Mr. & Mrs. Smith Puns

"Mr. Smith, if you want to keep your job as the grammar teacher, you need to start teaching the ENTIRE alphabet."

When I was a kid, my mom would take my siblings and me to go sledding at the park after a big snow storm. One time we saw my dad's friend jogging there only wearing shorts. I couldn't believe he would do that in the cold and I couldn't wait to tell my dad. Here's how that conversation went...

Me: Dad we saw Mr. Smith running in the snow with shorts on!

Dad: Who's Shortson?

I'm still laughing about it 20 years later.

Say your name is Michael Smith, and you are introduced to my dad. There are two possible outcomes.

1. "You must be Mr. And Mrs. Smith's son
2. Michael Keaton?

And he asks nearly everyone he meets and greets "explain the universe in three words and give five examples."

Dad : |

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":

• Bucyrus International caters to those who mine their own business.
• It would be logical for Mr. Spock to boldly go to Vulcan International for rubber products. He might even live long and prosper -- in comfortable shoes.
• What do manufacturer Electro-Motive Diesel (EMD) and 1970s band Grand Funk Railroad have in common? They both want you to do the locomotion!
• Peter Piper can pick more than a peck of peppers or pickles from B&G Foods.
• Toray Plastics America could sing "foam, foam on the range, where the polyester and polypropylene materials are made" all day.
• Break out the Tums, because things are awfully gassy over at Air Liquide America.
• If a tree falls in a Weyerhaeuser forest, someone is there to hear it -- and he has a chainsaw.
• Although not a pushover, you can walk all over Wilsonart International.
• Here's a HEICO haiku: HEICO companies/ Providing for jet engines/ In flight or on land.
• American Italian Pasta Company (AIPC) uses its noodle in many different ways.
• The golf industry doesn't mind when Aldila gives it the shaft.
• Rat-a-tat-tat and a ringa-ding-ding. What's that? Answer: The sounds emanating from Pearl, one of the world's foremost makers of drums and other percussion and musical instruments.
• Saint-Gobain Ceramics & Plastics deals powders and crystal, but there's no need to call the cops.
• Pamida Stores Operating Company offers more small-town values than a bandwagon of Republicans on the campaign trail.
• Like a tight end, offshore drilling contractor Transocean dreams of going deep but doesn't mind eating a little mud.
• Rittal me this, Batman!
• Utility Trailer Manufacturing is spreading its own brand of reefer madness.
• Who is the Fresh Prince of Sullair?
• If GrafTech International were a bard, it could wax poetic in an ode to the electrode.
• When it comes to adhesives and vibration control products, LORD knows.
• You might say that Deere & Company enjoys its customers going to seed.
• Pfizer pfabricates pfarmaceuticals pfor quite a pfew inpfirmities.
• Stripping is OK at Spraylat.
• Don't think Seton is

Her: Who is Will Smith's wife?

Me: Mrs. Smith

Followed by "that look" and a groan

I'll never forget when I was riding shotgun while my dad drove, and we were taking my friend Joe home. We had driven these streets hundreds of times, but at this moment, my dad released all these heretofore unheard-of puns.

We took a right on Cambridge Ave.

Dad looks over and stoically says in a gravelly voice with an -- American Indian?? -- accent, "First came iron horse… then came bridge."

Groans.

As we approach Minot Ln., he asks "do I turn here?" and Joe says "yes," to which dad replies "I don't know, Joe, I might, but I minot!"

Groans.

Finally, we make our last turn onto Cheyenne. Dad says with a deliberate, measured cadence, "You know, growing up, all the girls I met were so forward. It was weird. But then I met Shy Anne."

He finished his sentence right as we pulled into Joe's driveway. He put his right hand on the back of my headrest and turned to face us with a wide smile and the glittering, eyes of a puppy that just fetched on command.

Joe said "Thanks, Mr. Smith," and he got out and ran into his house.

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.

I work in the same industry as my dad, and during a dinnertime conversation, the topic shifted to one of his old coworkers that I'd recently met. I mentioned that her last name was Smith, he told me he remembered that it was Wright. I told him that she had gotten divorced a few years ago, and he got a grin across his face. He looked me dead in the eye and said,

"Well then, I guess Mr. Wright turned out to be Mr. Wrong."

He started laughing as my mom and I groaned and shook our heads.