The Three Mothers Puns

We're currently planning our wedding (by this, I mean she and her mother are).

She sent me a text earlier this morning saying "picking flowers for the wedding is hard :-("

I responded "Don't pick them yet, our wedding isn't for another three months, there's no way they'll stay fresh that long."

Anyways, I think the flowers are pink or something.

Once upon a time there were three little pigs, Pork Chop, Hambone, and Bacon.

The boys lived at home with their mother. One day their mother said, “I no longer have enough food to feed you boys, you need to go out on your own and find your fortunes.”

Not wanting to upset their mother they left the house together to seek their fortunes.

Several miles into their journey Bacon, the little pig everyone liked best, said, “Let’s build our houses here! This seems like a great place to start making our fortunes.”

Pork Chop and Hambone agreed. So they all began building their houses.

Pork Chop, the laziest of the bunch, decided to build his house out of straw, which he apparently stole from a nearby field. It was not a very sturdy building material, but Pork Chop didn’t care. All he wanted to do was play all day, and he didn’t want to spend too much time building.

Hambone was willing to work a bit harder and he decided to build his house out of sticks which he procured by de-limbing every tree within a 300 meter radius of their homestead.

Hambone and Pork Chop were happy. Now all they had to do was to play and sleep the rest of the day.

Now Bacon was a hard worker. He knew that his brothers had used bad materials and shoddy construction methods and he wanted to build the best house he could. He found several tons of bricks stacked in neatly ordered pallets in the forest which he decided to use for his building material. It took him several days, but when he was done Bacon had the best house on the homestead.

The next day a wolf, Scott Howard, happened upon the pig brothers and their new homestead. He spied the straw house and smelled Pork Chop inside and began to think to himself that Pork Chop would make a mighty fine meal, so Scott went and knocked on the door.

Scott said, “Little Pig! Little Pig! Let me in!”

Pork Chop replied, “No way José! Not by the hairs on my chinny chin chin!”

Scott, undeterred by the reply says, “Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your crappy straw house to the ground!”

Scott began to huff and puff. He was evidently having some sort of asthma attack, but after a few tugs from his handy dandy rescue inhaler, he was able to muster enough wind to blow Pork Chops straw house to the ground.

Pork Chop narrowly escaped Scott’s massive jaws. Scared, and now homeless, Pork Chop ran for the nearest shelter he could see. Hambone’s house.

Scott, undeterred, chased Pork Chop to his new hiding place. Scott was very pleas

A young boy went up to his father and asked him, 'Dad, what is the difference between potentially and realistically?' The father thought for a moment, then answered, 'Go ask your mother if she would sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars. Then ask your sister if she would sleep with Brad Pitt for a Million dollars, and then ask your brother if he'd sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars. Come back and tell me what you learn from that.' So the boy went to his mother and asked, 'Would you sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars?' The mother replied, 'Of course I would! We could really use that money to fix up the house and send you kids to a great University!' The boy then went to his sister and asked, 'Would you sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars?' The girl replied, 'Oh my Gawd! I LOVE Brad Pitt - I would sleep with him in a heartbeat, are you nuts?' The boy then went to his brother and asked, 'Would you sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars?' 'Of course,' the brother replied. 'Do you know what a million Bucks would buy?' The boy pondered the answers for a few days and then went back to his dad. His father asked him, 'Did you find out the difference between 'potentially' and 'realistically'?' The boy replied, 'Yes, 'Potentially', you and I are sitting on Three million dollars . But 'realistically', we're just living with two hookers and a queer.

My dad is a Navy Vietnam vet who is about to be a retired GM electrical engineer. He is retiring against his will because he has had three strokes, colon cancer, a pulmonary embolism, necrotic esophagus, renal failure, pneumonia, basically a medical shitstorm and he survived it all. In the process, he has lost a lot of memory and quite a bit of his cognitive abilities and furthermore, his balance. However, when I took out the trash tonight at nearly half past ten, I couldn't help but notice how beautiful the stars looked outside tonight. So upon returning, I told my mom and dad "The stars sure are bright tonight. They look amazing." To which my dad then asked, "You know why they're so bright, right?" Now I'm an amateur astronomer. Hell, my first and only telescope was inherited to me by my mother who got it from her father. So knowing its winter and I live in Michigan, I tell my father, "Because its so cold and dry, the star light isn't blocked as much?" His reply; "No. Its because the sun went down. So now its darker outside." Dad: 1. Me: -5.

Hey guys. As I'm sure most of you know, it's currently Thanksgiving in Canada. This time of year for me has, in the past, caused a lot of issues in my life.

To give a little bit of background on me, I'm usually an extremely healthy and fit guy, as I play high-level sports and have a physically demanding job. However, for much of my life, my willpower began to crumble around this time of year.

I first started taking my diet seriously when I was about 12 years old. I had some kind of realization where like, I dunno, I started looking at how jacked these movie stars were and was all, "wow, I want to be that cool too." Judging by the bowl cut I had when I was 12, my perception of cool may have been a little skewed, but I digress.

