Sorry We Missed You Puns

I'm quite the music history buff- always have been. My first inkling as a college student was to explore turning this into a career. So I found a music museum, wrote an impassioned essay, and somehow landed the 12-week internship.

When I got there, I met the curator, a woman named Rhonda. Like me, she had grown up enjoying music and always wanting to know more. Thanks to grants and donors' generosity, she had helped continue the museum's legacy of showcasing what might otherwise be lost to history.

The tradition of the museum had always been to let the interns work in the orchestral wing. My assignment in particular was the string section.

Now I didn't know a whole lot about the string family, but I saw some really fine specimens and decided we could perhaps tell a broader story about the progression of the instruments. And so I began studying.

After about a week of studying, I went to Rhonda and asked if we could do something different here. She was very receptive to the idea and introduced me to her assistant, Dr. Will. His PhD was in history, natch, but he still relished having everyone call him Doctor. It was funny.

Dr. Will helped me learn so much about how the family of instruments developed over time, their overall cultural footprint, etc.

Did you know a fiddle and a violin are the same thing? Did you know the viola family dates back to the 16th C.? Vivaldi wrote 25 cello concertos!

I dazzled visitors with tales of the Stradivarius, Amati and Guarneri families. I noted the increase in neck length over time. I reassured them that despite the name catgut, no cat intestines were used in the creation of these instruments—but it sure might be sheep or goat.

Sadly, 12 weeks goes by quickly when you're having fun, and I got enthusiastic letters of recommendation from Rhonda and Dr. Will, and I do miss them. Hello, you two.

I figured I could waltz (sorry) right in to more museum jobs later, but boy, was I mistaken.

I kept interviewing for the job, but after about the 10th cold shoulder, I had to find out what I was doing wrong. I had done such a good job, after all, right??????

So I fucking called the museum

got the guy who interviewed me on the line—and he wasn't thrilled to even talk to me. But I asked him, sir, why didn't I even get a call back? Weren't my qualifications good?

He said, yes, BUT.......

"...we simply can't hire someone who has exhibited a history of violins."

"Did I ever tell you about the asshole?"

"What?"

"Well, the asshole was at a meeting with all of the other body parts, and they were deciding who should be in charge of the whole body, right? So first, the brain says, 'C'mon, obviously I should be the boss. I do all of the decisions, thinking--why is this even a question?'

'Well, good luck doing all of the thinking if you can't see where you're going,' say the eyes. 'We should be in charge.'

'What good is it going to do seeing, if you can't get anywhere?' asked the legs.

'Well, without us, you'd have no oxygen,' said the lungs.

'Are you serious?' said the stomach. 'How are you supposed to process energy and do any of this stuff, without me??'

'Well, what about me?' piped up the asshole. 'I'm important too..'

'You?!?' laughed the other parts. 'Shut up, asshole!'

So the asshole went on strike.

A week and a half later, the brain couldn't think straight. The eyes couldn't focus, the legs were asleep from sitting on the pot, and the stomach was so jammed up full of crap that the lungs could barely breathe.

Finally, they all went to the asshole and said, 'Look, we're sorry, we're sorry!! Just come back to work, you can be in charge!'

...and that's why all bosses are assholes."

Miss ya, Pops.

Almost 10 years ago now when my daughter’s mom was pregnant with her—waddling miserably towards the tail-end of her third trimester and about ready to pop—she looked forlornly at her figure in the mirror one day and announced, “Omigod I’m as big as a house!”

And so I, the Rico Suave motherfucker that I am, popped my head up from the book I was reading on the bed and responded thusly without missing a beat:

“Well, baby girl, if you’re a house then you’re my dream home...”

I thought our relationship was my rock on which we would build one hundred stories, but there were termites in the foundation. Unfortunately she ultimately turned out to be a mobile home that couldn’t stay tethered to a single lot for more than a few years at a time as, a short time later, she up-and-skedaddled from our lives and has been a deadbeat mom to our little girl ever since. (My daughter and I built a beautiful, cozy little bungalow-for-two anyways.)

Anyway, does that qualify as a pun, or just an extended metaphor? If not, sorry, I just always thought that was a good line and I wanted to humble-brag a bit.

