Those Were the Days Puns

Certain related tribes in sub-Saharan Africa often raided each other's villages when most folk were herding animals. Sometimes they would take vegetables and water, but more often taking little things, to gently mock each other. It was all in good fun. After a successful raid, the "winning" tribe would celebrate by dancing under the stars, or in one of their large, grass-covered spirit houses.

One day, the Imaqi took their Satari shaman's sceptre. The following day, the Satari not only stole the sceptre back, but also the Imaqi chief's regalia.

It went back and forth, until, on a rare and daring escapade, three Imaqi warriors stole the Santari chief's throne. They put it on display, above their chief's throne in the spirit house.

The Imaqi thought that this was hilarious, and as it was beginning to rain, made merry and danced in the spirit house. Suddenly, the heavy throne on display fell down and killed a number of the dancing revelers.

The moral should be obvious: those who live in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones.

On my first day of being an army recruit, we were all lined up and the instructor commanded that those 6 feet and over step forward. Even though I was shy of ½inch, I stepped forward, along with 15 others.

. After I looked around me, I realized I was noticeably the tallest.

Those were the days.

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

Those days were the Wurst.

Ahhh, those were the days.

Those were the darkest days of my life

Those were the darkest days of our lives.

Those were the days.

Those were the cymbaler days.

She asked the pastor of a local church if he knew of any houses with rooms to rent that were close to town, but out in the country. The pastor kindly drove her out to see a house with a room to rent. She loved the house and decided to rent the room. Then, the lady returned to her home in England to make her final preparations to move to Switzerland.

When she arrived back home, the thought occurred to her that she had not seen a “W.C.” in the room or even down the hall. (A W.C. is short for “water closet” and is what the English call a toilet.) So she immediately emailed the pastor to ask him where the “W.C.” is located.

The Swiss pastor had never heard of a “W.C.,” and so he Googled the abbreviation and found an article titled “Wayside Chapels.” Thinking that the English lady was asking about a country church to attend near her new home, the pastor responded as follows:

Ms. Smith,

I look forward to your move. Regarding your question about the location of the W.C., the closest W.C. is situated only two miles from the room you have rented, in the center of a beautiful grove of pine trees. The W.C. has a maximum occupancy of 229 people, but not that many people usually go on weekdays. I suggest you plan to go on Thursday evenings when there is a sing-along. The acoustics are remarkable and the happy sounds of so many people echo throughout the W.C.

Sunday mornings are extremely crowded. The locals tend to arrive early and many bring their lunches to make a day of it. Those who arrive just in time can usually be squeezed into the W.C. before things start, but not always. Best to go early if you can!

It may interest you to know that my own daughter was married in the W.C. and it was there that she met her husband. I remember how everyone crowded in to sit close to the bride and groom. There were two people to a seat ordinarily occupied by one, but our friends and family were happy to share.  I will admit that my wife and I felt particularly relieved when it was over. We were truly wiped out.

Because of my responsibilities in town, I can’t go as often as I used to. In fact, I haven’t been in well over a year. I can tell you I really miss regularly going to the W.C. Let’s plan on going together for your first visit. I can reserve us seats where you will be seen by all.

Sincerely,

Pastor Kurt Meier

Those were the days

In the bed of the truck was a bunch of baby ducks. He passed a police officer, the officer fired up their blues and twos and pulled the man over.

The officer said, "Sir, you can't just be driving around with all these ducklings in your car. You must take them to the zoo immediately."

The following day the same man was driving the same truck with the same baby ducks in the bed, except this time, they were wearing sunglasses.

The same police officer saw, they pulled the man over again and said, "Look mate, I told you yesterday to take those ducks to the zoo."

The man said, "I did take them to the zoo. They loved it! We're going to the beach today!"

I'm sitting at the dining room table with my mom just chatting about nothing in particular, when my dad walks with this shit eating grin holding something behind his back. Now for a little background info, my dad NEVER does surprises. And I mean never. So I immediately knew something was up. My mom turns around and asks him what's going on. He tells her to close her eyes and hold out her hands because he got her a surprise. At this point my mom gets really excited and asking, "what is it?! What is it?!" To which my dad replies,

"Do you remember when we went out the other day and you were looking at those new running shoes, but you decided not to get them because they were too expensive?"

