Time of arrival Puns

This was known as the Big Bang hypothesis.

Joke by Terry Pratchett, ‘The Colour of Magic’, Prologue.

...all they had to say was "get Elon little doggie".

Hi unforgiving, I'm dad"

"Yes you are"

Maybe you should be a better doctor”

In the Alpine mountains of Switzerland, a young carpenter has just learned that his wife is with child.

Looking for advice, he consults his own father, to better prepare for fatherhood. The old man tells him, ''You should build something to await the arrival of the child. Something which will have your purest thoughts, your kindest emotions encapsulated within, to gift to the child when it is born. ''

On the way atop the mountains, the young man gets an idea forming within his head, whilst walking past a field with horses about. He will build a small wooden race horse on wheels, for the child to ride around in.

He spends hours, tirelessly carving, polishing, measuring, until nine months later, the child is born. The man's life is suddenly filled with intense joy, and he forgets about his gift for a little while. That is, until his son begins to take his first steps, and his balance becomes more assured. The carpenter decides to take the wooden horse out of his workshop, and gift it to his son. The son, is instantly magnetized by the toy, and instinctively learns how to ride it forth, and about the house.

With time, the child grows up strong, smarter every day. With age, he began neglecting the wooden horse, and soon, his mother had tucked it away, as a keepsake into the attic of the house.
A few decades pass, and the child has become a man. He followed up in his father's footsteps, in some ways, and in others he varied. He went on to study the Arts in Zurich, but still chose to work with wood, like his father did.

His sculptures became famous, as he managed to catalyze the aesthetic, literary and artistic movements of the time. His first exposition came, and he stood there, proud, in this artistic intelligentsia coffee house, surrounded by cigar smoke, thinking of his dad, who had since passed.

Suddenly, a man sporting a cigarette perched atop fine lips, approached him, and asked inquisitively in Swiss German, but with an undeniably thick French accent.

''Are you an artist?''

''Non, but my Dada ist.''

It was a brisk Saturday morning when Gerald arrived at “The Café,” a hip coffee shop right down the street. Wearing his large, burly black coat, he stared hesitantly at his watch. Thick glasses adorned his bright blue eyes, his gaze like starlight in a clear night sky. He was waiting, intently twiddling his thumbs. After a buzz of his phone, the message from Dad popped up: “Parking now, be there in 5.”

“Dad,” he whispered under his breath, swiping the message away to once again reveal the image on his lock-screen: a hazy picture of an ultrasound.

Gerald had not spoken to his father for three years. They had had a falling out, over which he did not remember. To him it was a competition of who could wait the longest without calling or sending a text. Who could wait the longest: him without a father, or his father without a son? The idea of friction in the relationship hurt like a thorn; piercing his soul more and more everyday. Until recently, out of the blue, “Dad” popped up on his phone. The rest is history. The rest leads to that Saturday morning, at The Café.

Bang! A car door rang out not too far from where Gerald stood. Gerald saw him. His father wore his tweed jacket like a coat of armor. His strut was now weaker than before they stopped talking; a weakness evident in his cane which supported every right step. His shortly trimmed white beard juxtaposed against his uncut, curly grey hair gave him the image of a wise wizard from a fairytale. He used to be that figure to Gerald, yet instead of a nice ancient being acting like a stone to keep him grounded, Gerald had felt as though his father was a rock pulling him deeper and deeper into a sea of monotony. Holding him back from his true potential. Maybe that was why he left? He still did not know.

“Hello, son,” came the withered voice Gerald had sook for so long, yet now that it had arrived wanted to avoid. “I can’t believe it’s been so long!”

“Yeah,” said Gerald, allowing a smile to grace his face. “Too long!”

Then they hugged, signifying a change in their relationship. Gerald had hoped something could happen to bring them closer together. He did not want to go on wondering what could have been. The regret and sadness weighed him down. Before starting a new family, Gerald wanted to be reacquainted with his own.

After finding their table and sitting down, the two began to discuss life. It was like old friends catching up after a long break. Although it took some time, Gerald began to warm u

Finally, she thought of a clever way to make her point.

