Perfect Situation Puns

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

The bartender replies, "I'm sorry, but you're a rope. I can't serve you, and I'm not even sure how I could. Please leave."

A short time later, the rope comes back into the bar and asks for a beer.

The bartender, a bit annoyed at the situation, says, "Look, I told you I can't serve you. Just go away."

A few hours later, the rope comes back in again.

The bartender is getting mad now. "Look, I told you twice that I can't serve alcohol to a rope! Now get out and STAY OUT!"

Dejectedly, the rope leaves the bar and sits at the curb until a gentleman passes by. Suddenly, the piece of rope has an idea.

"Excuse me", says the rope, "but could you do me a favor?"

"Um... me?" says the puzzled gentleman. "Uh... I guess so..."

"Great! I just need you to tie a big ol' knot right in my middle."

"Well," says the gentleman. "I just so happens I was a former Eagle Scout. Here you go," and ties a perfect knot in the rope. "Will that be all?"

The rope pauses for a second and says, "Actually, could you pull apart my ends and unravel them for a bit?"

The gentleman obliges and goes on his merry way. The piece of rope, satisfied at its new appearance, heads back into the bar.

Furious, the bartender shouts, "HEY! Aren't you that same piece of rope I kicked out three times already?!?"

"No, I'm a frayed knot."

Backstory: Many years ago I was living on my own about 45 minutes away from my parents. I had a stable job but didn't make much money and was broke most of the time. I had an old beat up car that was my only form of transportation. I would always have mechanical issues with the car and finally one morning it decided it wouldn't start no matter what.

I sheepishly had to call in to work and explain the situation and let them know that I would have to take a sick day but would figure some way to get to work the next day. I called my dad and he offered to come pick the car up on his trailer and take it back to his garage to work on it and get it in shape to trade it in.

He drives to my apartment, we get the car on the trailer and we are headed back to his house. The whole ride there I'm pretty pissed off and depressed about the whole situation. I'm worried about finding a new car and how I'm going to afford it and what I'm gonna do if I can't get it running again.

Dad senses my mood and pretty much keeps quiet the whole time. We get about three blocks away from his house and he utters this gem.

"Man, this car won't get off my ass. He's been tailgating me for 45 minutes now."

This was the perfect thing to snap me out of my funk and break the tension. I absolutely lost it. Only a Dad Joke could make me realize how trivial the whole thing was. I have told this joke to others who didn't really think it was that funny, but to me at the time it was the greatest thing ever.

Thanks Dad.