To which she responds, "ahhhh! Yes I remember!!"

He then says, "well I saw how much you liked them so I decided to get you a pear."

And he puts a fresh pear in her hands.

She still won't talk to him.

My great uncle just passed on Sunday. The family had known for a few days it was near the end. His family gathered around him on his death bed, with some flying in from other states to say their goodbyes.

"Dad," says his daughter, "[Grandson] flew in from San Francisco just to see you."

My great uncle woke up for moment and said, "Boy, his arms must be tired."

Those were his last words.

Every year, the team was in the state championship game, and usually won it handily. Every able lad within a few hundred miles wanted to play football for Central Catholic Fighting Knights.

Those who were familiar with the program, knew that the true heart and soul of the Knights football program was Sister Mary Margaret, an aged nun who would, in full habit, get out on the practice field and work on routes with the receivers, give pointers to the quarterbacks on their stances and releases, but most of all, love them like the second mother that she became to all of the boys in that program.

One year, on the eve of the state championship game, some evil malefactors broke into the convent and kidnapped Sister Mary Margaret. Everyone was stunned by the news, but none more so than the Knights of Central Catholic. They were devastated at the loss of their mentor.

As you might guess, the state championship game didn't go very well. For the first time in the history of the football program, the Knights were shut out. The Spartans beat them 42-0.

The next day, the headline on the local sports section read:

No Offense, Nun Taken

Dad, did you get a haircut? No I got them all cut.

What do you call a Mexican who has lost his car? Carlos.

Dad, can you put my shoes on? No, I don’t think they’ll fit me.

Can I watch the TV? Dad: Yes, but don’t turn it on.

I would avoid the sushi if I was you. It’s a little fishy.

What do you call a fake noodle? An Impasta.

You know, people say they pick their nose, but I feel like I was just born with mine.

“Every time I hurt myself, even to this day, my dad says, ‘The good news is..it’ll feel better when it quits hurting.'”

What’s brown and sticky? A stick.

Want to hear a joke about paper? Nevermind it’s tearable.

Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon? Great food, no atmosphere.

“I’ll call you later!”- “Please don’t do that. I’ve always asked you to call me Dad!”

Q: Why did the cookie cry? A: Because his father was a wafer so long!

What did the mountain climber name his son? Cliff.

This graveyard looks overcrowded. People must be dying to get in there.

“My dad literally told me this one last week: ‘Did you hear about the guy who invented Lifesavers? They say he made a mint.’”

“Whenever the cashier at the grocery store asks my dad if he would like the milk in a bag he replies, ‘No, just leave it in the carton!’”

I got so angry the other day when I couldn’t find my stress ball.

If I had a dime for every book I’ve ever read, I’d say: “Wow, that’s coincidental.”

I’m not indecisive. Unless you want me to be.

How many apples grow on a tree? All of them.

How does a penguin build it’s house? Igloos it together.

“Me: ‘Dad, make me a sandwich!’ Dad: ‘Poof, You’re a sandwich!’”

“I heard there was a new store called Moderation. They have everything there

A steak pun is a rare medium well done.

“How can you tell if a ant is a boy or a girl? They’re all girls, otherwise they’d be uncles.”

Milk is also the fastest liquid on earth – its pasteurized before you even see it

“What’s Forrest Gump’s password? 1forrest1”

The only thing worse than having diarrhea is having to spell it.

I asked my friend to help me with a math problem. He said: “Don’t worry; this is a piece of cake.” I said: “No, it’s a math problem.”

I keep trying to lose weight, but it keeps finding me.

I don’t play soccer because I enjoy the sport. I’m just doing it for kicks.

Did I tell you the time I fell in love during a backflip? I was heels over head.

I used to work in a shoe recycling shop. It was sole destroying.

Why do you never see elephants hiding in trees?