When I arrived home one day, I found her seated in the tall grass, busily snipping away with a tiny pair of sewing scissors.

I watched silently for a short time and then went into the house.

I was gone only a minute and when I came out, I handed her a toothbrush.

I said, "When you finish cutting the grass, you might as well sweep the driveway."

The doctors say I will walk again, but I will always have a slight limp...

Back in the before times, when sit-down restaurants existed, I used to order boneless cheese sticks and would just throw the word "boneless" in front of any appetizer with 100% corniness. The purpose of this isn't to make a good joke. It's not a good joke. The purpose is to make my dining companions catch some cringe splash damage and want to crawl into a hole and die out of embarrassment for my being horribly corny.

But there is a real, deeper purpose that I've discovered entirely by accident. People, especially young people, are so self-conscious and worried about saying or doing something embarrassing that it taints a lot of social gatherings. They go to a restaurant and are afraid to speak up even when their order is blatantly wrong. They'll tip well even when the food took an hour to arrive and the server has disappeared into the corn stalks behind a baseball field. It takes 2 hours of hanging out together before some friends finally stop nitpicking themselves, uncomfortable in their own bodies and brains, feeling perpetually judged, and begin to relax. These are the kinds of people who go to sleep every night replaying cringey moments from high school. Their last thought of the day is when the Burger King girl said, "Enjoy your meal!" and they said, "Thanks, you too."

It takes 2 hours and/or a lot of booze before they're comfortable enough to take conversational risks and truly reveal themselves. But if I come right out of the gate with a really dumb joke, then we can cut to the chase. There's less danger because someone in the group already shot themselves in the foot, right off the bat. They pulled a pin on the cringe grenade and then jumped on it.

You cringe at my dumb joke and then we're over the hump. Someone has already done something pretty stupid, so go ahead and order the hubcap of nachos and a massive chocolate shake because nobody is going to judge you poorly while they're all judging me.

In terms of price negotiations (haggling), there is a psychological concept called "anchoring". You throw out the first number and all subsequent numbers are compared to that number. This is the same idea. We've already set the humor standard pretty low at "boneless cheese sticks", so you can say the dumbest shit you want and, as long as it's not worse than my cheesy joke, it won't matter.

This is why, when you were a teenager and your dad took you and some friends out, your dad made corny jokes. He knew they were corny jokes. You and your friends un

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

One evening Jake stole Joke’s bag and hid it just at the edge of a forest nearby. Next morning he told him what he had done and to be careful not to go far into the forest since it’s riddled with bears once you go into the deep forest part and you are sure to get eaten.

Since Joke didn’t return for a long period of time, Jake went looking for him. However, he couldn’t find his friend. Jake, feeling remorse, called the police and told them what had happened.

Unfortunately, the police were no help and the case started to gain traction with the media. Reporters from all the nearby villages wanted to be the one to crack the case and find Joke.

Jake slowly spiraled into despair, not knowing what happened, thinking he killed his friend and all he wanted was some answers, buying all the local newspapers every day hoping to read something new and gain some answers.

Day after day the event slowly slipped out of his mind as time went by with no new information whatsoever. Until one day, Jake decided to put this whole thing behind him and found a therapist to help him move on.

The therapy was a huge success, he completed all but one meetings and he had just one more to go. He arrived on time as always, but the therapist’s office was locked this time. Jake checked his mobile phone and he saw a message from his therapist that he’s gonna be a few minutes late and that he should sit down in the waiting room, relax, and wait for him.

Jake, as any reasonable person, sat down in the waiting room and started waiting. It was at this moment that his phone battery ran out and he became bored, very bored, so he picked up a random newspaper from the table in front of him and then he saw it, the headline he was waiting for for so long:

Joke gone too far.

Being tired and weary, the lawyer-onion isn't sure whether to go, but decides he needs cheering up.

So he dresses smartly, puts on his favorite aftershave and heads over to his friend's.

He gets to the party to find it quite a packed affair and heads over to the bar - fighting through crowds of reveller-onions - to get a drink.

As he gets to the bar, he notices in one corner a slightly out-of-place female onion.

She looks a bit sad and being the compassionate onion that he is, he heads over to talk to her.

