Sorrow Puns

Barman says ‘why you crying?’ He says ‘a bus containing 30 Karens went over a cliff’ Barman says ‘so why you crying?’ He says; ‘there was 5 empty seats!’

What did the bald man exclaim when he had recieved a comb for a present?

Thanks, I'll never part with it.

I couldn't find my voice, I stuttered, " I, I-i, I—I, I'L" I was at a loss for words

The space bar.

I took it back because I felt sorrowful, grieved, contrite, apologetic, regretful, and remorse

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 picked it up and she said sorrowfully, "I didn't make the plane."

"That's fine, honey," I replied. "You know nothing about construction."

Then, I saw an envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow.

It was addressed, 'Dad'.

With the worst premonition, I opened the envelope and read the letter, with trembling hands:

"Dear, Dad.

It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm writing you.

I had to elope with my new girlfriend, because I wanted to avoid a scene with Mom and you.

I've been finding real passion with Stacy.

She is so nice, but I knew you would not approve of her because of all her piercing's, tattoos, her tight motorcycle clothes and because she is so much older than I am.

But it's not only the passion, Dad.

She's pregnant.

Stacy said that we will be very happy.

She owns a trailer in the woods, and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter.

We share a dream of having many more children.

Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn't really hurt anyone.

We'll be growing it for ourselves and trading it with the other people in the commune for all the cocaine and ecstasy we want.

In the meantime, we'll pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so that Stacy can get better.

She sure deserves it!

Don't worry Dad, I'm 15, and I know how to take care of myself.

Someday, I'm sure we'll be back to visit so you can get to know your many grandchildren.

Love, your son, Joshua.

P.S. Dad, none of the above is true.

I'm over at Jason's house.

I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than the school report that's on the kitchen table.

Call when it is safe for me to come home!"

I have no words to express my sorrow