A list of puns related to "More Than You Think You Are"
but I think you're putting Decartes before the horse.
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
... keep reading on reddit ➡I bought some guitar picks for my partner's belated bday and I want to have some musical puns engraved on them. I don't know enough about music to do a good job. I need puns that play on musical theory or musical notes, method, whatever... Anything that's more clever than "I pick you", which I think is cute but also underwhelming. These are guitar picks though, so short and simple are best. NSFW acceptable. PLE ASE HALP!!!
What do you call a fake noodle? An Impasta.
I would avoid the sushi if I was you. It’s a little fishy.
Want to hear a joke about paper? Nevermind it’s tearable.
Why did the cookie cry? Because his father was a wafer so long!
I used to work in a shoe recycling shop. It was sole destroying.
What do you call a belt with a watch on it? A waist of time.
How do you organize an outer space party? You planet.
I went to a seafood disco last week... and pulled a mussel.
Do you know where you can get chicken broth in bulk? The stock market.
I cut my finger chopping cheese, but I think that I may have greater problems.
My cat was just sick on the carpet, I don’t think it’s feline well.
Why did the octopus beat the shark in a fight? Because it was well armed.
How much does a hipster weigh? An instagram.
What did daddy spider say to baby spider? You spend too much time on the web.
Atheism is a non-prophet organisation.
There’s a new type of broom out, it’s sweeping the nation.
What cheese can never be yours? Nacho cheese.
What did the Buffalo say to his little boy when he dropped him off at school? Bison.
Have you ever heard of a music group called Cellophane? They mostly wrap.
Why does Superman gets invited to dinners? Because he is a Supperhero.
How was Rome split in two? With a pair of Ceasars.
The shovel was a ground breaking invention.
A scarecrow says, "This job isn't for everyone, but hay, it's in my jeans."
A Buddhist walks up to a hot dog stand and says, "Make me one with everything."
Did you hear about the guy who lost the left side of his body? He's alright now.
What do you call a girl with one leg that's shorter than the other? Ilene.
I did a theatrical performance on puns. It was a play on words.
What do you do with a dead chemist? You barium.
I bet the person who created the door knocker won a Nobel prize.
Towels can’t tell jokes. They have a dry sense of humor.
Two birds are sitting on a perch and one says "Do you smell fish?"
Do you know sign language? You should learn it, it’s pretty handy.
What do you call a beautiful pumpkin? GOURDgeous.
Why did one banana spy on the other? Because she was appealing.
What do you call a cow with no legs? Ground beef.
What do you call a cow with two legs? Lean beef.
What do you call a cow with all of its legs? High steaks.
A cross eyed teacher couldn’t control his pupils.
After the accident, the juggler didn
... keep reading on reddit ➡which was my 40th birthday. The BIG Four Oh! As in "Oh, you're 40 and not married? What's wrong with you?"
And my friends, as awesome as they are, kept setting me up on blind dates, but I never seemed to click with any of the women. Pretty women, short women, tall women, rough women, successful women, lazy women - I dated them all and more often than not, they just weren't interested in me.
I think I probably went on twenty or so dates that never resulted in a a single follow up date.
But two months before my birthday, I started dating two women and both fledgling relationships seemed like they were going somewhere as they were getting really, really serious. I couldn't choose one, but I didn't care. I just couldn't believe they were into me. Okay, maybe they weren't the best looking, but I was so desperate for a wife, and I'm definitely no prize myself.
With a few weeks to go before my birthday, I knew I had to act if I had any hope of being married. I bought two rings and proposed to them both (on separate nights, of course) and they both said no. In fact, though they never knew of each other, I went from two good things to both of them not returning my calls. I guess proposing in a mall food court (for Jenny) or down on my knees in front of the bathroom at a minor league baseball game (Susan) were not my best laid plans, doomed to fail. Or maybe I just reeked of desperation.
So the morning of my birthday, I was practically in tears, deep in depression as I knew I missed my deadline. But my friends came though, kind of. They took me out bar hopping and then we all went back to my place where they had a stripper waiting in my favorite chair. She got up, sat me down, and gave me a grinding lap dance. She said nothing, but after a minute, stopped, turned around, looked me in the eye and said "one." Then she started up again, stopped after a minute, turned around and said "two..."
This went on all night until she got to "forty."
