The Sound of Heart Puns

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

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.

(We are from Montana.)

Montana and North Dakota are in the middle of a war. The NDs have amassed a huge army and are about to march over a hill to invade MT. The commander of the ND army decides to send out a couple of scouts to see if the way is clear. Almost immediately after the two scouts disappear over the top of the hill, loud crashing and rumbling sounds come from the direction they went. After waiting until they are overdue for return, the commander decides to send a squad over to check out what happened. As they pass out of sight, a loud raucous was again heard from the other side of the hill. The commander becomes concerned and decides not to wait for them to return. He sends an entire platoon over the hill, telling them to take out any resistance they meet and return with any survivors. Once again, as the men disappear over the hill, the terrible sounds of war rush over the entire army and then slowly die down until nothing could be heard but the beating of the commanders heart. A proud man, never before defeated in battle, he decides to lead the entire army over the hill himself to destroy the opposition once and for all, but as they begin to march they see a single, mangled, ND soldier pulling himself up over the top of the hill by the only functioning limb of his body. Beaten, bloody and near death, he manages, with help, to make it to the commander and says; "Sir... (cough) Don't go... (spit, cough) It's a trap..."

And in the surprise induced silence he says;

"There's TWO of 'em."