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

There was two farms next to each other, separated by a long fence. The two farmers were called nick and Barry. They were both very resourceful farmers, using each and every square inch of land to grow on. Both would tend to their crops twice a day every single day, and became friends. However, both farmers were penny pinchers, and would often try and take a few extra crops from the other side of the fence, which lead to arguments. One day, Barry came out to tend his crops, but nick did not appear once. This continued for several days. Both sets of crops continued to grow, along and up the fence, eventually intertwining. Both farmers were growing wheat. After around 5 days, Barry came out and to his delight, saw nick tending to his harvest. However, this delight soon changed to frustration as he saw nick taking extra crops from his side. "Where have you been, and what do you think you're doing?" He exclaimed. "I'm taking in my wheat, and I haven't been out for a few days due to illness. I've been feeling queasy and dizzy when I stand up, with a throbbing pain in my head each time. But it's ok, they're only headaches." "Oh I don't think so mister" said Barry.

"Those are my grains!"

Yah, those were the days

A good friend told me a story once. When she was a kid her family would often go to zoos and museums while on vacation. They were in the aviary on one of those visits looking at birds. My friend saw a crow asked the zookeeper a question. "What's the difference between a raven and a crow?" The zookeeper looked at her, smiled and started to answer. "Have you ever heard of a pinion feather?" he said. "Pinions are the the feathers at the tip of a bird's wing that allows it to fly. They are also the ones that people will trim to prevent birds from flying away. Crows have 5 pinion feathers while ravens have 6. So, if you think about it, it's really just a matter of a pinion."

To this day, my friend and her family don't know the real answer to "What's the difference between a crow and a raven?" They are wonderful and intelligent people, but they subscribe to a particular brand of ignorance where a good pun is better than actual knowledge. They call it punorance.

Joke 1:

My sister was talking with my dad about the show ‘I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant’ and she went onto ask “how do you accidentally make a person?” And without missing a beat, my father looked her dead in the eye and replied with “I accidentally made three.” With the most serious face I’ve seen in my life.

Joke 2:

My sister, dad, and I were in Wal-Mart one day and in passing the toys, we found those circular beanie baby things with the big eyes. So, my ever impressive father grabs a special edition Chewbacca toy, pretend bites it as though it’s an apple, and says “Huh, this is a... Little Chewy!”

There’s more, considering he’s a Dad, but those two stand out the most to me.

when there was a terrible accident. The fire in his forge had gone out of control and set fire to the shop. The blacksmith nearly lost his life. He was bedridden for many months and relied on the help of his children and grandchildren to feed him, bathe him, and take care of all of his needs. Eventually he was able to get back on his feet, though his outlook on life had turned quite grim. He was now able to take care of himself, but he had lost much of his strength and dexterity from the injuries he sustained and he was unable to practice his trade. He fell into a deep depression and he spent most of his days sitting at home in front of the fireplace gazing into the flames, longing for the days when his strong hands could grasp a hammer and strike a hot piece of iron, slowly forging it into a beautiful piece of work.

One evening when the old man was sitting in front of the fire, he heard a knock at the door. It was his granddaughter, whom he hadn't seen in many months. She had overheard her father talking to her mother about how her grandfather was slowly slipping away into depression and hopelessness and she wanted to help. To the old man's surprise, she had brought him a puppy. "I thought that since you're always here all by yourself that you might want someone you keep you company," the granddaughter said. The old man's eyes welled up with tears and the little puppy instantly jumped into his arms and began licking the tears from his face. The old man and his granddaughter spent the next several hours sitting on the floor of his house watching the puppy chase around a rubber ball, bouncing, jumping, panting, and licking. In that short time, the old man had made complete turnaround from being sad, lonely, and hopeless, to smiling from ear to ear, full of joy with his new-found companion. As the hours grew late and the puppy grew tired, the granddaughter said "Well Opa, I'm glad you like your puppy, but it's late and I should be heading home. By the way, what are you going to call him?" "Life," said the old man, "because he has given me a new meaning and joy to mine." The granddaughter kissed her grandfather on the cheek, wished him goodnight, and she left.

