Love Jacked Puns

Jack and the beans talk

“It’s a pleasure to serve you, Mr. Hasselhoff”, said the bartender.

“Just call me Hoff”, he replied.

“Sure”, said the bartender, “no hassle”.

The Pillsbury Doughboy, remembered best as "Pop N Serve", and/or "Pop N Fresh", died yesterday of a severe yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71.

Doughboy will be buried in this lightly greased coffin.

Dozens of celebrities will turn out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch.

The grave site is expected to be piled high with flours.

Aunt Jemima will deliver the eulogy and lovingly describe Doughboy as "a man who never knew how much he was kneaded".

Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers.. He was considered a very smart cookie, but wasted much of his dough on half-baked schemes.

Despite being a little flaky at times, he still was a crusty old man and was considered a positive roll model for millions.

Doughboy is survived by his wife, Play dough, three children: John Dough, Jane Dough and Dosey Dough, plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father, Pop tart.

The funeral will be held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.

I was sitting at a moderately crowded bar last night enjoying dinner when an older couple came up and sat next to me. We exchanged hellos and I continued eating my jambalaya. After a bit, the husband finally knew what he wanted to drink.

Husband: "Do you have (so and so) beer?"

Bartender: "Hang on a sec, I'll check."

As the bartender walked away, the husband held both of his arms in the air, closing his hands into fists right above his head, a la Steve Holt. After about 30 seconds, and you could tell she really didn't want to, the wife asks what he's doing.

Wife: "Honey, why are your arms in the air?"

Husband: "I'm hanging on."

The wife rolls her eyes and I laugh inappropriately loudly. He grins.

So at this point, the joke has been made. It's over. But no! He's in it for the long haul. He kept his arms in the air for a solid 3 more minutes, just so the bartender could get in on the joke. She returns with his bottle of beer.

Husband: "Can I stop hanging on now?"

Bartender groans.

Wife: "Yes, please."

I admire his dedication. And his taste in beer.

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.

to love one another as you love yourself, but you can't exactly go around jacking people off so I guess the bible is wrong!