Open heart Puns

It was very heartwarming.

There would be nowhere to put all the Céline Fans.

Nurse: How do you feel? Dad: with my fingers mostly

It's his second day in recovery and he's finally awake and starting to walk around a bit. Today he was moved to a step-down unit from ICU. A new doctor we've never seen before came over to check up on my dad.

Doctor: "Hi Mr. _______, how are you feeling? Dr. Esposito asked me to keep an eye on you."

Dad: "Oh really? Which one?"

Poor doctor was so taken aback... He didn't even see it coming.

But I didn't have the patience.

"I am having some heartburn, do you know of a chemist that is open all night?"

The front desk responds "They all close for the night. But we'll send someone right up"

A few moments later, there was a knock at the door. When opened, it revealed a woman with a black bag. "Hi. I'm Doctor Pérez. Let's make sure it's not a heart attack first.

After a few quick checks, she gives the businessman some antacid.

"Thank you for your quick response. I didn't think a small hotel like this would have a doctor."

"I get that a lot. Nobody expects the Spanish Inn Physician"

This was not any ordinary bird however, as he was able to speak and understand English at a perfect level. For quite a while, he didn't use it much to his advantage. He was content simply fluttering around and living peacefully with his bird wife.

But one day, tragedy struck! Our bird one day woke up to an empty nest, no bird kids, no bird wife, just him and some twigs.

He starts asking around his bird community, and eventually pieces together that his bird wife got tired of him and his lack of ambition. She took the bird kids and flew off to stay with her bird Mother.

Our bird was left with an overwhelming sense of listlessness, realizing that everything he had worked towards in his bird life was now gone.

Our bird, now destitute and lonely, decided he was tired of bird life, and wanted to use his English speaking ability to try something new.

He decides to fly into the nearest human town, and observe for a bit. He perched himself on a tree overlooking the main street of the town, and simply watched.

After an hour or two, he noticed several people heading into a building, one labelled as "Bar". He decides that if he wants to truly utilize his prowess of the English language, the best place to start is with other English speakers, so he flies down to the building and hops his way inside.

Our bird makes his way over the bar, hops up on a stool, and says "Hey bartender, can I get a drink?" The bartender and a few other people nearby notice that these words came out of a bird and are immediately and completely enthralled and bewildered by this sight.

The bartender saunters over and asks "Did you just ask for a drink? But you're a bird! I've never seen anything like this before, but if you want a drink I'm happy to oblige".

The bartender pours the bird some water, places it in front of him, and they start chatting. After realizing what was happening, every patron at the bar is standing around the bird, eager to get another peek at this otherworldly phenomenon. People ask the bird some questions, and the bird happily responds, informing them all of his plight and his goal to take full advantage of his gift. More people make their way to him, snapping pictures and videos to share with their friends. The bird loves all the attention and is more than happy to indulge each and every customer who comes up to him.

After a few hours, closing time rolls around. Most people make their way out of the bar, ecstatic to share their newfound memories with family an

My Father had open heart surgery a year ago, a quadruple bypass and to celebrate 1 year of surviving I wanted to get him his favorite cake But I wanted it to say something a little hearty He loves puns and I wanted to do something special for him

Any help is appreciated!

Because he lost patience!

A cardiologist died and was given an elaborate funeral attended by fellow physicians, family members, friends.... A huge heart covered in flowers stood behind the casket during the service. Following the eulogy, the heart opened, and the casket rolled inside. The heart then closed, sealing the doctor in the beautiful heart forever.

At that point, one of the mourners burst into laughter. When all eyes stared at him, he said, "I'm sorry, I was just thinking of my own funeral ....I'm a gynecologist."

That's when the proctologist fainted.

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

And he was a very talented guitarist, so good in fact that one day his friend the chicken turned to him and asked would he like to be in a band with him. The horse of course agreed he and the chicken who played the drums went looking for a singer and a bassist. They decided to approach the Sheep who was the best singer on the farm, the Sheep agreed and told them about how the Pig was a pretty good bass player so they all asked him to join the band and he agreed.

So The Barnyard Animals got to work practicing and rehearsing their little hearts out. They started playing open mic nights and gained some traction. After a few years they managed to get signed by a major record label and The Barnyard Animals became an international phenomenon. They toured in every country for the better part of a decade until they finally decided retire. The Horse decided to settle down in English countryside, the Chicken went to Australia, the Pig went to Japan and the Sheep went to New Zealand.

A few years later Gary Barlow contacts the Horse about getting The Barnyard Animals back together for a big charity Live Aid type concert in Wembley. The Horse contacts his band mates and they all agree. So the Pig, the Sheep and the Chicken all fly out to Singapore and get the same connection to London. But in a terrible turn of events the plane crashes and all The Barnyard Animals apart from the horse die in a fiery inferno.

The horse upon finding out that his oldest friends have all died goes into a deep depression. He locks himself in his house and tries to drink his pain away. A few weeks later when every bottle of anything that could be drank had been drunk. He puts on his hat and sunglasses so no one would be able to recognise him and heads to the closest pub. So the Horse walks into a bar and the barman says "Hey, why the long face?"

Some stories have hooks.

This story has a bloody good one.

It's about love—

Or at least marriage.

My marriage.

At heart, it's your typical fish out of water story, but like I said there's a hook.

The hook's in the beginning.

Although it's really the tail end that's most moving—at least now, when our love's drying up.

Understand:

I'm a fisherman, and I caught my wife with another man.

Well, I caught the man first.

I used Craigslist.

But I suppose the details don't really matter. It's enough to know that by the time he was naked in the shed it was too late for him to change his mind.