Many years passed and all the while, the old man and his little dog were inseparable. Everywhere the old man went, Life was always with him whether it was the post office, the grocery store, and even when the old man went to the barber shop, the little dog would sit patiently until the last hair on

A Call to Arms A Plead to the Limbless

The Armless are a stump among society and could easily achieve more. It’s bothersome that somebody with great potential could allow themselves to lose grip of what they aspire for. The radius of support and development that surrounds these people is astounding. Yet they bite the hand that feeds and throw away opportunities. With each passing day they are crippled by the errors in their ways. Not only are they not properly handling the situation, they are doing a disservice to society. Most will say to refrain from pointing fingers, but it is pertinent that we show them their faults.
All aside we should most certainly not try to elbow my way into their lives. However, if they were to branch off into their own progressive groups it would be most beneficial. And severance is a good thing between them and the public. This doesn't mean a complete amputation of them from society. Perhaps selective assistance will help these people find a well fitted sleeve within their communities. This process is difficult and lending a helping hand can make the difference. On the other hand, we have those who don’t try to succeed. Their negligence is worthy of more than a mere slap on the wrist. When somebody refuses to apply themselves, they are holding back progress. By giving themselves mental limitation they are creating a prosthetic disability they must abide by. The majority of working to achieve goals is believing you can reach out and grab them. But, somebody who gives up is cutting themselves short of success Seeing somebody give up is the furthest thing from being humerus. Urging these people is a necessity, otherwise they will never try their hardest, encourage them to use some elbow grease and put forth full effort. Any small contribution is better than being a detriment, community service, obtaining greater education, enlisting in the armed forces, these all benefit society. Drastic changes of this scale are sure to cause discontent, grab a tissue if need be, but never give up. For all those that are currently wasting away without contribution, it's time to limb’er up and take charge.

My boyfriend and I were making tacos for dinner tonight. I was grating the cheese and munching on it when I mentioned that I was lactose intolerant. He responded, "You shouldn't judge those who lack toes, its not their fault."

I hope he's the father of my children one day.

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.”

So, a little story Alright, so I'd say I was in about 6th or 7th grade. One day my Grandpa (Pop) and I are driving down the road, for some irrelevant time story amount of time. We end up down some country road that passes a bunch of cattle fields, and as we're driving he turns down the radio and he asks "Do you think those cows are very smart?" And I ask why. He responds with "You know, cause they're out standing in the field." That man, let me tell you.

Alright, fast forward to about 3~4 years. My friend and I were driving to another friends house, and we ended up on the same road, with the same cows in the field. Guess what I asked him. And I swear on my Grandfather's grave, my friend stopped his car, and asked me to get out.

Here are two of my dad's funniest (most memorable) moments while out to eat...

About five years ago, my ex-boyfriend and I went out for Valentine's Day with my parents. My mom and I were having a conversation about my brother's ex-fiancee when...

Ex: "Oh, so you guys don't like her?"

Dad: "No, but that's alright, we don't really like [K's] boyfriend all that much either."

Needless to say, it wasn't as funny at the time...

Then about a few months ago, with my current boyfriend, we went out to eat with some family friends. At the time, my boyfriend was employed at an A/C company doing Chinese drywall and was talking with two of the men employed in other construction trades.

Family Friend: "Don't get involved in concrete. Or Construction. Better yet, stay out of anything that begins with a C."

Dad (from the other side of the table): "You better stay out of anything that starts with a K, too."

It's even more ironic considering I happen to have one of those names that's commonly spelled with a C, but my parents decided to spell with a K. But as mortified as my boyfriend was, I have to give it to my dad, that one was pretty damn funny.

One morning while sitting down for breakfast, my Dad looks up, points at my waist and exclaims, "What are those two things coming out of your butt?!" My 6 yr. old self wheels around like a dog chasing it's tail looking for said objects. nothing. I ask what they were and he says he's not sure, but that I will be fine. After school he get's home from work. Me: "Dad, do you those things coming out of my butt still?" Dad: "Yup" Repeat action and conversation from the morning again. And repeat again then next day, and the next ... 7 days in total I'm getting pissed my Dad see's them all the time but my Mom and older Sister don't. I surely don't see two things coming out of my butt. I'm starting to freak out and cry. Why can I not see these two things coming out of my butt, I'm sobbing, blubbering gibberish and spittle running down my chin to my shirt. I'm gasping for air and crying and just about to blow a gasket (I'm 6 mind you ...) my mom finally had enough, "Dammit Craig ... TELL HIM NOW!!" I get all calmed down and start getting excited, I'm going to find out! he sits me down and tells me this ... "I have told you all week that you had two things coming out of your butt?" That's why I'm losing my shit, Dad "Well, I was talking about your legs. You're legs come out of your butt and you have two of them." all the while looking me straight in the eyes, he starts a famously wonderful shit-grin. Mom loses it again, throws her arms up in utter frustration/disappointment/disbelief. Sister virtually pissing herself in laughter. My dad gets up, smiling that smile, he walks away with a pat on the head. "Pay better attention next time."

groan.

