Three... Extremes Puns

Save them to your Phone and always have witty jokes at the palm of your hand.

3.14 percent of sailors are pi-rates.

5/4 of people admit they’re bad at fractions.

A bartender broke up with her boyfriend, but he kept asking her for another shot.

A brain walks into a bar and takes a seat. “I’d like some wings and a pint of beer, please,” it says. “Sorry, but I can’t serve you,” the bartender replies. “You’re out of your head.”

A cheeseburger walks into a bar. The bartender says, 'Sorry, we don't serve food here.'

A college education now costs $100,000, but it produces three very proud people: the student, his mama, and his pauper.

A couple of cups of yogurt walk into a country club. “We don’t serve your kind here,” the bartender says. “Why not?” one yogurt asks. “We’re cultured.”

A friend of mine didn’t pay his exorcist. He got repossessed.

A friend of mine is known for sweeping girls off their feet. He’s an extremely aggressive janitor.

A guy walks into a bar, and there’s a horse serving drinks. The horse asks, “What are you staring at? Haven’t you ever seen a horse tending bar before?” The guy says, “It’s not that. I just never thought the parrot would sell the place.”

A guy walks into a bar...and he was disqualified from the limbo contest.

A pirate walks into a bar with a paper towel on his head. The bartender says, “What’s with the paper towel?” The pirate says, “Arrr! I’ve got a Bounty on me head!”

A turtle is crossing the road when he’s mugged by two snails. When the police ask him what happened, the shaken turtle replies, “I don’t know. It all happened so fast.”

Armed robbers—some say they’re a drain on society, but you’ve got to give it to them.

Barbers…you have to take your hat off to them.

Can February March? No, but April May!

Cooking out this weekend? Don’t forget the pickle. It’s kind of a big dill.

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

Dad, can you put the cat out? I didn't know it was on fire.

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

Dad: Did you hear about the kidnapping at school? Son: No. What happened? Dad: The teacher woke him up.

Daughter: I have a lot of friends named Nathan. There’s Nathan Miller, Nathan Radcliff, Nathan Lewis… Me: When they are together, do you call them the United Nathans?

Dear Math, grow up and solve your own problems.

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

Did you hear about the aquatic sea mammals that escape

A guy was taking his girlfriend to prom; a night that she had been looking forward to for a very long time! He wanted to make sure it was absolutely perfect for her.

First, he went to buy her some flowers. The line was incredibly long since everyone else was doing the same, but he stuck through it and got them.

Second, he went to buy her some chocolates at the local choco-shop. Again, there was a very long line, but he waited and bought her the chocolates.

Third, he wanted to look his best for her, so he went and rented a tux. Every other lad had the same thought, and the line reached out the door! But he waited and got his tux.

Finally, he went to rent a limo for their special night. The line stretched around the block but he thought of how happy she would be and waited. After three hours, he had the limo.

He went to pick her up and took her to the prom. She was extremely grateful for everything he had done, but asked for a drink, as the chocolates had made her thirsty. He agreed, albeit a tad begrudgingly, as he knew all the other girls probably asked for the same and that the line would be astronomical.

He went to go get it for her. Luckily, there's no punch line.

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

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.