The Best Men Can Be Puns

The neighboring store front and exterminator van in the opening credits have the best punny business names and always crack me up. I'm a fan and would love to name my business in a similar fashion. ETA Examples: I'd Hit That Boxing Gym. Lady and the Clamp, Hardware for Her. A Fridge Too Far. Cupid's Stupid, Divorce Attorneys. A Ton in the Oven, Big and Tall Baby Clothes. Let's Scissor! Collage Studio. Don't Stop Bereaving, Grief Counseling.

But I am So. Stuck.

A little background about my business idea: I'm a personal/sometimes virtual assistant specializing in household admin and management. I'm marketing mostly towards blue collar men who might be widows/divorcees who never had to worry about the general finances and household paperwork. Some of the services offered are: budget setting, bill paying, appointment setting/calendar management, travel arrangements, errands, personal & grocery shopping, pet & house sitting, etc...

I'm ready to take the next steps in making this an actual business and take out some ad space, but the perfectionist in me NEEDS a brilliant name. Can someone please help me? The best I can come up with is some sort of play on Pepper Potts, but I see quite a few VAs out there with that as a business name. I will gift a platinum to the one I like the best if that's appropriate.

Thank you in advance! 🍔

My best friend lives on the East Coast. I’m on the West. He often streams his games over Skype so I can hang out and watch. He was playing the Witcher 3, and fighting the water monster men. I said “They just want to know the shape of you,” and he coincidentally died at that moment.

He got really, really mad. I always knew my puns annoyed him a little, but when I was sad, he’d tell dumb puns he’d google to cheer me up. But he just went into a tangent on how much puns annoy him and how he doesn’t get that I keep doing them over and over again every day whenever I talk with him. Trying to stop or cut back on puns would be pretty difficult and make me sad; I love witty wordplay and commentary, and bottling it up feels awful. But apparently it really, really annoys him.

What should I do?

HI I’m Tim the turtle, yes a real turtle. And I would like to tell you the story of my best friend. I once had a friend by the name of Sam. Sam of course was a clam. A real live honest to goodness clam. He was my best buddy, but unfortunately he smoked and drank and ran around with loose women (and a few men). I was more of the goodie two shoes type. I never drank, never smoked, I didn’t even swear. But for some reason Sam and I were the best of friends. I guess you can say we were the epitome of opposites attracting. One day as we were hanging out walking along the beach Sam, after his fifth cigarette in a row, had a heart attack and died. I was heart broken. My best friend died right there in front of me and he never repented his evil ways. I was sure he would spend eternity in damnation. Sigh. Being the goodie two shoes type I was still extremely healthy well into my old age. I missed my friend terribly for many years. On his birthday I would host a party and invite his old stripper girlfriends and poker buddies around to relive stories. It was always a fun evening, but in the end left me more lonely than before. Eventually, my broken heart couldn’t stand it anymore and I too died. I was pleased to find that there was a heaven. Being an almost saint I was whisked directly past the line to the Pearly Gates to be greeted by St. Peter. A big grin erupted on his face and he came right around his desk to give me a great big hug. “Tim”, he said, “You have been such a good person back on earth that God has asked me to grant you any wish you would like before even entering heaven”. To say I was flabbergasted is an understatement. I thought for a minute, I guess God expected me to ask for more time on earth, but I knew what I really wanted to do was to visit with my old friend Sam. So I asked. Poor St. Peter didn’t know what to say. You know Sam is in Hell right? Well I knew that was a strong possibility so I wasn’t surprised. Peter excused himself for a while and went to check with the big guy himself. He was gone quite some time, but eventually he returned. Peter said my request was approved, but under a few conditions. First, I would have to carry a golden harp as a passport back into heaven. This harp could only be carried by a good soul so I couldn’t be replaced by a look alike demon. Second, I would have to return by midnight. God didn’t want me to face too much temptation. I agreed to these conditions and took the highway down to hell. (Nope n

So this group of Irish monks needs to make payments on their belfry, and they've begun to run out of money, so after racking their brains for a few nights, and trying everything they could to get some cash together, they decide to sell flowers to make money. For weeks they sell flowers, and it's going well. Too well in fact, they've begun to run the local florist, Patty O'Flannigan out of town. Well, a bit cheesed at the monks jumping in on his territory, he decides to confront them. He asks them to step off, politely, but they simply respond that, "That's no way to talk to men of God!", and throw him out of their monastery. For weeks this goes on, the monks selling flowers, and the florist getting more and more desperate to make them stop. Finally, he goes to Hugh Mactaggart, the biggest, baddest man in town -- he could get anyone to leave town -- so Patty decides he's the best way to get rid of the monks, gives him the rest of the money, and retires to bed, wary of the results. In the morning, a knock on his door reveals Mactaggart, offering a firm handshake and saying, "They shant be botherin' ya again Patty." The moral of the story is, Hugh, and only Hugh, can prevent florist friars.