TLDR: I was 6, told I have 2 things coming out of my butt for a week. finally told that they where my legs. facepalm and groaner.

edit: - waiting for the right moment to pull this one on my 5 and 7 yr old ...

Years ago I used to use a LexisNexis database of companies that would give corporate information like name, address, and general business description. While most of them were pretty bland, there were a bunch of them with some really cheesy puns, and over a few years I built quite a collection.

Today I share with you "NEXIS IS RIDICULOUS.txt":

• Bucyrus International caters to those who mine their own business.
• It would be logical for Mr. Spock to boldly go to Vulcan International for rubber products. He might even live long and prosper -- in comfortable shoes.
• What do manufacturer Electro-Motive Diesel (EMD) and 1970s band Grand Funk Railroad have in common? They both want you to do the locomotion!
• Peter Piper can pick more than a peck of peppers or pickles from B&G Foods.
• Toray Plastics America could sing "foam, foam on the range, where the polyester and polypropylene materials are made" all day.
• Break out the Tums, because things are awfully gassy over at Air Liquide America.
• If a tree falls in a Weyerhaeuser forest, someone is there to hear it -- and he has a chainsaw.
• Although not a pushover, you can walk all over Wilsonart International.
• Here's a HEICO haiku: HEICO companies/ Providing for jet engines/ In flight or on land.
• American Italian Pasta Company (AIPC) uses its noodle in many different ways.
• The golf industry doesn't mind when Aldila gives it the shaft.
• Rat-a-tat-tat and a ringa-ding-ding. What's that? Answer: The sounds emanating from Pearl, one of the world's foremost makers of drums and other percussion and musical instruments.
• Saint-Gobain Ceramics & Plastics deals powders and crystal, but there's no need to call the cops.
• Pamida Stores Operating Company offers more small-town values than a bandwagon of Republicans on the campaign trail.
• Like a tight end, offshore drilling contractor Transocean dreams of going deep but doesn't mind eating a little mud.
• Rittal me this, Batman!
• Utility Trailer Manufacturing is spreading its own brand of reefer madness.
• Who is the Fresh Prince of Sullair?
• If GrafTech International were a bard, it could wax poetic in an ode to the electrode.
• When it comes to adhesives and vibration control products, LORD knows.
• You might say that Deere & Company enjoys its customers going to seed.
• Pfizer pfabricates pfarmaceuticals pfor quite a pfew inpfirmities.
• Stripping is OK at Spraylat.
• Don't think Seton is

So I would imagine he would probably be pretty proud of me sharing his "jokes" on here. Even though they were a persistent annoyance for me growing up, I almost feel like sharing them with the Reddit world kind of takes away some of the specialness. I can't claim any of these are original, but outside of my father, I've never heard anyone else use them.

#1. Whenever he has to pay for anything ANYWHERE, he says, "my name is Crime". The usual reaction is a blank stare. Then he says, "Crime doesn't pay".

#2. Anytime we go out to a restaurant and the waiter comes to hand us our check he says, "No thanks we can't stay for the drawing, you can contact us by phone if we win anything".

#3. The mother of all his "dad jokes", this one elicits the most laughter. Anytime he tells someone how he met my mom he says, "In college I used to be her tutor. I tutored her in anatomy by braille".

He'll on occasion drop others, but those are the ones I grew up with and that he still continues to use to this day. The crime joke. Every. Single. Day. I'm surprised my mother hasn't murdered him after all these years...

When I was a wee lad, about 5 or 6 , my dad and I went to the beach on a vacation. I, having never seen the ocean, learned many new things, like how tides work, and how there's seemingly billions of white flying rats that the world calls Seagulls.