It's been a few months now, and I'm not too sad. My friends really tried to get me married, and after two near mrs, I guess it was the thot that counts.
"Greetings, comrade." says the spy, but before he could finish his sentence, the Russian says, "I think you are American spy."
The spy is alarmed, but being a skilled, trained, spy, he says, "That is not true! I am the proudest Soviet there is! I can sing the anthem more beautifully than any other man in the country!"
He then proceeds to sing the Soviet anthem, so melodically and beautifully, that everybody in the bar cheers.
"Very good, very good!" says the politician. "But I still think you are spy."
The man continues to keep his cool.
"I am a historian! I can tell you everything about this glorious country!"
He then spends about two hours recounting the Revolution, the Great Patriotic War, about how superior to the Russia is in terms of technology compared to America and makes a great argument about how communism is beneficial to society.
"Amazing! You are skilled!" says the politician.
The spy smirks.
"But I still think you American spy."
The spy is getting frustrated, but still unfazed.
He replies, "I am good drinker, a true Russian! Let us drink, and see who can come out top!"
The bar turns its attention to the politician and the spy, who are now in a drinking contest.
The bartender serves drink after drink of vodka.
After about an hour of drinking, the politician nearly passes out, unable to hold as much liquor as the spy, to a resounding cheer amongst the bar.
In the midst of the cheering, the Russian politician gets up, smiling, and in a slurred speech, repeats, "You are good, you are good... but I still think you are spy."
The American spy, piss drunk, loses his skill and gives up.
"Okay, you got me. I am an American. But what made you think that way, after all this time?"
The Russian politician replies, "There aren't many black people in Russia."
r/punpatrol
r/punKGB
r/Pun_Internal_Affairs
r/punspecialforces
These are the names of our oppressors! There may be more, but they are our greatest threat. They are currently amassing an army to try to end puns as we know it.
If we are to save this beautiful form of our language, than we must unite! We must not divide ourselves by titles, but unite ourselves as punners!
They plan on eradicating all puns by going to the source, the pun user. Are we to let ourselves be undermined by those who think they are better than us? Are we to let ourselves and all future generations be banned from puns? If you say no, then join in the revolt
##VIVA LA R/PUNS
… u/ebkbk for this post: Today, my son asked "Can I have a book mark?" and I burst into tears. 11 years old and he still doesn't know my name is Brian. made on 24.11. with 38.9k upvotes
[also already made by u/Tface on 25.03. for 16.9k upvotes]
Let's move on to the top 3 of each month:
January:
Is this sub still active? by u/I_Fart_Liquids on 01.01. with 36.4k upvotes
Gonorrhea would have been a great name for diarrhea medicine by u/daugarten on 20.01. with 30.8k upvotes
An open letter to the mods of r/dadjokes: by u/Alfie_13 on 27.01. with 18.9k upvotes
February:
Was watching Star Wars with my daughter. She asked why Luke was climbing inside a Tauntaun, I said to keep warm. by u/jakeisbill on 05.02. for 20.3k upvotes
My daughter asked me what I'm posting on Reddit... by u/madazzahatter on 25.02. for 18.3k upvotes
When a woman is giving birth, she is literally kidding. by u/ownworldman on 23.02. for 17.7k upvotes
March:
I got an e-mail saying, "At Google Earth, we can read maps backwards!" and I thought... by u/madazzahatter on 21.03. for 22.2k upvotes
Today, my son asked "Can I have a book mark?" and I burst into tears. by u/Tface on 25.03. for 16.9k upvotes.
[When I reach home, my 1.5 y.o. son rushes out to the gate to sit in my lap while I park the car. Then he just grabs the steering and starts shaking it with brrrmmm brrrmmm sound. His cute antics always make me forget that he's suffering from a rare disease.](https://www.reddit.com/r/da
My dad is really proud of this one. It's the only joke he's ever told that's been funny enough to make somebody laugh so hard that they spit out of their nose. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for this joke, so let me give you some context first:
He's been in a motorcycle accident (hit and run by an illegal immigrant), and had to have most of his vertebrae fused. They use titanium rods to hold your back from bending, so as you can imagine its kind of a major operation. His doctor prescribed a year (or longer if needed) of massage therapy, which he was thankful for. Twice a week he went in to a small clinic for a few hours at a time, and usually had the same masseuse. Let's call her Marge.
