The Dead Heart Puns

Right after the guards turn out the lights in the block, it gets quiet for a second, then he hears a lone voice at the end say "27!" The whole block erupts in laughter. The new guy asks his cellmate what is going in.

The cellmate explained "The guards don't like us talking after lights out. But we love jokes. We know all the jokes by heart, so we number them. When one of us wants to tell a joke, one of us calls out the number and everyone gets a good laugh."

The new guy look skeptical, so the cellmate says "You can try it. You can call out any number, and we will know the joke." The new guys shrugs, then calls out "43!" The whole block meets him with dead silence, not a peep. The cellmate says "Well, I guess not everybody can tell a joke."

She says - God bless mommy and god bless daddy and god bless grandma and... goodbye grandpa. He asks her - why did you say that? I don't know, I just felt like saying it. The next day, grandpa drops dead. Wow, thinks dad, that's an odd coincidence. A month later at bedtime, the daughter says - God bless mommy and daddy. And goodbye grandma. Sure enough, the next day grandma breathes her last earthly breath. The dad realizes this is more than a coincidence, but he is not sure what to do. He doesn't want to disturb his wife by telling her (Grandma and grandpa were her parents). Months go by and one night the man is listening to his daughter saying her prayers at bedtime - God bless mommy....she turns her head and looks straight at him - and goodbye daddy. What!? are you sure honey? She nods. The man's heart begins racing and he breaks out in a sweat. He is so upset, he can't sleep at all that night. The next day he goes off to work, but locks himself in his office. He takes the phone off the hook, cancels all his meetings and awaits the inevitable. He stays at work past 5 because he feels secure there. He watches the hours tick by. Finally it is midnight and, drenched in sweat, he realizes he has cheated death. He drives home drenched in sweat and with all his nerves frazzled. His wife is up and waiting for him - Where the hell were you today??! He replies - Don't shout, I've had an absolutely miserable day. His wife then says - You had a miserable day? I'm the one who had a miserable day! First, the milkman drops dead on the steps...

They snuck from their beds in the middle of the night and met in the gloomy darkness in front of the house, shivering in the cold.

The first boy said in a loud whisper, "You guys bring anything?" He slid a gun out of his pocket. The second boy nodded and revealed a knife. The third boy pulled out a flashlight.

"You didn't bring a weapon?" the first boy asked. He shrugged and replied, "Sorry". And as if to prove it, he turned his pockets out to show nothing but stray lint and a pack of cough drops.

They crept in. The door shut behind them. It was pitch black and stone quiet. They were suddenly starting to regret this dare. The flash light clicked on. The aggressive darkness and inky black yielded with grudging compliance but always seeming to push back. They moved cautiously onward amid the dust and cobwebs. The floor creaked. They breathed in tight, quick breaths. You could hear a pin drop.

Suddenly, there was a deep moan. "OOOOOOOOUUUUU". It seemed from below them. The house had been abandoned for years. Who or what could make such a sound? The boys looked at each other, but continued on, hearts pounding in their chests.

As they proceeded into the kitchen they encountered a swarm of flies. Buzzing and beating their necks and faces, they rushed and stumbled to the door on the other side, not stopping to see what they were truly feasting on. They slammed the door behind them. Maybe a dead body? But no way were they going back to find out. And again came the sound, "ooooOOOOOooooOOUUU" but louder this time, and closer.

They proceeded through the dark into the dining room. They found a fully set, ornate dining table covered in cob webs. Dust-covered regal goblets, pitchers and silverware adorned the table. Spiders crept over ivory plates. Clearly a house of privilege and set for a grand feast which never happened.

Or, perhaps, met a fatal end?

They pushed on. But again that unearthly howl.

"oooooOOOOOOOOOOOUuuuuUUUUuuUUOOOOooo".

They found the basement staircase, and from below, the sounds seemed to be emanating. Could they proceed? Would they? Did they dare? Two of the boys looked at each other, faces filled with worry.

But the third said confidently, "We're going down there." Not wanting to seem the weaker, the other two boys steeled themselves and nodded.

The stairs creaked and groaned evily under their feet. The rickety banister shook in angry defiance. Insects and vermin scattered underneath them with every step. They were descending into hel

"Hi hungry, I'm-"

son shoots him in the heart before he can finish the awful line

with his dying breath "Hi hungry, I'm dead!"

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 was sitting in my room playing with my dog, his name is Buster. My dog was being hyper while getting used to his new home.

My dad walks in and starts telling me about when he was my age and got a new dog.

( Insert sad music from the world's smallest violin here )

Dad: "When I was your age, my dad got me a pooch. His name was Rocket. I got him when he was around 4 years old, so he was pretty big. One day, I was working on my dad's truck and had a bucket of old gas sitting next to me. Rocket was outside playing around, being himself and came up to me. I slid back under the truck and heard some gulping sounds. I look over and see Rocket drinking big gulps of the gasoline. I screamed at him," Rocket No! You don't drink that!" Then he backed up, stumbling. I felt my heart sink to my stomach, I knew something was wrong with him. He took off running around the house. He ran around the house 2-3 times. Then he just fell over.."

Me: "Dead!?"

Dad: "Nah, he just ran out of gas."

Fuck off, Dad.

Dad: A lot of people have heart attacks over Christmas, I hope the funeral home isn't too busy.

Me: It's probably dead.

Dad: I'm worried they're running a skeleton crew.

Paul has a shitty life, his wife constantly berates him, his job sucks, his boss is a bully, his car is a shitty 85 ford pinto with a cracked windshield and is in bad need of a new transmission and to top it all off he's chubby, balding, and he has a small penis.

The only thing good in Paul's life is his friend Artie. Artie isn't the brightest bulb in the world, but he's always been there for Paul in the tough times. On October 5, 1953 Artie stood up for Paul against his bully in 7th grade. Artie got his ass handed to him at that time, but so did Paul. That incident resulted in a life long friendship. Paul and Artie went to the same High School together. They traveled around Europe that one summer in college. Artie was Paul's best man at his wedding. Everyone thought speech Artie gave was terrible, But Paul loved it Artie was his best friend.

Artie's life wasn't much better either, he never had the smarts for that great Job. In fact he was stuck in a dead end job as a construction labourer. Artie's car was pretty shitty too. Artie never married, but he was happy in the knowledge that at least he didn't end up with Paul's shitty wife.

For Paul's 46th birthday Artie was pretty broke, so all he could get his friend was a single lottery ticket. Artie being the sentimental guy that he was picked the date of the start of their friendship, and their respective ages (46, 45). Paul loved the present, and thought that the two of them should go to the Legion that friday to split a round of beers and listen to them call out the numbers.

On Friday they are both sitting there at the Legion having a laugh over a couple of beers when the cute lottery girl comes on the t.v. to read out the numbers. Paul pulls out the ticket and spreads it out on the beer stained table in front of them. The lottery girl starts reading out the numbers, 45, 10, 05. Both of Paul and Artie's hearts start beating, thats 200$ already. 53, Holy crap thats like a 10, 000 ticket. They both start losing their shit. 46....... Paul feints. He just won the jackpot. 37million dollars.

Two minutes later Artie finally revives Paul. Paul and Artie celebrate the night away, buy round after round for the people at the Legion and get absolutely shittered. They close out the bar and as the ugly lights come on they stumble blitzed, singing, onto the street arm in arm with the winning lottery ticket in hand and start the long walk back to Paul's place.

Halfway home, Paul comes to two drunken