Simply Red Puns

"Its going to rain soon" he said to his wife. "How could you possibly know that?" She asked. He simply replied, "Because Rudolph The Red knows rain, dear."

Rüdoff was one of the best fighters in his village and a terrifying opponent on the battlefield. He would often return from battle, so drenched in his opponent's blood that he became known as "Rüdoff det røde", meaning "the red".

After years of wars, and regular battles, Rüdoff finally grew old, and decided that his fighting days were behind him. He became the best farmer that his village had ever known and people would travel from.far away to ask him about his crops and to predict the weather, as he was quite proficient at it.

One morning he wokeup, and looked out the window, the skys were clear and the sun was shining, but Rüdoff could feel the pressure in his old bones and battle scars

"It will Rain soon", he said to his wife while she made breakfast. She glanced outside and told him he was nuts, it was bright and sunny.

He simply hiked up his pants and reminded her:

Rüdoff The Red knows rain, dear.

It was a brisk Saturday morning when Gerald arrived at “The Café,” a hip coffee shop right down the street. Wearing his large, burly black coat, he stared hesitantly at his watch. Thick glasses adorned his bright blue eyes, his gaze like starlight in a clear night sky. He was waiting, intently twiddling his thumbs. After a buzz of his phone, the message from Dad popped up: “Parking now, be there in 5.”

“Dad,” he whispered under his breath, swiping the message away to once again reveal the image on his lock-screen: a hazy picture of an ultrasound.

Gerald had not spoken to his father for three years. They had had a falling out, over which he did not remember. To him it was a competition of who could wait the longest without calling or sending a text. Who could wait the longest: him without a father, or his father without a son? The idea of friction in the relationship hurt like a thorn; piercing his soul more and more everyday. Until recently, out of the blue, “Dad” popped up on his phone. The rest is history. The rest leads to that Saturday morning, at The Café.

Bang! A car door rang out not too far from where Gerald stood. Gerald saw him. His father wore his tweed jacket like a coat of armor. His strut was now weaker than before they stopped talking; a weakness evident in his cane which supported every right step. His shortly trimmed white beard juxtaposed against his uncut, curly grey hair gave him the image of a wise wizard from a fairytale. He used to be that figure to Gerald, yet instead of a nice ancient being acting like a stone to keep him grounded, Gerald had felt as though his father was a rock pulling him deeper and deeper into a sea of monotony. Holding him back from his true potential. Maybe that was why he left? He still did not know.

“Hello, son,” came the withered voice Gerald had sook for so long, yet now that it had arrived wanted to avoid. “I can’t believe it’s been so long!”

“Yeah,” said Gerald, allowing a smile to grace his face. “Too long!”

Then they hugged, signifying a change in their relationship. Gerald had hoped something could happen to bring them closer together. He did not want to go on wondering what could have been. The regret and sadness weighed him down. Before starting a new family, Gerald wanted to be reacquainted with his own.

After finding their table and sitting down, the two began to discuss life. It was like old friends catching up after a long break. Although it took some time, Gerald began to warm u

One says it is raining, the other says it is simply a mist.

To settle their dispute, they stop and ask a guard outside the Kremlin for his opinion.

"Rudolph, please help us with this disagreement! Is it raining, or not?"

Rudolph replies, "It is raining."

"I knew we could depend on you, Comrade. You see," he says to his partner, "Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear."

While they are walking it starts to precipitate. The man insists that it is raining, but his wife, who has only ever lived further up north where it can only snow, thinks that it is some weird form of snow. They spend a few minutes trying to convince each other before the man says “let’s ask Officer Rudolf, he’s a very smart man!” So they stop and say “Officer Rudolf, is it raining or snowing?” Officer Rudolf confirms that it is raining, and the couple continues to stroll. Later the wife asks how he knew Officer Rudolf could answer them. The man simply replies, “because Rudolf the Red knows rain, dear.”

A little kid and his dad were walking past a shop one day when the kid spies a bright red tricycle in the store window. The kid starts to beg his dad for the it, saying that he never wanted anything more than that tricycle and that he would never be bad again. The dad simply asks the kid, "Can your dick touch your ass?". The kid, disarmed, just says "No." to his dad, who responds "Too bad, then." and continues walking.

A few years later, the kid (now a teenager) and his dad were driving past a motorcycle dealership. The kid takes one look at a beautiful Panhead sitting outside and begins begging his dad for the motorcycle. The dad just looks at his kid again and asks, "Can your dick touch your ass?". The kid, who had forgotten the tricycle until then, just responds with "No." His dad just chuckles and says "Too bad, then."

Fast forward another few years, the kid is now an adult coming home from his last year at college to see his folks. The first thing he does when he sees his dad is put on a great, big grin and ask him "Hey Pops! Can I get a Ferrari?". His dad, again, asks him "Can your dick touch your ass?", but this only makes the kid smile even wider. The kid responds with an enthusiastic "You betcha!", beaming right at his dad.

The dad just stares blankly at his son for a little while and tells him:

"Then you can go fuck yourself."

Picture this.

A fancy Christmas dinner party at his new wife's opulent, sandstone estate house. Plates are being cleared from the lengthy, mahogony table that seats the fourteen well-to-do guests, the main course having just finished. All have feasted gloriously on our Christmas fare.

My Dad, playing the good host, picks up two bottles of wine, one white and one red, and proceeds to do a round of the table, chatting amiably with everyone as he circles. Those whose glasses are less than 90% full, he proceeds to top-up. I am sitting in the very centre of the long table, seated directly opposite a very well off lady in her early sixties, by the name of Margaret. My dad, having just topped off my glass, is now standing directly behind me.

This older woman, full of grace and charm, looks to my Dad and says, "Thank you so much for this glorious meal, John. It's been simply divine."

My Dad, "Not at all, Margaret, not at all. Could I charge your glass?"

Margaret, "Oh, no no, thank you. I've got the bottle in front of me!"

My Dad, quick of wit, and with a sneaky - yet charming - grin on his face, responds, "Ah, well, better that than a frontal lobotomy!"

I've never been more proud of him.