Anyhow, it was my first Thanksgiving where everything started falling apart. One of my relative's families ended up no-showing for dinner, so we were left with a load of Thanksgiving leftovers. For the next week, every single meal or snack I had was Thanksgiving themed. Sandwich? Turkey sandwich. Breakfast? Let's dollop some cranberry sauce on that bad boy. By the next week, my BGC (blood gravy content) was probably at like 1.0%.

You'd think I'd be sick of holiday food after that. But no. I loved it.

The tradition of refrigerated Thanksgiving snacks continued throughout the rest of my teen years. Like clockwork, the numbers on the scale would significantly jump upwards in October, with Halloween candy adding an extra layer of calories on top. By the time I reached 17, my waist had begun noticeably ballooning, and I realized it was all due to Thanksgiving turkey. Sure, I had some at Christmas and sometimes at Easter, but never like that. My mother would encourage this habit, making more food each year to be stuffed into our packed refrigerator.

The movie star bod I wanted for so much at the age of 12 was slipping a way. I needed to put an end to this.

Flash forward to October 2015, age 18. I had made a vow: I never again would place such putrid poultry onto my tastebuds. And ever since that fateful week of 2014, my vow had held true.

Each Thanksgiving, I can feel that craving for chilled turkey knocking on the refrigerator door of my fragile ego. For three years, I've held strong. But when will the garrison fall? When will that soft, biting flesh of the big bird smash it's way back into my life.

But so far, I've quit cold turkey.

A woman who is three months pregnant falls into a deep coma.Six months later, she wakes up and asks the doctor about her baby.

Doctor: You had twins, a boy and a girl, and they are both fine. Luckily, your brother named them for you.

Mother: Oh no, not my brother! he's an idiot! What did he name the girl?

Doctor: Denise.

Mother: Oh, thats not so bad, what did he call the boy?

Doctor: Denephew.

I apologize for this wall of text, I didn't know where I should cut out parts because they're all relevant to the story. Sorry again.

Hey TFR people! So for background, I work at a kiosk in a mall where I repair cracked phones and do other mind numbing work that I can now probably do in my sleep. I've been doing this job for a little over two years and can fix an iPhone, for example, in about 15 minutes. I apologize for the wall of text. Anyway, this story happened last night.

So, a family of three walk up (mother, father and daughter) but only the father spoke to me and this is where conversation starts. Note: When I was handed this girls phone she had a case with this image on it and was already about to laugh. Customer will be C and I of course will be Me.

C: How much does it cost to fix my daughters phone and can it be fixed?

Me: Oh it's very repairable, after tax and labor, it comes to $xxx.xx.

C: Do it

Fuck, he's one of these guys...

Me: Alright then, I just need a name and signature on this disclaimer we have.

At this point, I've taken their phone and am prepping to work on it.

C: Do I have to use my real name?

PAUSE Now, over the 2+ years I've worked here, I have never heard this question. So I was kind of taken by surprise by it. For a minute, I thought he was one of those paranoid people. PLAY

Me: Um.. Well I guess you don't have to. It's preferred since we can look you up in our system faster later.

C: Oh ok.

I turn back around and start to use my tools on the phone when customer guy throws me another curve ball question.

C: Can my daughter still play the piano when this is done?

I manage to turn and see him smirking a little and go back to his serious poker face so I pick up that he's joking.

Me: Well I would hope so. Slight laughter

C: Oh ok great! She's never even touched one before so it's good to hear her skill won't change in the slightest.

I'm on the verge of outright laughing at this point. I manage to hold it back and finish my repair. I snap her grumpy cat case back on, hand her phone back when she mentions the home button isn't working.

Oh that's an easy fix

Me: Ah, don't worry. Give me one second and I'll have that fixed.

C: One. Try it now "Insert girls name"

Me: Haha well I haven't done what I need to yet.

I pull out a giant clear bag half full of spare parts.

**

The sun shone into my office through the lowered blinds all clumsy like, fumbling through the gaps between the venetian slats like a drunk fishing for loose change in his pockets; trying to see if he has money enough for one last drink or maybe the bus ride home.

The dame looked me up and down, clearly disappointed by what sat in front of her. I didn’t blame her. Three days of salt and pepper stubble clung to my my crude boxer’s jaw and the bags under my eyes were so big half the bums downtown could sleep in there and not even know anyone else was with 'em. That was ok. This broad wasn’t hiring me for my looks and I wasn’t looking to her for approval. We both knew what brought her in here, it was the name on the door.

Max Dad P.I. - that’s me. Private Investigator’s sure not the profession my mother would have picked out for me, but it keeps me in whisky and it keeps a roof over my head and that’ll do for now. The dame parted those cherry red lips of hers as she took another pull on that just-lit cigarette and nervously stubbed it out in the ashtray. My eyebrows knit together slightly. I hate seeing things go to waste.

“So as I was saying, Mr Dad,” she began.

“Please, call me Max”

“Alright, Max… well, as I was saying, my bag is missing. Stolen, I think. I urgently need it back. Shall I describe it to you?”