After four months of therapy they of course got to know each other very well. He was always faithful to my mother, but he was good friends with Marge. Their conversations range all the way from baseball to differentials, and everything stays platonic.
Here's where the story begins:
During a massage, they are having an energetic conversation, the time comes where he turns onto his back so that she can get to his knee ligaments (chainsawed his kneecap a few years prior, doc said may as well get there too). She goes at it like normal, and the conversation continues. Now here comes the part that made my dad wait to tell me this until recently: The "stimulation" in his knee for some reason, on that day out of all others, triggered a reflexive erection. There was nothing he could do to stop it.
The conversation goes quiet. Marge notices, but doesn't say a word. She remains professional. She continues working. My dad is more embarrassed than he's ever been. Several minutes of silence pass, and my dad cant take it anymore.
"Marge," he says, "I think we need to talk about the elephant in the room."
He raises his head to look down the table at her. He glances at it, then back to her. With a slight shake of his head he says:
"Wait nevermind, it's only his trunk"
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
... keep reading on reddit ➡The Duke of Dance: If i don't stop soon, you're really gonna have a bone to pick with me.
The Duke of Dance: I need to stop being such a numbskull.
The Duke of Dance: help.
Sans: I gotta write these down.
The Duke of Dance: I don't have enough backbone to deal with my own shit
The Duke of Dance: but that's tibea expected.
Sans: I find this humerus.
The Duke of Dance: damn
The Duke of Dance: stole my next one.
The Duke of Dance: I'm not fibulaing you when i say, i'm running out of material. I'm really trying to think of more puns here, but i'm patellaing you, i'm out.
Sans: I don't even know this many bone names.
The Duke of Dance: My cranium is empty. i'm running bone-dry here.
The Duke of Dance: But you'r quite sternum in your wanting of these puns.
The Duke of Dance: don't worry, i'll stop temporalily. Not really tho.
The Duke of Dance: I'm taking these puns to the maxilla.
Sans: Can you make a pelvis pun?
The Duke of Dance: Not really. I can't think of any. So no hip hip hooray here.
Sans: That was alright.
The Duke of Dance: Are you having a femury time?
The Duke of Dance: I find myself sacruming to the need to make puns.
The Duke of Dance: helpican'tstop
Sans: I'm having a pun time.
The Duke of Dance: I'm gonna turbinate my puns, cuz i'm on my last leg-bones here.
The Duke of Dance: i'm getting desperate, you can tell.
The Duke of Dance: I didn't name a specific bone.
The Duke of Dance: Which is almost completely mandableitory.
The Duke of Dance: I have made more puns tonight than i have in a LONG time.
The Duke of Dance: Throw me a bone here, have i made enough skeleton puns?
Sans: There will never be enough skeleton puns. Mind makin' a list for me?
The Duke of Dance: Do
The Duke of Dance: Do you want me to write everything i just said down for you?
The Duke of Dance: I'm quivering at the thought of coming up with more skeleton puns.
Sans: I don't see any arrows.
Sans: Don't be a lazy bones, come up with more.
The Duke of Dance: I'll see you later, my vertebrah.
Sans: Have you any backbone?
The Duke of Dance: I already made that one.
The Duke of Dance: :3
Sans: SCREW IT, I'M MAKING ANOTHER
The Duke of Dance: Not so easy coming up with fresh material, is it?
The Duke of Dance: Also, "quiver" is another name for one of your joints.
The Duke of Dance: I'm just really looking at medical sites for this shit.
Sans: CURSE YOU GOOGLE.
