The Howling Puns

A wolf...

I just added the cement to make it hard.

Make them stub their toe.

They crept in. It was pitch black and stone quiet. They were suddenly starting to regret this dare. Stupidly, only one brought a flash light. 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, not stopping to see what they were truly feasting on. They slammed the door behind them. Maybe a 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 saw a fully set dining table covered in cob webs. Dust-covered regal-looking glasses, goblets and silverware adorned the table. Spiders climbed on 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 hell, they knew, but none would turn back.

And the sound: "oOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUuuuuUUOOOO". Now loud enough to fill not only their heads but seeming to claw at their very souls!

Now at the basement door! The antique, crying squeak of the hinges eeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEee made the boys wince and almost cover their ears. But they had to know. WHAT is making that horrible, terrible sound?

"ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUoooooUUUUUUUOOOOOOO"

In the center of the basement lay an unholy coffin! A twisted artistic expression of murder, decay and

I can only think of "The bone wanderer", but what I had was better than that and I cant remember it. please make suggestions, and maybe it'll be close enough to spark my memory

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

Because he was a little horse.

Back a few decades, I was working in a program with a local college in the Middle East.

The name of the program for ExPats has the clever acronym of "IDEA" (hey, I said it was clever); which stands for "Inter-Departmental Educational Adjunct". It's interdepartmental because my particular specialty not only covers field geology but also paleontology and a bit of archeology thrown in for good measure. Everyone hopes to have a good IDEA...

ahem...

Well, we saddle up and head for the Dune Sea out in the west of the country, where the Precambrian, Cambrian, Silurian, Cretaceous, Pliocene, Pleistocene, and Holocene crop out and access is relatively easy and non-injurious.

Well, we caravan out, some 30 Land Cruisers, Nissan patrol, and the odd Mitsubishi Galloper strong. We all get our maps, compasses and split up into 5 or 6 special interest groups ("SIG's"); where each IDEA has his own GPS and LIDAR laser ranging apparatus. Reason being, that there are very few benchmarks out in the desert, and even those are constantly at the mercy of the shifting and ever-blowing sands.

Since we're split into groups and at any one time, ranging up to and including some 50 km2, when a real find is located, a device called the "DIME" (Digital-Interface Monitor Encoder) is attached and programmed into the GPS for location later; it is a digital sort of low-frequency transponder, developed from technology used by offshore drillers and jacket setters where benchmarks are even more transitory.

The way it works is rather simple. When something is to be marked for later retrieval, a series of wooden posts are pounded in a triangular manner around the find and the DIME is set, programmed with the GPS and attached to one or more of the posts.

That's the theory, at least.

Everything works well, especially all the hardened electronics and computer gizmos, but attaching the DIME to the stakes is the real problem. It can't be nailed, screwed or fastened with any sort of metal contrivance as that farkles the magnetic field and causes all sorts of goofy spurious signals. Zip ties don't last long in the heat and duct tape is right out. Many sites have been lost to the shifting sands this way.

Velcro doesn't work too well, as the sand fills the hooks of the receiving piece of velcro and soon renders it useless. String or fishing line work, but that's temporary (they melt). Glue or mastic are out as these are supposed to be temporary. Even plastic sleeves don't work due to the heat out

My family is notorious for bad puns, yesterday my wife and daughter, niece, parents were sitting having a nice bbq for lunch. My mom is telling us about how a friend of hers says that instead of cucumbers on your eyes for a facial, use mayonnaise on your face instead. To which I replied, "put some meat and lettuce and tomatoes on it also so you can have an open face sandwhich." The stunned look from my mom and howling from the rest of the table told me it was a new level of dad joke.

One howls on the prairie and the other prowls on the hairy.

You awake in a room, it is dark, you are sitting in a fold up chair. You look down and feel your belly, it is rumbling. You look to the wall behind you and turn on the light. You turn back around only to see 3 dozen Dads telling jokes to each other and howling in laughter. You push through the crowd until you find your own father. Once you find him you tell him you're hungry. Immediately every dad in the crowd looks at you and simultaneously chants four words, "Hi Hungry, I'm Dad".

The episode finished and my dad looked at me dead straight in the eye and said "Brilliant, although I think missie (our dog) would've enjoyed barking bad better" and started howling with laughter.

Jesus christ.

My Dad has thrown me some pretty good/bad dad jokes in his time... but yesterday he sat me down on the couch and started telling me about a frog who couldn't get a loan from the bank. He looked really concerned and it went something like this...

"... so this frog really just wants a loan, and decides to try one last time. He walks up to the teller, a Mrs Patricia Wak. P.W: Hello sir what can I do for you? F: I'm just after a $30,000 loan. Can you help P.W: Wow, that's a really large loan. What collateral do you have? F: Just this little toy elephant (pulls out from pocket) P.W: I'm afraid that's not going to secure the loan, sir. Do you have anything else? F: No P.W: Well them I'm afraid we can't help you

And the frog starts to well up and cry, he starts howling inconsolably and is an absolute mess F: You don't understand! I need this loan! Please, my name is Froggy Jagger. I come from a long line of Jaggers, my father Mick is good for the money now please help me! P.W: I'm sorry but a little toy elephant is never going to secure you... F: I want to see a manager!!

So Patricia Wak goes and gets her manager, and the frog tells the man about his need for a $30,000 loan. The manager agrees and pulls Patricia aside to explain why...

P.W: I don't understand this guy, what's the deal with the little elephant? M: It's a knick-knack, Patty Wak! Give the frog a loan! His old man's a rolling stone!

Dad then proceeded to slap his knee and laugh wildly while I stood up and walked away.

(I think this joke makes a lot more sense if you're an Australian...)

OK, this just happened: bumped head, bag of frozen veggies, < enter dad stage left (the doorway, stage right is a window, and it's shut).>

Me: what happened little man? Him: <he explains> Me: So... mummy peed on your head? <Wife smirks condescendingly> Him: what?

Now, this is what I need help with, it's not the first time this has happened either, the wife goes on for a minute or so explaining how "wee" is sometimes called "pee" and how I'm deliberately misunderstanding him for comic effect.

If this wasn't bad enough he then howls with laughter for about five minutes getting me to repeat what I said again and again, all the while jumping around in the bed and generally totally cured by my comedic genius.

This isn't the way it's meant to be, is it? Can I enrol in a local parenting class, or should I send my wife to couples therapy?

It's been a while since my first post, but its hard to remember all the dad jokes that fly around our assembly line after working all night. Anyway, on to the joke:

The 3 usual dads on my line (Paul, Kevin, and myself) were talking when were approached by John carrying a step ladder. "This is my step ladder. I never new my real ladder." Then walked away as we all howled with laughter.

Hopefully post can be more frequent. I have considered writing this stuff down.

Just discovered this awesome subreddit and have a dad joke that I heard while hanging out with my friend a while back. We're driving back to their house and the interaction went like this:

Friend: Hey dad, want to hear a joke?

Dad: Sure, hit me!

Friend: What did the Mexican firefighter name his two sons?

Dad: thinks to himself Phoenix and Scottsdale!

Friend: I-what? Phoenix and Scottsdale?

Dad: Yeah, you said his two sons! Tuscon, Arizona! Phoenix and Scottsdale!

He just howled with laughter while my friend kept calling him lame.

My father was quite the musician.

His favorite instrument was the saxophone.

Growing up, I’d hear him practice on it every night after work for hours upon hours.

One night, I heard an awful SCREECH and my Dad howled in pain.

"Dad, are you alright?!?"

"Don’t worry, son, it’s just a saxident."

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