Fast forward a few weeks to us being back home in Kansas City, MO where no beaches or seagulls are to be found. My dad and I were running errands and found ourselves at the local Target, where in the parking lot I spotted dozens of white birds that looked eerily similar to the Seagulls I had learned about weeks before.

"Dad, what're those?" I inquired

"Oh, son those are called Parkinglotgulls. Yeah they're close cousins of the seagull!"

And that's how I came to call those white birds that flock around parking lots worldwide "Parkinglotgulls" even to this day.

I didn't come up with this but its been flying around reddit for a while...

A day before his 15th birthday, the son of a wealthy family was asked by his father, `Well my son, what would you like for your birthday?' The son hesitated a moment and his father's thoughts leapt ahead to a new computer and similar things. However, his son had had a new computer only recently and could have a new one any time he wished.

Finally, the son said, `Father, I have everything a boy could wish for, but there is one thing I would really like. I would love to have a pink ping pong ball.'

The father was rather astonished at this wish, but said, `If it is a pink ping pong ball that you want, a pink ping pong ball you shall have.'

And so, the next day, the son was given as his bithday present a pink ping pong ball.

The boy took the ball to his room and the next morning the pink ping pong ball was gone. The father was mildly surprised but decided not to say anything. The pink ping pong ball, however, was never seen again.

The next year, a day before his 16th birthday, the father asked his son what he would like for his birthday.

Father,' replied the son,I have everything a boy could possibly wish for, but there is one thing I would really, really like. I would love to have a tenpack of pink ping pong balls.'

The father was more surprised than the year before, but kept his curiosity at bay, for he knew that his son had a right for privacy. he said therefore, `If it is a tenpack of pink ping pong balls that you want, a tenpack of pink ping pong balls you shall have.'

And so, the next day, the son was given as his birthday present a tenpack of pink ping pong balls.

The boy took the tenpack of balls to his room and the next morning, not a single ball remained, merely the empty husk of the tenpack. The father wondered where ten pink ping pong balls might disappear to, but decided not to say anything. The pink ping pong balls, however, were never seen again.

The next year, a day before his 17th birthday, the son was asked by his father what he would like for his birthday.

Father,' said the son to this,I have everything a boy could wish for, but one thing would make my happiness complete. I would dearly want a carton of pink ping pong balls.'

The father was beyond surprise, but decided to make sure he had not misheard. `A carton of pink ping pong balls?'

`A carton of pink ping pong balls,' the boy confirmed.

I can't understand your fascination with pink ping pong balls

A few years ago, there was a series of murders that seemed completely independent from one another, aside from two similarities. Each of the victims had received an e-mail the day prior that was typed in all caps, and contained a joke, with the punchline being a play on words. The victims also all had felony convictions. In light of the second fact, many people felt that the murderers were doing a service to the public. Many others disagreed, however, and those against the murders all rallied under the same slogan: End Capital Punishment.

Note: Quality Very Varying (I see what I did there) and sometimes subject to specialist knowledge. So I apologise in advance. Shame me with your better puns.

While I was languishing in the Language Centre, doing some semantics antics and considering how all the other linguistics students despised and derided me, I was accosted by a stout man with large glasses who made me a preposition. It was that I should collect terrible puns, to do with linguistics, in order to ingratiate myself yet further with the other linguistics students (including even the phonetics fanatics).

I'm struggling to think of a pun to do with grammaticality that both makes sense and "Is grandma tickly?" correct. I'm also stuck on 'morphologician'. (I'm not actually sure that's a particularly logical word for the subject, though I guess that's more for, er, more for a logician to worry about.)

The problem I have with writing about phonological variation is that one is constantly forced to choose between being fun or logical - very Asian!I always get in trouble with electricians, they think I'm calling them a 'dialectician' whereas in fact I'm just saying "Die, electrician."

I like pscycholinguistics – the only department of linguistics where it’s acceptable to wear a cycle helmet. My Australian accent is terrible but I like to think my Sath Efrican one is predicate. My favourite accent is Received Pronunciation, because it is the accent chiefly used by invisible Japanese people who are ordered online. When the first recipient of an invisible Japanese person got the parcel, they wrote a complaint saying "Received but can't see Asian" and the name stuck.