The Duke of Dance: it's tibea expected. <Favorite skeleton pun, using it again
... keep reading on reddit ➡OK... so did you ever notice how every time you spend 4 days alone in the woods and you make it out without a scratch or even a mosquito bite, and you're feeling all peaceful and relaxed and at one with the universe, you're not home 20 minutes and unloading the back of your truck when you slam your right shin into the trailer hitch... and amid the flashing white stars around you, your fists clench, your teeth grit, your body tenses and every "mean, nasty and ugly" word you ever read, heard, uttered or even imagined ("Wait... is #*&%#@!!! even a word??? Oh what the heck? It works!") goes tearing through your brain.... and eventually it passes and you keep working, surprised you're not even limping and it doesn't hurt more than it does... and almost an hour later, when you're finished and getting undressed to take your first hot shower in days, you see a lump on your shin the size of Rhode Island... and the first image that pops into your head is John Merrick yelling "I AM NOT AN ANIMAL!!!... in fact, it literally looks like a second knee on your right leg... so you spend the rest of the evening keeping it elevated and icing it on and off, alternating between a blue gel pack and a bag of frozen peas.... and when you go to bed, you keep the gel pack on while you read and then take it off before you go to sleep... and then you wake up around 3AM and decide to check your shin and the swelling has gone down quite a bit... but since you still have several hours before you get up, you decide to ice it again... but the gel pack on the floor is no longer cold so you get up, walk to the kitchen and open the fridge... and after taking a bite of leftover pizza from last night (because... well, you're here and what the heck?), you go into the freezer, grab the bag of frozen peas and take them back to bed with you... but they're all frozen into one big solid ball and well, that won't do... so you lay the bag on the bed to pound it once or twice to break them up, but instead the bag bursts open and suddenly there are frozen peas sprayed all over the bed and rolling onto the floor... and all those words from yesterday come rushing back into your head as you kneel to gather them all up... but suddenly your anger completely vanishes and you can't help laughing to yourself as you think, "gee, I can't remember the last time I pea'd the bed in the middle of the night"???
There are three classes of cheerios, the lower class (plain ol' cheerios), the middle class cheerios (frosted), and the elite class (honey nut). One soggy morning in Seattle, a plain cheerio awoke in his single room apartment. He looked out at the still sleepy city, blanketed in a mist of rain. He quickly got dressed and put his shoes on, this would be the day. He stood propped against the bus stop, smoking a cigarette. "God I have got to stop this habit." He thought to himself. Glancing back and forth at the bustle of cheerios, he saw her. She looked about 25, devastatingly gorgeous, and he could smell the honey from where he stood. "Excuse me ma'am," his voice quivered, "I - I think you might be the most beautiful cheerio I have ever seen." She smiled and her otherwise golden brown face grew red. " This is a long shot, but will you marry me?' She was obviously caught off guard by this, but her red lips formed the word, "Yes." They raced through the morning mist of the city, and arrived at her fathers house. The cheerio bent down in front of her father. "Sir, I would like to ask for your blessing in marrying your daughter" "No! You are a regular cheerio and my daughter needs a high quality honey nut" he snapped. "But sir." "No means no damnit!" "Sir this is very unrea-" "You come back a honey nut and you'll have my blessing, my daughter is not about to marry a low life like you." The cheerio sprinted home, tears streaming down his face. He fumbled against the lock and sprawled out on his bed. When he awoke it was early, his sheets had a dark silhouette from his wet jacket. He sat up and lit a cigarette. "Damn." he sighed to himself. Walking in front of his mirror, he noticed something different. His body was frosted! He had become a frosted cheerio! He darted out the door without shoes, reaching the honey nut household in no time at all. He banged on the door, and the beauty's father answered. "Sir I am a changed cheerio! I'm frosted!" he exclaimed. Her father had a stern look on his face. "You think you are any better? The dirt on my boots are worth more than you." he hissed. The old honey nut slammed the door on the young frosted. He heard the deadbolt click. The newly frosted cheerio didn't take the same way home. He stood on the edge of a bridge, feeling the cool autumn wind on his sugar coated skin. Was he really going to go through with this? Was it worth it? No he was a frosted cheerio now. He couldn't get the girl, but he was a changed cheerio. He
... keep reading on reddit ➡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
... keep reading on reddit ➡I have written this book to sweep away all misunderstandings about the crafty art of punnery and to convince you that the pun is well worth celebrating.... After all, the pun is mightier than the sword, and these days you are much more likely to run into a pun than into a sword. [A pun is a witticism involving the playful use of a word in different senses, or of words which differ in meaning but sound alike.]
Scoffing at puns seems to be a conditioned reflex, and through the centuries a steady barrage of libel and slander has been aimed at the practice of punning. Nearly three hundred years ago John Dennis sneered, “A pun is the lowest form of wit,” a charge that has been butted and rebutted by a mighty line of pundits and punheads.
Henry Erskine, for example, has protested that if a pun is the lowest form of wit, “It is, therefore, the foundation of all wit.” Oscar Levant has added a tag line: “A pun is the lowest form of humor—when you don’t think of it first.” John Crosbie and Bob Davies have responded to Dennis with hot, cross puns: “...If someone complains that punning is the lowest form of humor you can tell them that poetry is verse.”
