Pointing finger Puns

He said "Nope, just counting the seats".

he calmly responded "don't point that...IT HAS A NAIL!"

I said “I sure hope it works, or we’ll have to take a longer route!”

My two year old pointed across the street and asked, “what’s that?”

I tried to guess and he is often trying to learn the names of things. “A tree? A car? Grass? A bird?”

No to all of them.

Then he said, “it’s a finger.”

I got dad joked by my two year old.

On the other hand i am ok

I was playing my Sonata so fast today, I almost BAROQUE one of my fingers. What? Too much to HANDEL for you? I would have thought that was imPACHELBEL. I should really be making a LISZT of these, or maybe I should just TELEMANN. Is this making you STRAUSSed out? No point in HAYDN from it.

So when I was younger, me and a couple of friends went on a little trip to the beach. We had a lot of fun there swimming around, making a campfire, all that jazz. Some of us wanted to build sandcastles and get em as high as we could so we could pretend we were knights protecting them.

So some kids started running around being annoying and destroying the sand castles and it got to the point where one of my friends got so protective of his castle, he started punching anyone who even got close. You know how kids are, the other ones got closer and were like “we arent even touching it, calm down!” but he wasnt having any of that so he drew a line in the sand and said “if you step over this line, i WILL punch you..”

that was the punch line >insert finger guns<

"Because it's mine."

^^Not ^^my ^^dad ^^but ^^I'm ^^still ^^in ^^agonizing ^^pain ^^over ^^this ^^joke

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 can always count on them.

...is that nobody points the finger at you.

Something bad is about to happen, I can feel it.

British Pounds

The other night- My son (1 yo) picking up the Xbox Kinect My wife: put that down! Me: awwwww he’s trying to “Kinect” with us! My wife to me: (pointing finger at the door) Get out now!

...but I don't like to point fingers...

Me: What's your favorite movie, Dad?

Dad: Old habits.

Me: What kind of movie is that????? Old habi—?

Dad: Die Hard (points double finger guns) pewpew

It's the end of the Kindergarten year, and for all the kindergartners to graduate to first grade they all have to take a simple test.

The teacher walks up to the first kid and goes "Okay Jimmy. To graduate we have to name a few simple body parts. Where are your fingers?"

Jimmy wiggles his fingers.

"Good. Where are your knees?"

Jimmy points to his knees

"Very good. Last question. Where is your nose?"

Jimmy points to his nose

"Very good! How did you know all that?"

Jimmy points to his head and says, "Kidneys"

A Call to Arms A Plead to the Limbless

The Armless are a stump among society and could easily achieve more. It’s bothersome that somebody with great potential could allow themselves to lose grip of what they aspire for. The radius of support and development that surrounds these people is astounding. Yet they bite the hand that feeds and throw away opportunities. With each passing day they are crippled by the errors in their ways. Not only are they not properly handling the situation, they are doing a disservice to society. Most will say to refrain from pointing fingers, but it is pertinent that we show them their faults.
All aside we should most certainly not try to elbow my way into their lives. However, if they were to branch off into their own progressive groups it would be most beneficial. And severance is a good thing between them and the public. This doesn't mean a complete amputation of them from society. Perhaps selective assistance will help these people find a well fitted sleeve within their communities. This process is difficult and lending a helping hand can make the difference. On the other hand, we have those who don’t try to succeed. Their negligence is worthy of more than a mere slap on the wrist. When somebody refuses to apply themselves, they are holding back progress. By giving themselves mental limitation they are creating a prosthetic disability they must abide by. The majority of working to achieve goals is believing you can reach out and grab them. But, somebody who gives up is cutting themselves short of success Seeing somebody give up is the furthest thing from being humerus. Urging these people is a necessity, otherwise they will never try their hardest, encourage them to use some elbow grease and put forth full effort. Any small contribution is better than being a detriment, community service, obtaining greater education, enlisting in the armed forces, these all benefit society. Drastic changes of this scale are sure to cause discontent, grab a tissue if need be, but never give up. For all those that are currently wasting away without contribution, it's time to limb’er up and take charge.

lecture about US political culture

Prof: You guys like magic

Class: Yeah!

Prof: Okay I need a volunteer

I raised my hand so he picked me

Prof: Okay pull out a dollar bill and point out the wings of the bald eagle

I do

Prof: Okay I want you to fold the bill 3 times long ways then hand it to me

i fold it then hand it to him

Prof: You can still see the wings right? okay I am now going to fold it sideways into 3rds then I want you to hold out 3 fingers with your palm up

he places the folded bill onto my fingers with the center third flat on my hand

Prof: now say wing 3 times

Me: Wing wing wing

prof picks up the bill and holds it up to his ear

Prof: Hello?? This is Professor Frank, who is this?

The whole class couldn't stop laughing for like 10 minutes xD

With his finger, he says "Look at that! Look at that!," so obviously his soon-to-be victim looks at where he's pointing, but then my dad says "No, look at my finger!"