This is quickly affirmed as a good move, as they hit it off immediately; she was abandoned by her friends shortly after arriving and had been minding her own business ever since, but over a night of drinks and talking, they quickly fall into an infatuation and soon end up spending an oniony night of passion together.

When they awake in the morning, they don't find it awkward and a steady relationship between the two is struck.

This lasts a good while, having its ups and downs like any college relationship, but eventually the day comes when they both graduate.

The two couldn't be happier!

They both get jobs close to one another and move into an apartment together.

One day, the partner-onion is anxiously awaiting the lawyer-onion at home.

She's been ill all day and checking has confirmed her suspicions.

She tearfully - and joyfully - breaks the news to the lawyer-onion; they're going to have a tiny baby-onion together.

A shallot, if you will.

A few days later, this prompts the lawyer-onion to propose to his heretofore girlfriend-onion.

They are soon wed, having a fantastic wedding-day and husband and wife-onions are on top of the world.

The day comes of the birth and no complications - a tiny, healthy baby onion is born to two proud parents.

Seeing this little bundle of oniony love in their arms causes them to fall deeper in love than ever.

Over the next few years, husband-and-wife-onions' lives are fantastic.

He's prospering at work, she's really enjoying taking some time to raise the baby-onion and over time the baby-onion grows into a hale and hearty toddler-onion, who then becomes a child-onion.

One day, the idyll of the onions' lives is shattered when tragedy strikes.

The lawyer-onion (now a partner-onion in a prestigious law firm due to chance and hard work) is at work, and mother-onion is washing dishes and watching her child play in the yard.

She glances away to take another plate and turns her vision back to

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 boy was in love with a girl. Madly in love. He told his older brother, who suggested he ask her to the upcoming prom. So, that night, he went to her house with some flowers and chocolates and asked the girl to the prom.

She was overjoyed. She took the flowers and hugged him around the neck. When he went home, his brother told him he had to get ready. Prom was in only a week!

The next day, he traveled to a suit store. He picked out the perfect one. It would go perfectly with his date’s dress. He picked his up and went to check out. Unfortunately, it seems a lot of people were buying suits, as the line nearly went out of the store. He groaned, but anything for his love. After two long hours, he finally got his suit.

A couple days later, his brother suggested that he rent a limo. He and his brother went to rent one that evening. When they arrived, they discovered that there were nearly 50 people waiting to rent a vehicle. They waited for nearly three hours, but they were finally able to rent a limo for the big day.

The afternoon before the dance, he went to buy some flowers for his date. Unfortunately, the store seemed to be having a sale, and the checkout lines extended into the parking lot. He stomped his foot. “Why is it that every time I go to buy something, everyone else wants to buy it too?!” He begrudgingly waited for nearly four hour before walking out with a bouquet of roses.

That night, he rode in the limo to his date’s house. She got in, and they talked the entire trip. He presented her with the flowers, which she adored. Her dress was stunning, and went perfectly with his suit.

They arrived at the school and got out, arms linked. They walked inside, said hi to a couple of friends, and began dancing and enjoying the night.

About halfway through the dance, the boy was parched. He told his girl that he was going to get a drink. He walked over to the snack table and discovered that there was no punch line.

After many years of wandering, he finally arrived in a small village in the middle of nowhere. The people there believed in the same religion as he did, but they had no church; they had to go to the nearest one which was in a small town 25 km's from there. The priest took the initiative, asked the Church for support, and with the help of the local men they built their own temple. From there on, he was celebrating the Sunday masses, joining together men and women in Holy Matrimony, and saying prayers at the funerals.

Many years passed by like that.

At the end of an ordinary mass, in early spring, on a chilly Sunday morning he was just guiding the people out of the church, was about to close the gates when an unknown man stepped into the churchyard.

With his dirty and torn clothes, he stood before the priest and said:

• Priest, please be good and give me half a lemon! - the priest was a good man, and even though he thought the request was a bit strange, he went back to the rectory, took out a lemon, cut it in half, took it back to the man and gave it to him, who looked back to the priest with gratitude. However, the priest was curious. He asked:

• Son, why do you need this half of a lemon? - with a fright on his face, and before the priest could have said a thing, he rushed out of the churchyard gate and took off.

