Guitar tuna
Sorry, this is really bad even by dad joke standards.
She is a Rebel without a Claus.
Desperate survivors are forced to live in a post-alpaca lip tick wasteland.
They needed to bring on the Sub early.
“They didn’t have any seafood there!”
Does that make one "intonational?"
But I fell and now am in a very sticky situation...
I know this will resin-ate with many of you out there.
We call this high coo.
There isn’t another soul on the street.
Suddenly, from out of the gloom, comes an ominous bump...bump…bump.
He looks behind him and spots a furtive, shadowy thing coming down the street after him.
Unnerved, he picks up his pace, finally breaking into a panicked run.
He looks behind him again, and the shadow is closer.
Bump…bump…bump.
The glow of a streetlight illuminates the shadow momentarily, and, to the man’s horror, it is a coffin, bumping down the sidewalk.
He quickens his pace, running as fast as he can go, but the coffin only pursues more quickly.
BUMP…BUMP…BUMP!
He reaches his house, fumbles frantically for his keys, and slips in the door just as the coffin reaches his front steps.
He slams the door and leans against it, catching his breath.
Bump…bump…bump.
There is a moment’s silence, and the man wonders if he dares to breathe.
Suddenly…. Bump…bump…bump…Bump…
BUMP! BUMP!
BUMPBUMPBUMPCRAAAAASH!!!!
He rebounds away as the door breaks off its hinges.
Scrambling to his feet, he charges up the stairs, and the coffin races after.
BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP!
Terrified, he backs into a corner and starts throwing everything within reach at the coffin — a handful of papers, a vase, a box of crackers, a lamp — but the coffin keeps coming!
BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP INCHESFROMHISFACE, and nothing seems to slow it down!
His hands fall upon a bottle of cough syrup, and he throws that at the coffin, too!
The coffin stops.
Me: I can't believe I have to memorize the entire Gettysburg Address by tomorrow.
Dad: Make sure you don't forget the zipcode!
Me: -_____-
" Great, now we can be putt buddies!"
