The Mercy Puns

No quarters.

It turned out to be koala dung left when they hang in the trees at night. When I requested a tea sieve the waiter replied, "The Koala teas of Mercy are never strained".

But it was only temporary.

(I see that image posts aren't allowed in this sub but gosh darn it, I earned this one. I throw myself on your mercy, mods.)
(Edit: Amazing, thank you for the silver, gold, and the platinum reward of Reddit: long self referential chains of bad jokes.)

No merci.

Sorry for the double post. Thought of a better wording.

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

A man in Australia took a train to the town of Mercy, where he heard there was a coffee shop that served drinks named after Australian animals. When he arrived, he decided to try the Koala Tea. He received his order quickly, which turned out to basically be a cup of hot water filled with whole eucalyptus leaves.

The man asked the barista, "Excuse me, there seems to be a lot of loose leaves in my tea."

The barista replied, "Yes, sir, the Koala Tea of Mercy is not strained."

There was a bad hurricane coming and the farmer gathered all the cows to put in the barn. The young bull refused to go, and the farmer was forced to leave him in the field. The hurricane came and the bull just leaned into the wind and weaved around. The storm mercifully let up after some damage to the barn and other buildings. The cows were very concerned for the young bull and ran out to the field to check on him. One of the older cows asked the young bull why he stayed outside in the storm weaving etc? "We bulls wobble, but we don't fall down" was the reply.

I have a theory

That you must tell no one,

About the way

That dads make a pun.

It all starts out

With an underground meeting:

7:30 on Mondays,

With limited seating.

They talk and converse

To say their new jokes,

Like

"I'm all out of whites,

But got plenty of yokes!"

From there they spread

To dads far and wide,

For use on their kids,

All mercy aside.

There's no way to stop it,

Believe me, I've tried.

The only thing that can help

Is to plug your ears, and hide.