A week later, around the same time, when the priest was leaving the church, he found himself in front of the same man in the churchyard. The man said:

• Priest, please be good and give me half a lemon! - the priest was surprised by the appearance of the man and his strange request. Of course he was good, went back to the rectory, and brought the half lemon. Placed it in the stranger’s hand and immediately he asked:

• Here it is, my dear son, but please tell me why do you need this half a lemon? - the man was obviously frightened and immediately ran away but the priest was not sluggish either and ran after him. He wasn’t in a very good condition, he has never run so much and so fast before so he was out of breath by the end of the village, almost fainted. He thought the strange man might appear again next week, and it would be nice if he could keep up with him, so he spent his week working on his cardio. It turned out to be a good idea, because as he thought, the stranger entered the churchyard on Sunday. The priest didn’t even wait for the request, he was good, and brought the half lemon. He received these words from the man:

• Thank you

So a bus conductor in America was doing his job one day, happily printing and checking tickets all day long, enjoying the country views and feeling good about life.

A young lad gets on, chewing gum and being as loud and rude as all teenage lads are. There’s no-one else on the bus, so the conductor takes his ticket machine and bops the lad over the head, killing him. As expected, the Police arrest him. He goes through the legal process, a trial and admits his guilt, however the judge decides that they’re making an example of him and give him the sentence of death by the electric chair.

On Death row, he requests 5lbs of bananas for his last meal, which is duly brought and consumed. As he finishes, the guards arrive to escort him to the chair. As the executioner flicks the switch, nothing happens. All of the equipment is checked and works, but has no effect on the bus conductor. Under the law, this counts as a reprieve and he is released.

He gets his job back and puts the whole incident behind him. Until one day, a little old lady gets on the bus and starts to pay for a ticket in one cent coins. After about 10 minutes of fiddling with change, the conductor runs out of patience and bops the old lady on the head, killing her. As expected, the Police arrest him. He goes through the legal process, a trial and admits his guilt, however the judge decides that they’re making an example of him and give him the sentence of death by the electric chair.

On Death row, he requests 5lbs of bananas for his last meal, which is duly brought and consumed. As he finishes, the guards arrive to escort him to the chair. As the executioner flicks the switch, nothing happens. All of the equipment is checked and works, but has no effect on the bus conductor. Under the law, this counts as a reprieve and he is released.

After getting his job back again, life seems to go well for the conductor, until one day a young lady gets on the bus, casually putting her feet on the seat opposite. By now, the conductor is a little less lenient than in years gone by, so he takes his ticket machine and bops her over the head with it, killing her. As expected, the Police arrest him. He goes through the legal process, a trial and admits his guilt, however the judge decides that they’re making an example of him and give him the sentence of death by the electric chair.

On Death row, he requests 5lbs of bananas for his last meal, which is duly brought and consumed. As he finishes, the guards ar

In the not too distant future, web censorship is pervasive; speech and freedom are strangers to one another; while pirates sail the seas with impunity, digital pirates are incarcerated by the busload.

Anyone who speaks out against this ban on open-dialogue or the free-sharing-of-ideas is ground down and hidden away, and the resistance is loosing its will.

A small group of contributors to reddit, huddled together in a bunker beneath barely-waving flags of Snoo, worked tirelessly to repost new ideas from around the internet, to release ideas from their chains, and make speech free ... again!

But it was not to be - a gang of the governments anti-piracy enforcers descended on this, the last bastion of humankind's will to share-freely. Arriving in an armored bus, ten shock-troopers breached the bunker and it looked like the day was lost.

Fortunately for us all, one brave redditor led the collective out a back entrance and they circled to the driveway. This leader told the other redditors to wait in the bushes while he overpowered the one soldier left guarding the transport. There was a flash of movement, a crack from a fallen branch as it struck the guard, and then, stolen keys in hand, the hero revved the engine and told the redditors to pile in.

He had to will himself ignore the gas gauge as he floored the accelerator on the 25,000 pound ticket to freedom - there was only survival or defeat, and nothing in between. Sirens came alive behind him as he rushed for the border to the promised land, to the Free-North.