He broke down easily. He wasn't particularly thick skinned.

That's where the hook came in—

pushed through a fold of flesh on his back.

He wasn't much in the size department, but I didn't intend for him to get hung up on it. Unfortunately, he kept trying to escape, so what choice did I have? Then he seemed quite insecure, so I pierced him with another steel hook just in case.

Like I said:

Bloody good hook.

After he stopped struggling, I took him down and dragged him to my boat. Then we went fishing.

Hold on, though.

I may need to backtrack a little, because you may be wondering how I even knew she was out there.

The answer is: I'd already seen her swimming a few times.

It was love at first sight.

Like many couples nowadays we met on the net.

So back to when I was fishing:

I was in my boat with the Craigslist man with the steel hooks in his back. I had tied a thick rope to one of the hooks, placed the man onto a net, and pushed them both overboard. He splashed and choked, attracting a lot of attention.

I waited for her call.

It came.

She sounded so near to me.

When she swam just close enough to the Craigslist man in the water, I pulled in the net—and there she was: shining, mine to the gills and writhing so enticingly!

I took her ashore.

I placed her in a water tank and told her she would be my wife.

I screwed her—

shut.

For days I watched her bang—

on the glass.

Until one day it happened: the glass cracked, the tank broke open, and with the water she spilled onto the floor.

Now here I am, watching my marriage fall apart.

Her gills are barely stirring.

Her face: dry and still.

It's only her scaly tail that's still gently moving.

I caught my wife with another man. I met her on the net. I thought our love would last forever, but now, listening to her shriek, I realize I was catfished! I wanted to marry a siren—but this thing is nothing

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

Bump…

Bump…

Bump…

Walking faster, he looks back and through the fog he makes out the image of an upright casket banging its way down the middle of the street toward him.

Bump…

Bump…

BUMP…

Terrified, the man begins to run toward his home. The casket still bouncing quickly behind him.

Faster…

Faster…

FASTER…

Bump…

Bump…

BUMP…

He runs up to his door, fumbles with the keys, opens the door, rushes in and slams and locks the door behind him.

Rushing up the stairs to his bathroom, the man locks himself in. His heart is pounding. His head is reeling. His breath is coming in sobbing gasps.

With a loud CRASH the casket breaks down the door. Bumping and clapping towards him.

The man screams and reaches for something, anything, but all he can find is cough syrup!

Desperate, he throws the cough syrup as the casket!

And…

The coffin stops….

Me: My dad actually grew a beard after his open-heart surgery. Her: He never had one before? Me: Nope Her: Must have had a change of heart.

Bought some pizza slices and while I was filling up my drink from the soda fountain, there was a family of four talking about, of all things, medical professions. The daughter at the table said she thought a proctologist was basically a pervert since they'd be focused on butts all day every day.

The mom explained that you wouldn't call a heart surgeon who uses tools to literally crack open a person's chest cavity and muck around with things a serial killer, so why would you call a doctor who specializes in proctology a pervert?

The dad then chimed in "No that's not right... a serial killer is someone who uses Captain Crunch to murder another person!"

Silence at the table, and the daughter groaned rather loudly. I happened to make eye contact with the dad and just smirked and nodded, which made him beam, and walked out the door to hear him say "Right? Right guys?"

Well done, sir.

From a Dallas fundraiser this week: “[Nancy Pelosi] is tough, she is smart, and she has a heart as big as Texas — even though she’s from California,” said Obama, who opened his remarks by saying, “I’m not running for reelection. Not just because of the Constitution but also because of my wife.”

When behind him he hears:

BUMP...

BUMP...

BUMP...

Walking faster, he looks back and makes out the image of an upright casket banging its way down the middle of the street towards him.

BUMP...

BUMP...

BUMP...

Terrified, the man begins running home, the casket bouncing quickly behind him.

FASTER

FASTER

BUMP...

BUMP...

BUMP...

He runs up to his door, fumbles with his keys, opens the door, and slams it shut and locks it behind him.

However, the casket crashes through the door, with the lid of the casket clacking

Clapity-BUMP...

Clapity-BUMP...

Clapity-BUMP...

on his heels, the terrified man runs.

Rushing upstairs in the bathroom, the man locks himself in. His heart is pounding; his head is reeling; his breath is coming in sobbing gasps.

With a loud CRASH the casket breaks down the door. Bumping and clapping towards him

A man screams and reaches for something, anything, but all he can find is a bottle of cough syrup! Desperate, he throws the bottle of cough syrup at the casket and...

The coffin stops.

A man is walking home alone one foggy evening, when behind him he faintly hears:

thump...

thump...

thump...

Senses tingling, he begins walking faster only to look back and make out the image of an upright casket banging its way down the middle of the street towards him.

THUMP...

THUMP...

THUMP...

Terrified, the man begins running home, the casket bouncing quickly behind him.

FASTER

FASTER

THUMP...

THUMP...

THUMP...

He runs up to his door, fumbles with his keys, opens the door, slams it shut and locks it behind him.

However, the casket crashes through the door, and with the lid of the casket clacking on his heels, the terrified man runs.

Clappity-THUMP...

Clappity-THUMP...

Clappity-THUMP...

Rushing upstairs to the bathroom, the man locks himself in. His heart is pounding; his head is reeling; his breath is coming in sobbing gasps.

With a loud CRASH! the casket breaks down the door. Thumping and clapping towards him, the man screams and reaches for something, anything, but all he can find is a bottle of cough syrup! Desperate, he throws it at the casket and...

The coffin stops.