Possession Puns

I mean how low can you go?

It means the world to me.

Don't worry, he's getting the help he needs. He's already checked into Rehabba-dabba-doo!

They said he was carrying weapons of math instruction, and was a member of the Alge-bra movement.

In hindsight, the small pupils were a dead giveaway...

Remember, never tell anyone your soulcial security number

The executioner. He was always stoning people.

No matter what, he wouldn't let his Ringo

It'll make your head spin.

The CIA had changed its recruiting practices, what with all the recent leaks and other problems. So Mr. Johnson was more than a little surprised to see a pine tree, which was dressed in a rather nice suit, waiting outside his office when he arrived at 9 am. He asked his secretary, "Gladys, who is this?"

"Mr. Johnson, this is Mr. Cone, our newest hire. He wanted to talk with you about the Honduras assignment."

Mr. Johnson spoke to Mr. Cone in his office. His new pine tree colleague was very knowledgeable and well-spoken, but there was something about him that threw Mr. Johnson off. He tried to dismiss his concerns as imaginary, but it gnawed at him all through the morning. He barely touched his lunch, as some of the things Mr. Cone had said were still swirling around and around in his mind. He was sure something was wrong, so he went in to see the head of their office branch, Mr. Smith.

"Johnson! Come right in, come right in," said Mr. Smith, puffing on a cigar. Mr. Johnson poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and sipped at it nervously.

"You're being rather quiet today, Johnson. Tell me, what's troubling you?"

"It's just this new guy, Mr. Cone," Mr. Johnson said carefully, staring at the bottom of his whiskey glass. "Are we sure we know him as well as we think we do?"

Mr. Smith took only a small puff from his cigar before letting his hand rest back on his desk. "Now really, Johnson," he sighed, "you're a good agent. Your caution has served you well in the past, but paranoia doesn't look so good on you. Mr. Cone has the most impressive resumé I've seen come across my desk in the last fifteen years. I've personally had him vetted by the best men in the business. He's going to be an asset to this office."

That was the response Mr. Johnson had been afraid of getting, but he continued to press his cause. "I understand that, sir. It's just that I'm getting the strangest feeling from this Cone fellow. Don't you think he's a little too perfect? A little too well-qualified?"

Mr. Smith stopped smoking his cigar altogether. A distant look came into his eyes as he mulled over the possibilities. "You don't suppose--"

"Yes," said Mr. Johnson, "I think he's a plant."

Note: I'm a mom, not a dad, but I'm pretty sure I only thought of this because my father-in-law tortures me with these kinds of stories almost constantly.

He exorcises

Friend: who?

Me: [narrows eyes]

It became a poultrygeist and laid deviled eggs. They had to bring in a priest for an eggsorcism.

He wanted to appear in Corporeal form!

He's the possessive type.

Deviled eggs

The last one was too possessive.

They took one of their prized possessions—The Star of The Empire, one of the worlds largest diamonds—to a famous yet discreet pawn shop outside of Las Vegas to ask for a loan.

The pawnbroker said "So I talked to my buddy who is an expert in diamonds to get his opinion. I can give you $200,000 for it."

Prince Harry said "You must be joking, I had this appraised at nearly 2 million pounds! Don't you know who I am, I'm a prince! My mother is Queen of The United Kingdom, Elizabeth II!!"

The pawnbroker said "$200k, take it or leave it. When you wish to pawn a star, makes no difference who you are..."

I responded that nudists are defined by their lack of jeans

Edit: there->their

Edit 2: Awards? Wow! I'd like to thank the Academy, the community, my wife, and the man who made this post possible, my father in law!

Me: possession IS 9/10 of the law

Child: I’m hungry and I want a toy and I’m not going to nap today and-

Demon: 𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔩𝔴𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰?

Me: it’s legally your problem now

Illegal possession of drugs.

I’m sure it’s saucer ‘E’.

Spook-key

I could use some exorcise.

But he did write a book titled "Mine Cough".

Son: Who?

Dad: mhmm guess we found out.

A polter-goose

They were amazing at possessing the ball.

*My son's joke. I'm so proud.

Who?

That's the thing we-

It's based on achoo story.

The First man says: I committed 2nd degree murder

The Second says: I committed: 1st degree assault

The Third says: I committed 1st degree possession of drugs

The Fourth man simply says: Arson

The Second man asks him: What degree was it?

The Fourth man responds: I'm not sure, it was pretty hot though. About 525 Celsius-ish

Because possession is 9/10ths of the law.

It was tired of being a nobody.

So her demons would exercise themselves.

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

But I’m not really into the possessive type.

(My brother‘s joke not mine)

Me: who

They’re too possessive

Son: who?

Me: found it!

Friend: who? Me: [narrows eyes]

So many ours.