“No that’s alright miss. You got nothing to worry about,” I replied, sliding a bottle out of the desk drawer and pouring a big slug of scotch into to my morning coffee, “I’m sure it’ll be a brief case.”

And there are three big rocks in a row each one bigger than the next.

The mother says, "Look it's a Papa Rock, a Mama Rock, and a Baby Rock!"

The father says, "Yeah it's the Goldirocks!"

Its my birthday. My granddad on my fathers side wants to tell a joke.

"There are three things that gets worse as you get older. First the memory, then your hearing, then your memory.

To which my granddad on my mothers side responds: "WHAT?!"

My granddad tells the joke again, and my granddad on my mothers side responds once again: "WHAT?!"

"I SAID THERE ARE THREE... oh...ah..."

I have written this book to sweep away all misunderstandings about the crafty art of punnery and to convince you that the pun is well worth celebrating.... After all, the pun is mightier than the sword, and these days you are much more likely to run into a pun than into a sword. [A pun is a witticism involving the playful use of a word in different senses, or of words which differ in meaning but sound alike.]

Scoffing at puns seems to be a conditioned reflex, and through the centuries a steady barrage of libel and slander has been aimed at the practice of punning. Nearly three hundred years ago John Dennis sneered, “A pun is the lowest form of wit,” a charge that has been butted and rebutted by a mighty line of pundits and punheads.

Henry Erskine, for example, has protested that if a pun is the lowest form of wit, “It is, therefore, the foundation of all wit.” Oscar Levant has added a tag line: “A pun is the lowest form of humor—when you don’t think of it first.” John Crosbie and Bob Davies have responded to Dennis with hot, cross puns: “...If someone complains that punning is the lowest form of humor you can tell them that poetry is verse.”

Samuel Johnson, the eighteenth century self-appointed custodian of the English language, once thundered, “To trifle with the vocabulary which is the vehicle of social intercourse is to tamper with the currency of human intelligence. He who would violate the sanctities of his mother tongue would invade the recesses of the national till without remorse... ”

Joseph Addison pronounced that the seeds of punning are in the minds of all men, and tho’ they may be subdued by reason, reflection, and good sense, they will be very apt to shoot up in the greatest genius, that which is not broken and cultivated by the rules of art.

Far from being invertebrate, the inveterate punster is a brave entertainer. He or she loves to create a three-ring circus of words: words clowning, words teetering on tightropes, words swinging from tent tops, words thrusting their head into the mouths of lions. Punnery can be highly entertaining, but it is always a risky business. The humor can fall on its face, it can lose its balance and plunge into the sawdust, or it can be decapitated by the snapping shut of jaws. While circus performers often receive laughter or applause for their efforts, punsters often draw an obligatory groan for theirs. But the fact that most people groan at, rather than laugh at, puns doesn’t mean that the punnery isn’t fu

My mom, dad and I were out at dinner and the three of us got Caesar salads. My dad gets up and grabs a pepper grinder, which is a long, waiter style grinder. He puts pepper on my mother's salad as I stuff my mouth with bread. He then asks like waiters do, "would you like some pepper, sir?". My mouth is full so I nod my head, yes. He says, "just say when", as he grinds pepper onto my salad.

At this point, I'm chewing rapidly so I can say something without choking.

"That's good"

"Just say when, just say WHEN!"

"Uh when"

Good thing I like pepper

Her name was Ninety and she had three kids. One day, the kids found a stray cat in their backyard and they decided to take care of it. However, they knew that their mother would disapprove, so in order to keep it a secret, they used "This" when referring to the cat. Eventually, the cat died of old age and the kids moved on with their lives. Therefore, only Ninety's kids will remember This.

The the whole family (my mom, dad, and two sisters) are sitting in the living room and my mom asked me to pick up some ingredients from the grocery store. She starts listing them out loud, "I'll need heavy cream, eggs, milk-"

At which point I interrupt to ask what size eggs she needs (i.e. AA etc.) and she responds "It doesn't matter just make sure they're large - oh and cage free"

My dad immediately came back, "Cage-fee? What are you worried about - that the cake will get away?"

My dad immediately does his troll grin and my mother looks at him with a years practiced look of "how did you ever trick me into marrying you"

Naturally this was followed by my nine year old sisters falling apart into giggles, and eventually me too. My mother looks at us like she's thinking to herself "They must have switched all three of my babies at the hospital" before looking up at the ceiling and saying, "I guess I'll write a list..."

Important to know: Three of my grandparents grew up in Indiana, the other in Ohio. People from Ohio get made fun of a lot in Indiana. They're nicknamed Buckeyes.

My dad asked where I've been applying to jobs, when I told him I'm looking to move to Cincinnati, Ohio. Then he says, "Ohio? You're gonna be a full blood Buckeye yet! No wait, a one and a quarter! A dollar twenty-five!" Then he laughed so hard that he had to pass the phone to my mother. The last time I heard him laugh that hard, he was watching the Three Stooges.