Samuel Johnson, the eighteenth century self-appointed custodian of the English language, once thundered, “To trifle with the vocabulary which is the vehicle of social intercourse is to tamper with the currency of human intelligence. He who would violate the sanctities of his mother tongue would invade the recesses of the national till without remorse... ”
Joseph Addison pronounced that the seeds of punning are in the minds of all men, and tho’ they may be subdued by reason, reflection, and good sense, they will be very apt to shoot up in the greatest genius, that which is not broken and cultivated by the rules of art.
Far from being invertebrate, the inveterate punster is a brave entertainer. He or she loves to create a three-ring circus of words: words clowning, words teetering on tightropes, words swinging from tent tops, words thrusting their head into the mouths of lions. Punnery can be highly entertaining, but it is always a risky business. The humor can fall on its face, it can lose its balance and plunge into the sawdust, or it can be decapitated by the snapping shut of jaws. While circus performers often receive laughter or applause for their efforts, punsters often draw an obligatory groan for theirs. But the fact that most people groan at, rather than laugh at, puns doesn’t mean that the punnery isn’t fu
... keep reading on reddit ➡Years ago I used to use a LexisNexis database of companies that would give corporate information like name, address, and general business description. While most of them were pretty bland, there were a bunch of them with some really cheesy puns, and over a few years I built quite a collection.
Today I share with you "NEXIS IS RIDICULOUS.txt":
I work for a real estate website and today I was dealing with a listing that had more bathrooms than bedrooms:
Me: This house has 3 bedrooms and 5 bathrooms. I always think those are really weird.
Boss: You know what kind of people those houses are for, right?
Me: ... No?
Boss: People that are always... ON THE GO! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Me: Heh
Boss: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Note: Quality Very Varying (I see what I did there) and sometimes subject to specialist knowledge. So I apologise in advance. Shame me with your better puns.
While I was languishing in the Language Centre, doing some semantics antics and considering how all the other linguistics students despised and derided me, I was accosted by a stout man with large glasses who made me a preposition. It was that I should collect terrible puns, to do with linguistics, in order to ingratiate myself yet further with the other linguistics students (including even the phonetics fanatics).
I'm struggling to think of a pun to do with grammaticality that both makes sense and "Is grandma tickly?" correct. I'm also stuck on 'morphologician'. (I'm not actually sure that's a particularly logical word for the subject, though I guess that's more for, er, more for a logician to worry about.)
The problem I have with writing about phonological variation is that one is constantly forced to choose between being fun or logical - very Asian!I always get in trouble with electricians, they think I'm calling them a 'dialectician' whereas in fact I'm just saying "Die, electrician."
I like pscycholinguistics – the only department of linguistics where it’s acceptable to wear a cycle helmet. My Australian accent is terrible but I like to think my Sath Efrican one is predicate. My favourite accent is Received Pronunciation, because it is the accent chiefly used by invisible Japanese people who are ordered online. When the first recipient of an invisible Japanese person got the parcel, they wrote a complaint saying "Received but can't see Asian" and the name stuck.
Why did the speakers whose native languages weren't English, but whose only shared language was English, but they weren't very good at it and kept on having to stop to think about it, stop talking to one another? They came to an agreement. (Get it? If not, write your answer on a pastecard and paste it to the below address.)
What did the 'a' say to the 'the'? "You definitely are ticklish, 'the'!"
Why was the small man eaten by the large bear, which was proportionately bigger than him? It had, er, relative claws.
I think the reason there are so many speakers of Russian is because they all partake in an activity called "copulae shun". (Ok, ok, I know, that was Pushkin it.)
I know a man called Hillary who can, might, should, did, must, shall and will ride an ox. We call him "Ox Hillary".
I always think the verb 'to be' in the senten
... keep reading on reddit ➡This might be a bit long? My family isn't the brightest of individuals.
Sister: My balls are caught in the door!
Me: LOL, WHAT?
Sister: The poof balls on my shoes.