Why did the speakers whose native languages weren't English, but whose only shared language was English, but they weren't very good at it and kept on having to stop to think about it, stop talking to one another? They came to an agreement. (Get it? If not, write your answer on a pastecard and paste it to the below address.)

What did the 'a' say to the 'the'? "You definitely are ticklish, 'the'!"

Why was the small man eaten by the large bear, which was proportionately bigger than him? It had, er, relative claws.

I think the reason there are so many speakers of Russian is because they all partake in an activity called "copulae shun". (Ok, ok, I know, that was Pushkin it.)

I know a man called Hillary who can, might, should, did, must, shall and will ride an ox. We call him "Ox Hillary".

I always think the verb 'to be' in the senten

One day a farmer's mare birthed two foals. One was named Hobbin, and the other Noggin. The two horses grew up and loved to race each other. One day the farmer noticed the two racing each other around the pasture and thought to himself, "Wow! These horses are quick!" So the next day he entered them into a local derby. As the race was about to start, the horses were rearing and snorting to get let out of the gate. As soon as the gates swung open, both horses immediately bolted to the front of the race as the announcer was going wild, "It's Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, Hobbin-Noggin, and Hobbin wins by a nose!" Excited by the win, the farmer then enters them into the Kentucky Derby. Once again, as soon as the gates open, both horses fly to the front of the race and it's Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin and again, Hobbin wins by a nose. This continues in every race until Hobbin has won the Triple Crown. By this point the farmer is beginning to realize just how fast these horses are, so he decides to enter them into a NASCAR race and again, it's Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin and again, Hobbin wins by a nose. This pattern continues until Hobbin wins the Sprint Cup. Still believing that he can push these horses further, he enters them both into an F1 Grand Prix. Unbelievably, against some of most well-engineered machines on Earth, as soon as the race started it was Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin and again, Hobbin wins by a nose. Hobbin won so often that he was named the World Drivers' Champion. After that the farmer decided that the horses had done it, they'd won the most prestigious races in the world; they had earned their retirement. Five years later, as the two horses were grazing in their pasture, Noggin walked up to Hobbin and said, "Hey, you know, you won all of those races we were in. Do you think that we could race around the pasture, and you could just let me win one race?" "Okay, I'll do that for you" Hobbin replied. So, just like the olden days, the two horses were off, and ever the same, it was Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, and again, Hobbin beats Noggin by a nose. The old farm dog, watching from the farmhouse's front porch, walks over and asks Hobbin, "Hey, why'd you do that? You said you'd let him win, the race was just for fun; it meant nothing." To which Hobbin responded, "WOW. Would you look at that? A t

When I was about 15, I asked my parents if I could see "The Matrix." At that time, if I asked to see an R-rated movie, the rule was we waited till it came to video (yes, at the time it was videotapes) and my parents would watch it first without me to decide if they were comfortable with me watching it.

They watched it, and the next day, my dad asked me what I thought The Matrix was- I said it was some kind of group of cops or something that could do cool aerial fighting moves.

He said, "Unfortunately, no one can be told what The Matrix is... You have to see it for yourself."

For those who are unfamiliar, this is exactly the line used by one of the main characters when he introduces the concept of The Matrix.

No one? Just me? I thought it was funny. Oh well.

Those were the darkest days of my life.

Those were the darkest days of my life.

Those were the darkest days of my life.

Those were the days...

Oh.... those were the days....

Every able lad within a few hundred miles wanted to play football for Central Catholic Fighting Knights.

Those who were familiar with the program, knew that the true heart and soul of the Knights football program was Sister Mary Margaret, an aged nun who would, in full habit, get out on the practice field and work on routes with the receivers, give pointers to the quarterbacks on their stances and releases, but most of all, love them like the second mother that she became to all of the boys in that program.

One year, on the eve of the state championship game, some evil malefactors broke into the convent and kidnapped Sister Mary Margaret. Everyone was stunned by the news, but none more so than the Knights of Central Catholic. They were devastated at the loss of their mentor.

As you might guess, the state championship game didn't go very well. For the first time in the history of the football program, the Knights were shut out. The Spartans beat them 42-0.

The next day, the headline on the local sports section read:

No Offense, Nun Taken

Ah. Those were the days....

Those were the days...