As the engine begins to cough, the titanic weight of the transport cleaves the barricades asunder and the pursuing vehichles have to hard-brake to avoid skidding beyond their corrupt jurisdiction. Both exhausted and elated, the redditors follow their hero to the freedom promised by their new surroundings ... but their peril is not yet passed.

Though most of the pirate-hunters glower from the south-side of the border, one special agent has crossed over and is speaking with the border guards. The tension is thick. A long-faced guard turns to the newcomers, clearly troubled by what he must do.

"Folks," he says, a pained look on his kindly face, "I'm sorry, to do this, don't cha' know, but I got no choice, eh!"

Confused, the redditors look to one another, and tremble as they notice the agent's smug expression, greedy eyes fixed on the leader of the exodus.

"Look here, now, you are all welcome here, of course, and since speech is free here, we are

Once in a land far, far away there lived a group of people called Trids. The Trids were happy except for the huge ogre that lived on the mountain. The ogre would periodically terrorize the Trids.

The Trids tired of the ogre and sought to reason with him. They thought one of their religious leaders would be a good intermediary. So a group of Trids and their minister went up the mountain and before they could even say one word the ogre kicked them down the mountain. Not being dismayed the Trids thought that maybe the ogre was Catholic, so they sent another delegation, this time led by the local priest. But alas, as they approached the ogre he once again kicked them all down the mountain.

The Trids were upset until they thought that perhaps the ogre was Jewish. Unfortunately, no Trids were Jewish, so they wrote to the people of another land and asked them to send a Rabbi to help them with the ogre. The Rabbi arrived and led a delegation of Trids up the mountain. The ogre saw them coming and kicked all of them, except for the Rabbi, down the mountain. The Rabbi, having been told of the previous expeditions, wondered why he alone had not been kicked down the mountain, so he asked the ogre. The ogre laughed and replied:

"Silly Rabbi, kicks are for Trids!"

This is the story of Jack and the Beanstalk, after the story ends. After chopping down the beanstalk, Jack realizes that he’s actually pretty damn good with an axe, and casual vegetative vandalism really struck his fancy, so he began chopping down other trees for a living. He became a traveling woodsman, and he enjoyed many years of his simple life of manual labor.

One day, as he chops wood, he hears screams from a nearby cottage. Hurriedly breaking in (because recall: jack has no problem with entering houses uninvited), he sees a cross dressing lycanthrope attempting to devour a little girl dressed all in red and her little grandmother too. Wielding his trusty axe, Jack murdered yet another fantasy creature, and safely led Little Red all the way back home. Answering the door was a beautiful woman of around his age. After sending Little Red to bed, the two of them talked for hours.

One thing led to another, and a year later they were married with a child on the way. They had a beautiful little boy named Jack Junior who followed in his father’s steps to become a woodsman. This was fortunate, because as Junior grew up, Jack was feeling the pain of his previous adventures. An old back injury from jumping from the beanstalk was haunting him, and over time his posture grew more and more hunched. He had a tough time working, but at least Junior was becoming a strapping young man.

One day, Jack and Junior took the long road to the grandmothers place to bring her a meal, just like that fateful trio Red took so many years ago. When they arrived, the grandmother greeted them cheerily, welcoming them in and making conversation. “Oh Junior,” she said, “you’ve grown into such a handsome and strong young man. It’s so kind of you to handle all the work so your poor father, with his bad back and all, doesn’t have to. Why don’t you have a girlfriend yet?” Junior hesitated. “Well Grandma,” he replied. “It’s because... I’m gay”. The close-minded, set-in-her-ways grandma’s expression became stormy. She pulled poor hunched-over Jack into adjacent room, and whispered angrily: “Jack, your life is a mess! Your posture is terrible and your son isn’t giving me any grandsons!” Jack replied: “Ma, we’re happy, you can’t just-“ But she interrupted. “No excuses!” She snapped. “You need to straighten your lumbar, Jack!”

So one time there was this kid named Tim. Tim wanted to really wanted to go to the school prom with a girl named Janet. So one day, at school, he walked up to Janet and asked if she wanted to go.