**Grandpa**: I saw you took my junk out of your car and threw it into my car.
**Grandma**: *grins and nods*
**Grandpa**: You're so sweet.
**Grandma**: And I saw lotto tickets too.
**Grandpa**: I dunno where those came from.
**Grandma**: Uh-huh. Probably a damn $5 dollar ticket too.
**Grandpa**: No, $2.
**Me**: He doesn't know where they came from, but he knows how much they cost.
**Grandpa**: *starts adding more to my list of chores*
~
**Grandpa**: It's kinda hot in here.
**Grandma**: NO IT'S NOT, Take off your damn clothes if you're hot.
**Grandpa**: Is that all you ever want me to do, take my clothes off?!
**Me**: OH DEAR GOD, I'M RIGHT HERE.
~
**TV**: The line, "To be, or not to be. That is the question!" is from which Shakespeare play?
**Grandma**: Julius Caesar, right?
**Me**: Wow.
~
**Me**: How can you NOT like that movie. It has WILL SMITH.
**Grandma**: *thinks* Is it that movie, and he has a partner?!
**Me**: YES. And he's in the west and there's that giant spider at the end!
**Grandma**: WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?!
**ME**: I DID.
~
**Grandpa**: I need to get a tree saw.
**Grandma**: What's a tree saw...
**Me**: A TREE SAW. A saw, that saws trees. You can't simplify it anymore than that.
~
*while watching American Idol*
**Me**: Omg, that guy's nose is HUGE.
**Grandpa**: If he sniffs really hard, he could overdose on oxygen.
~
**Grandpa**: I'm looking for my camouflage underwear, but they're camouflaged so well, that I can't find them!
~
*Sister rambles on about hating cats and how they're scary*
**Me**: You're just a weenie, Tyla.
**Tyla**: Oh yeah? Well at least Papa loves weenies!
*Me and Papa look at each other*
**Me**: I sure as hell hope Papa does NOT like weenies.
~
*As we drive home, the tornado siren goes off*
**Kaylah**: Have you ever seen it?
**Me**: ...Seen what?
**Kaylah**: The car with the siren.
**Me**: What in the hell are you talking about?
**Kaylah**: Isn't the tornado siren on a car that drives around town?
**Me**: ......
~
*While driving through Alton one morning*
**Grandma**: Here, take a sip of this.
**Me**: Ew. Coffee is nasty.
**Grandma**: No it isn't! It wakes ya up, and puts hair on your chest!
~
*Grandma walks out of the bathroom and wipes her wet hands on my face*
**Grandma*The CIA had changed its recruiting practices, what with all the recent leaks and other problems. So Mr. Johnson was more than a little surprised to see a pine tree, which was dressed in a rather nice suit, waiting outside his office when he arrived at 9 am. He asked his secretary, "Gladys, who is this?"
"Mr. Johnson, this is Mr. Cone, our newest hire. He wanted to talk with you about the Honduras assignment."
Mr. Johnson spoke to Mr. Cone in his office. His new pine tree colleague was very knowledgeable and well-spoken, but there was something about him that threw Mr. Johnson off. He tried to dismiss his concerns as imaginary, but it gnawed at him all through the morning. He barely touched his lunch, as some of the things Mr. Cone had said were still swirling around and around in his mind. He was sure something was wrong, so he went in to see the head of their office branch, Mr. Smith.
"Johnson! Come right in, come right in," said Mr. Smith, puffing on a cigar. Mr. Johnson poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and sipped at it nervously.
"You're being rather quiet today, Johnson. Tell me, what's troubling you?"
"It's just this new guy, Mr. Cone," Mr. Johnson said carefully, staring at the bottom of his whiskey glass. "Are we sure we know him as well as we think we do?"
Mr. Smith took only a small puff from his cigar before letting his hand rest back on his desk. "Now really, Johnson," he sighed, "you're a good agent. Your caution has served you well in the past, but paranoia doesn't look so good on you. Mr. Cone has the most impressive resumé I've seen come across my desk in the last fifteen years. I've personally had him vetted by the best men in the business. He's going to be an asset to this office."
That was the response Mr. Johnson had been afraid of getting, but he continued to press his cause. "I understand that, sir. It's just that I'm getting the strangest feeling from this Cone fellow. Don't you think he's a little too perfect? A little too well-qualified?"
Mr. Smith stopped smoking his cigar altogether. A distant look came into his eyes as he mulled over the possibilities. "You don't suppose--"
"Yes," said Mr. Johnson, "I think he's a plant."
Note: I'm a mom, not a dad, but I'm pretty sure I only thought of this because my father-in-law tortures me with these kinds of stories almost constantly.
but I think you're putting Decartes before the horse.
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