Daughter was born 8/17/15 (first child). When they put her in mom's arms we were both tearful. I counted her finger and toes then I touched her little ear... she suddenly winced at that and without missing a beat I said "oh no...sorry to earitate you." It was so natural.

Boss [9:10 AM] Sorry - missed everything yesterday. Apparently my Slack was frozen...

Me [9:24 AM] We just figured you were... slacking. YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! https://media.giphy.com/media/v9rfTQBNqdsSA/giphy.gif

(This joke just deserved a more catchy title, sorry for the mess.)

Every Tuesday growing up, we had German sausages and sauerkraut for dinner - my dad's favorite. Since I can remember, my dad has told this joke and never misses a chance telling it till this day:

"You know kids, it's not the sausage that makes you fat, it's the sauce!"

Both my younger sister and l looked at eachother, rolled our eyes and thought - why is he telling this joke every single time.. it doesnt make sense! There is no sauce here! Only fried sausages, sauerkraut and potatoes. In fact, where is the goddamn sauce, we could need it. This dish is dry as shit! My poor mom shrugged her shoulders, seemingly just as confused.

When i was about 11-12, I caught up on my dad's hinting and eye contact after the punch line.. he wanted me to get the joke so bad at this point lol. I had a moment, as they say. Oh... OOHH. BOOM. Omg the "SAUCE"!! From the sausage.. makes some people fat.. as in pregnant.. Mind. Blown.

My sister, around 8 at that time, had a few hundred more sausage dinners to "ketchup" ;) I'm not doing so bad myself, 'ey?

Edit: For the slow people out there, this joke is about sausage=penis, sauce=sperm and getting fat=pregnant. Did you have your moment too?? Admittingly, the joke works better in my native language, but you get the idea.

Note: Quality Very Varying (I see what I did there) and sometimes subject to specialist knowledge. So I apologise in advance. Shame me with your better puns.

While I was languishing in the Language Centre, doing some semantics antics and considering how all the other linguistics students despised and derided me, I was accosted by a stout man with large glasses who made me a preposition. It was that I should collect terrible puns, to do with linguistics, in order to ingratiate myself yet further with the other linguistics students (including even the phonetics fanatics).

I'm struggling to think of a pun to do with grammaticality that both makes sense and "Is grandma tickly?" correct. I'm also stuck on 'morphologician'. (I'm not actually sure that's a particularly logical word for the subject, though I guess that's more for, er, more for a logician to worry about.)

The problem I have with writing about phonological variation is that one is constantly forced to choose between being fun or logical - very Asian!I always get in trouble with electricians, they think I'm calling them a 'dialectician' whereas in fact I'm just saying "Die, electrician."

I like pscycholinguistics – the only department of linguistics where it’s acceptable to wear a cycle helmet. My Australian accent is terrible but I like to think my Sath Efrican one is predicate. My favourite accent is Received Pronunciation, because it is the accent chiefly used by invisible Japanese people who are ordered online. When the first recipient of an invisible Japanese person got the parcel, they wrote a complaint saying "Received but can't see Asian" and the name stuck.

Why did the speakers whose native languages weren't English, but whose only shared language was English, but they weren't very good at it and kept on having to stop to think about it, stop talking to one another? They came to an agreement. (Get it? If not, write your answer on a pastecard and paste it to the below address.)

What did the 'a' say to the 'the'? "You definitely are ticklish, 'the'!"

Why was the small man eaten by the large bear, which was proportionately bigger than him? It had, er, relative claws.

I think the reason there are so many speakers of Russian is because they all partake in an activity called "copulae shun". (Ok, ok, I know, that was Pushkin it.)

I know a man called Hillary who can, might, should, did, must, shall and will ride an ox. We call him "Ox Hillary".

I always think the verb 'to be' in the senten

At a function after graduation and the servers were bring around food. Server "would you like a Danish?" "no thank you, but I'll have a swede if they're going" - dad Poor girl didn't miss a beat. "sorry we're out of swedes at the moment"

If you go to one of those shops where they offer to "top off all your fluids" here's something you dads can use. Dad: calls auto shop Yea I'd like to call and complain Shop owner: Yes sir, what's the problem? Dad: Well, I put my car in your shop today and you offered to top off ALL my fluids. Well you didn't. Shop owner: I'm sorry sir, what did we miss? Dad: I still have half a tank of gas! So you didn't top off all my fluids! insert facepalm here