I only wanted to rough him up a bit.
Because no one expects the Spanish ink precision!
It was a JIVE turkey!
True story.
My son was excitedly telling us about his minecraft airfield that he was building, and he explained that, among many other details that my brain ignored, he made the runway out of wool. Other son asked why. I was very excited to tell him that it was because asphalt was expensive, and wool was sheep.
Arson is so hot right now
... when he noticed that every shoot growing put of the ground was a four leaf shamrock. There were millions of them, spread out along both banks.
Being superstitious, the man assumed the place must be somehow imbued with an extraordinary amount of luck.
He sought out the owner of the land, and promptly bought it, spending everything he had to do so.
His plan was to build a small house at the site and thereby ensure he would be surrounded by good fortune for the rest of his life.
Sadly, while lifting smooth river stones to create the foundation of his dream home, he slipped on some mud, hit his head on a stone, was knocked unconscious, tumbled into the water, and drowned.
This conclusively proved to the townsfolk, that the location was not lucky at all.
The moral of this story?
Don't judge a brook by it's clover.
In other words, a pedi-file.
Sails are through the roof.
Because everyone loves smooth saline!
He whispered to his date, “I have toupeé.”
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
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He just stands there applauding and saying “Ooh, I love how smooth it is”
I got a way with words.
In my defence I only intended to rough him up a little bit
But every time I bring it up, she changes the topic.
It’s a running joke.
It a sure way to get my mellow tones in.
Because you might spread it.
They’re margarinely funny.
All the files were deleted.
I stopped because I wasnt feeling it.
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
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It has a lot of mellow tonin’.
WMD-40
Waiter; Sir, you are drinking 7up.
Confused shrug in response
"Because Ubisoft"
He loved Filing.
Cuz he had metal health problems
She xxx-foliates.
There was hell toupee.
I said, “That’s completely pointless.”
There’s two astronauts on a shuttle. It’s going smoothly when one astronaut noticed something wrong with the engine. He turns to the other and says “Hey, something seems to be wrong with the engine. You think this could be fatal?” The other astronaut replies:
“As tro hope naut.”
I didn't mean too. All I wanted to do was rough him up a bit.
Everyone loves smooth saline!
But every time I bring it up, she smoothly changes the topic.
