.

A computer lets you make more mistakes faster than any invention in human history – with the possible exceptions of handguns and tequila.

If it weren’t for C, we’d all be programming in BASI and OBOL.

There are 10 types of people in the world: those who understand binary, and those who don’t.

In a world without fences and walls, who needs Gates and Windows?

Programming today is a race between software engineers striving to build bigger and better idiot-proof programs, and the Universe trying to produce bigger and better idiots. So far, the Universe is winning.

Computers make very fast, very accurate mistakes.

Never underestimate the bandwidth of a station wagon full of tapes hurling down the highway.

An SQL statement walks into a bar and sees two tables. It approaches, and asks “may I join you?”

Why is it that programmers always confuse Halloween with Christmas?

Because 31 OCT = 25 DEC.

Man is the best computer we can put aboard a spacecraft… and the only one that can be mass produced with unskilled labor.

How many programmers does it take to change a light bulb? None. It’s a hardware problem.

I named my hard drive “dat ass” so once a month my computer asks if I want to ‘back dat ass up’.

I think my neighbor is stalking me as she’s been googling my name on her computer. I saw it through my telescope last night.

I changed my password to “incorrect”. So whenever I forget what it is the computer will say “Your password is incorrect”.

A computer once beat me at chess, but it was no match for me at kick boxing.

It’s ok computer, I go to sleep after 20 minutes of inactivity too.

Entered what I ate today into my new fitness app and it just sent an ambulance to my house.

A clean house is the sign of a broken computer.

Wifi went down during family dinner tonight. One kid started talking and I didn’t know who he was.

I would like to thank everybody that stuck by my side for those five long minutes my house didn’t have internet.

A TV can insult your intelligence, but nothing rubs it in like a computer.

Are you a computer whiz? it seems you know how to turn my software to hardwar

EDIT: I somehow JUST saw the Mod Sticky post from last week, where a lot of users have expressed similar sentiments to these. I apologize to the mods if this is not appropriate and respect your decision if you want to delete it. I just wanted to see if people were thinking the same kind of thing. Still, read it if ya like.

It used to be that /r/dadjokes was a place to post actual stories of real dad humor. 'My dad pulled out this groaner at dinner.' 'Just became a dad...I think I get it now!' These are the things that warm my heart and tickle my corny bone. And I don't think I'm alone.

Now, we're arrogant enough to think we know the formula for dad humor, so we can post anything reminiscent of it, and it counts as a dad joke. It's as if we think we own dad humor now, and we can bend it and shape it at will.

Let me tell you, folks. WE DO NOT OWN DAD HUMOR.

Even the dads among us don't own it. I think the universe just channels it through them in brilliant, glorious, involuntary sneezes. Some are more deft than others, and are seen by the universe as more worthy outlets. But they do not own it.

We can get close to elusive heart of dad humor, we can approach it, we can dance around it...but we can never touch it. This is where I take issue with posts like this one, which currently has over 4000 upvotes and 2000 net karma. Is it reminiscent of dad-like punly-ness? Would a dad chortle heartily at reading it? Yes, almost certainly yes. But does that make it a dad joke? No...I would argue not.

Dad jokes are also not just about the jokes themselves. They're about the response--that he manages to be surprised at his own genius, even on the eightieth repetition. They're about the face-palms and straight stares of family members. What is a dad joke without context?

My proposed solution: ban link/image posts. I wish it wouldn't have to come to that, but I can't see another way to get back on track to the real goal here. I have hover zoom--I understand the desire for instant gratification. I've skipped over interesting looking videos because they required a click.

But that's not why I come here.

I understand that there are legitimate dad jokes transmitted via text, or perhaps requiring a bit of visual context. At this point, though, I think they are a necessary sacrifice for a righteous cause. They can always be transcribed into text, or included in a self-post. Maybe it seems a bit extreme, especially in the face

Today, me and my Dad were in a sports shop buying some bits and pieces for my return to school after summer. We approach the till and I spot the fiendish twinkle in his eye as an idea is born into his head. He picks up a packet of black socks and to the cashier's horror proceeds to ask "Excuse me, do you know if there are right socks and left socks in here because I want both?" while maintaining a perfectly straight face. In her shock she actually looked through the socks and confirmed they were all pairs. I just walked away in tears of hysteria.