Perfectly Clear Puns

I've two bulls who just love to fight //
they simply cannot be polite //
Just one needs to breed //
and so I'll proceed //
to castrate the weak one tonight

The procedure is safe, I insist //
if we make the blood flow desist //
to make bleeding halt //
do the "ball somersault" //
and give that whole sack a huge twist

To do this requires no skill //
I'll just need a quite large power-drill //
and a specialized clamp //
to hold on to that champ //
then turn it on fast- what a thrill!

It is clear this device should appeal //
to those who need bulls with less zeal //
I shall name this device //
with a drill and a vise //
the most perfect of names: "Steering Wheel!"

There was, for instance, the time he conducted a crew of new S.A.R.H. (Society for the Aesthetic Rearrangement of History -BJ) recruits – all from late twentieth-century Terra – on a training study of Carter’s World, a newly established agricultural colony attempting to support itself by the export of edible nuts. Barely into their second generation, and having yet to show a profit, the colonists were technologically backward. Nevertheless, they showed a surprising ingenuity in the use of their few advantages. It was this resourcefulness that Feghoot was demonstrating to his rookies.

“Look at the perfection with which these streets are graded”, exclaimed one student. “Earth-moving machinery on this scale is strictly high technology stuff. How can they do it?”

“A new alleyway is being constructed, nearby”, said Feghoot. “Let us walk that way while I explain.” As they strolled, he told his students that countless centuries before, the Carter’s World system had been inhabited by a now-vanished race of giants. This very planet had served them for a nursery, and among the many artifacts they had left were thousands of childrens blocks, immense and precision-cut. You simply jack one up onto logs, bring it where you want it, put collapsible jacks underneath, snake out the logs, spread soil more or less evenly beneath, and collapse the jacks.

“I see”, said the student. “It’s not graded road at all; its a simple hammered-earth base.”

“That’s right,” Feghoot went on smoothly. “You just hit the road jack and don’t come back no mo.”

His students registered dismay and anguish.

“Isn’t that right, old-timer?,” Feghoot demanded of an ancient Carterian standing by the mouth of the newly completed alley they had just reached.

“Ahm afraid not, suh”, said the senior citizen, and the students giggled at Feghoots discomfiture. “Oh, we used to do it that way, but it was far too much trouble. It’s the soil heah. You see, the very same soil which produced our famous cashews is so high in clay content that a child could roll out a road of it. Then, we simply use a system of lenses to bake it into hardness. Ahve just completed this alley mahself, and ahm just a retired professor of Sports History, much too old and feeble to handle hydraulic jacks.

“So you see,” he finished, eyes twinkling, “Mah hammered alley is really cashews clay.”

Howls of agony rose from the students, but Feghoot never hesitated. “And he”, he said, turning to his students, “is clearly the gradi

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

I think I've made it perfectly clear.

Because 20/20 vision means you have perfectly good sight.

Pun on a pun: I wonder if RealClearPolitics.com will catch on.

She said, "What do you mean? It's perfectly clear." Pointing down I said, "I can only see four feet in front of us."

Got a pretty good groan out of that one...

Surrounded by his family.

Trying to extract some final wisdoms from him and keep him company in his final days, his son asks "What's the part of your life that sticks out to you most Dad?"

He responds "I can perfectly remember my youth. Those summer days fifty years ago seem in my mind to be as clear and perfect as this moment now."

His son exclaims "Wow, fifty years! Your memory was always so impressive, even in your old age pop"

"But of course" his dad says back, "hindsight is 2020"

Had a perfect opportunity to tell a dad joke at work today.

There was a "garage sale" to clear out old stock of company branded clothing. I walked in, intending to buy a shirt or jacket. When I saw the table, which was almost empty I said,

"I understand you're selling garages. I need a new one, and would like to purchase your finest garage."

The person manning the table replied back,

"Oh, I'm sorry. But we're all sold out."

I threw up my arms and said "WELL that's false advertising! You shouldn't advertise garages for sale if you don't have any!"

and I walked out of the room and went back to work.

I approached my father, who was obviously preparing for a ride on his clearly dad-bike, by strapping a lunchbox full of granola bars to the frame, and spoke the words that perfectly set myself up for a dad-joke attack. I asked, "Going for a bike ride?" Boom. Total mistake. "Nope, just taking it for a walk. "