She said yes!

So once she got home she told her mom. Her mom was very excited for her and called all of their family to share the news.

Then, that weekend, Janet and her mom went dress shopping. They looked and tried on several dresses until they found the right one. Janet tried that one on and was very happy.

Meanwhile, Tim needed a tuxedo. He looked online and found a great shop and put in an rental order.

The next week he came in and picked it up. On the way home he picked up a corsage. And once he got home, he ordered a limousine.

The day of Tim put on his tuxedo and grabbed the corsage just as the limo arrived to pick him up. Then the limo took him to Janet's house and her parents took a lot of pictures of the two of them.

Once their parents were finally done taking pictures, they left for the prom.

They bought their tickets and went inside and danced for a while.

And then, Janet asked Tim to get her something to drink. He went to find something, but there was no punch line!

A man was very unhappily married and tired of being in debt. So he figured out a way to resolve both of his problems with ease. He started by taking out a life insurance policy on his wife, naming himself as the sole beneficiary. Then, he spoke to a friend, who had a friend, who knew a guy who made people "disappear". He met with the gentleman, Artie, and they set up the plot to murder his wife. Artie said it would only be $5,000, but he wanted it upfront. The man, not having much money, opened his wallet and showed Artie the lone one dollar bill. Reluctantly, Artie took the dollar as a down payment. A few days later, Artie followed the wife into a grocery store, and back to the deli section. There was no one else around, so Artie took the opportunity to strangle her to death. Just as he was laying her body down, the manager walked out to witness this scene. Not wanting to leave any witnesses, Artie murdered the manager as well. Unbeknownst to Artie, the store's security witnessed all of this unfold from the hidden cameras around the store. By the time the manager was dead, the police had arrived and arrested Artie. The following day, the front page of the local newspaper read, "Artie Chokes Two For One Dollar at Your Hometown Grocery Store!"

There are three classes of cheerios, the lower class (plain ol' cheerios), the middle class cheerios (frosted), and the elite class (honey nut). One soggy morning in Seattle, a plain cheerio awoke in his single room apartment. He looked out at the still sleepy city, blanketed in a mist of rain. He quickly got dressed and put his shoes on, this would be the day. He stood propped against the bus stop, smoking a cigarette. "God I have got to stop this habit." He thought to himself. Glancing back and forth at the bustle of cheerios, he saw her. She looked about 25, devastatingly gorgeous, and he could smell the honey from where he stood. "Excuse me ma'am," his voice quivered, "I - I think you might be the most beautiful cheerio I have ever seen." She smiled and her otherwise golden brown face grew red. " This is a long shot, but will you marry me?' She was obviously caught off guard by this, but her red lips formed the word, "Yes." They raced through the morning mist of the city, and arrived at her fathers house. The cheerio bent down in front of her father. "Sir, I would like to ask for your blessing in marrying your daughter" "No! You are a regular cheerio and my daughter needs a high quality honey nut" he snapped. "But sir." "No means no damnit!" "Sir this is very unrea-" "You come back a honey nut and you'll have my blessing, my daughter is not about to marry a low life like you." The cheerio sprinted home, tears streaming down his face. He fumbled against the lock and sprawled out on his bed. When he awoke it was early, his sheets had a dark silhouette from his wet jacket. He sat up and lit a cigarette. "Damn." he sighed to himself. Walking in front of his mirror, he noticed something different. His body was frosted! He had become a frosted cheerio! He darted out the door without shoes, reaching the honey nut household in no time at all. He banged on the door, and the beauty's father answered. "Sir I am a changed cheerio! I'm frosted!" he exclaimed. Her father had a stern look on his face. "You think you are any better? The dirt on my boots are worth more than you." he hissed. The old honey nut slammed the door on the young frosted. He heard the deadbolt click. The newly frosted cheerio didn't take the same way home. He stood on the edge of a bridge, feeling the cool autumn wind on his sugar coated skin. Was he really going to go through with this? Was it worth it? No he was a frosted cheerio now. He couldn't get the girl, but he was a changed cheerio. He

For all of my life, my brain has played a soundtrack. At all times, in all places, I hear music going through my head, from the moment I awaken in the morning until I go to sleep at night. I can only shut it off by listening to other music, watching a movie, etc. but it soon starts up again once the outside source of stimulus is removed.