And on the way back, my son and I tortillaed through three bags of family size Doritos.

We would have pointed fingers at one another, but they were already in our mouths. Sucky situation, I know.

I turned the car around and said, "Son, now our mission is snackfued."

Salty from our spell of bad luck, we licked our lips and hightailed it back to Walgreens. I sent a MSG to my wife to tell her about the crunch we were in.

Many of our guests had already arrived when we finally returned, holding up our carb-earned trophies.

It was then that my son's friend complimented our modest country estate: "Cool Ranch!"

So I just realized that my "epic" theatre joke is also a dadjoke.

Now this requires some explaining before I get to the joke. I just completed my 55th theatre production - mostly community theatre; most designing and running sound, but I get on stage sometimes. A decade or so ago, I came up with a terrible pun. Told it, got groans, and promptly forgot about it.

A production or two later, someone said - "Hey, aren't you going to tell your joke?" It took a little prompting to remind me of it. Once I was reminded, I told the joke - to more groans.

I enjoyed the groans so much - and was touched that someone remembered the joke that I'd forgotten. So I did decide it was going to forevermore be: THE JOKE.

So the NEXT production, I started warning people that "The Joke" was coming. One or two remembered the previous time I'd told it, and reacted - "Oh god. Please no."

So now it has truly become a thing. Every production I'm in, I start reminding people that The Joke is coming, and the reactions from those who know the joke really help set up the anticipation.

So finally it happens. Most theatre productions I've been in run Fri-Sat-Sun performances. And thus, as I explain, I can only tell The Joke after the last Friday night's performance ends, and before the last Saturday's performance begins. It shifts if the days are different because The Joke depends on the number of remaining shows.

So, finally that time period comes, and I explain that I can only tell the joke during that time period, only the once per production - from auditions to strike - and that we're in that period of time.... which is known as.... the "cancer period". AND would you like to know WHY this period of time is known as the "cancer period"?

(at which point the tension for the punchline is usually quite palpable)

"Because we have...... TUMOR!" (as I hold up two fingers).

This is usually followed by shouts to "GET OUT!" and threats of violence against my person. hehehe

And the NEXT time, when I start warning that "The Joke" is coming, most of these groan "Oh god... no...." and helps set it up for the next poor bunch of folks who haven't yet heard it. :)

(Context: I drink a lot of tea)

family member puts kettle on

Me: hey (family member), can you make me a cup of tea please.

(Family member): points magic fingers at me ZZZAP, you're a cup of tea!!!

Dad: Hey look![points at any general direction] Me: What? Dad: My finger! ....every fucking time

on the merry-go-round. Before the ride started, they began bickering.

I spun on my horse, pointed my finger at the kids and said in a very loud voice.

"Don't make me turn this carousel around!"

They got quiet. Actually, everyone got quiet.

I went on vacation in highschool with one of my good friends and his Dad and another friend, who is basically the coolest fucking guy you'll ever meet (We call him Cool Daddy Mike). Its not so much a dad joke, more just a fucked up joke my friend's Dad told me, but on our way down to Florida from Ohio, we stopped halfway there to stay in a hotel and finish the drive the next day. Since it was just 4 of us for 1 night we only got one room with 2 king sized beds. When we got to the room his dad looked at me and said "If you woke up one morning with a condom hanging out of your ass, would you tell anyone?" I of course said no I would not. He then said "Well alright looks like we are sharing a bed tonight" and points two finger guns at me. It may seem fucked up but if you knew his dad like we all did, you would have died laughing with us. (Just to clarify I did not get sexually assaulted in my sleep by my friend's dad)

Wife: something about being hungry enough to eat her hand.

Me: So, you want finger foods?

As we're leaving the department store I point to the mannequins, "Psh, working stiffs"

She cracks up. Made me smile.

I only got to see my grandpa on my mom's side about once a year usually growing up, but there was always one common factor of each visit.

At some point during the catching up conversations, Pa (what we called him) would get a real dejected look on his face. Then he'd face my mom:

"Oh Vicky... guess who died?"-Pa

"Oh no... Who?"-Mom

"Elvis." -Pa

He'd then giggle, finger fun, and slap his thigh. Every. Single. Year.

I have a feeling he used that one for the better part of 40 years.

My sister has a friend called Alexis and she came up in a conversation over breakfast. My brother said "I like Alexis" (as in, she's a good kid) and I said "I think we'd all like a lexus." I then proceeded to point my fingers and make a 'get it?' face. Cue groans.

My friend- "... That's a good point."

My friend's dad -" No, that's a good point! "

Points finger in the air until everyone groans.

But on the other hand im fine

Dad: "Do you know what this is?" as he points at a car. Me: "A car" Dad: "Nope, it's my finger"

"...but I don't like to point fingers."