Yesterday I was travelling. When I visited the restroom prior to boarding my flight, the the music in my head suddenly switched tracks from "I've Been Everywhere Man" (that got really old after the first hour. Oy!) to "Africa" by Toto. "That's odd", I thought to myself, "the music in my head usually doesn't switch tracks unless something has changed around me." I finished my business, cleaned up, stood up, and turned around to flush.

Then I saw it. There, emblazoned on the porcelain, was the word "TOTO". The manufacturer of the toilet. "Nice job, brain, funny, hah-hah," I thought to myself.

The song in my head came to an abrupt halt. Silence, for just one moment. Blessed silence. Rare for me. Then I realized. My brain was giving me time to digest the previous joke. Waiting for me to think I'd arrived at the punch line. Pausing for a beat before it delivered the next one. "Africa" started over again, telling me exactly why the DJ deciding songs in my head had picked this exact moment, this exquisite situation, this exact set of circumstances to deliver the internal Dad Joke of the year:

"Doodoo doo-doo doodoo do dooooooooo...."

Dave is working at his job at the Time Travel Factory when his partner Bob comes back in his own time machine. "Come quick Dave!" he says "I just got back from the Middle Ages and have met a prince!" So Dave climbs into Bob's machine and they head to the Middle Ages.

They arrive at a castle and immediately meet the prince Bob was talking about. "Your Majesty" says Bob "Allow me to introduce my friend Dave. He works with me at the Time Traveling factory." As Dave bows, the Prince says "It is an honor to meet you my loyal subject. I am a Prince. My mother and father are Queen and King of this kingdom."

"It is even more of an honor to meet you, Your Highness" says Dave. "I have never met royalty before."

"It is indeed a rare honor for most subjects." said the prince. "Because of a strict guideline of pre-arranged marriage and inbreeding, there are only a small number of us around."

"Er...ok..." said Dave. "So tell me Prince, how vast is your kingdom."

"It is most large" said the Prince. "However my population has been dwindling lately. In recent months, I've had to behead a large number of my subjects. It fulfills my bloodlust and desire for authoritarian control by any means necessary."

Clearly uncomfortable, Dave turns to Bob and quietly says "I hate to say it, but this prince you've found is kind of a bummer."

Bob said to Dave "Well what did you expect, I told you. I have meta prince.

I walk into a Longhorn Steakhouse with my dad and we see four nuns sitting at a table making their order... My dad looks at me and says: "I guess they couldn't resist the flesh".

Another time: It was Easter weekend and we're at the airport to pick up my sister. Waiting at arrivals is a group of three nuns... My dad says: "Who are they here to pick up? Pontius Pilot?"

Allow me to regale you with a couple tales illustrating my late dad's sense of humor. Last names faked because I'm not that stupid.

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(1). At a routine PTA meeting about me in my Georgia school, everyone found themselves packed into a hot and stuffy room waiting for the boredom to end. Shoulder to shoulder fun, can you picture it?

My dad lets one rip. It's loud, smelly, and echoes. The room falls silent as the fart invites itself unfavorably to the nostrils of those in attendance.

He turns to my mom and with his best shocked face says, "... Patty!"

I like to think he slept on the couch that night.

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(2). During my old man's wait for us to arrive at the new home he had bought, he had to deal with ongoing construction and roughed it at a hotel for a few nights. He was a retired Master Chief Machinist's Mate, so cramped quarters reminded him of the sub's nuclear engine room. No biggie.

An interview comes up for a civilian nuclear power plant nearby, and before you know it my dad's sitting before these stuffy, serious, wrinkly old board members and managers, having his (mostly military) resume picked through.

"Well Mister Smith, we're impressed. Twenty two years is no small amount of time to dedicate to the service. But do you feel you're qualified to operate and audit a civilian fission power plant?"

My dad thinks on it for a second.

"Well no, sir, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night."

He got the job immediately.

(For those needing the reference)

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Thanks for caring to read. I miss him a lot and this subreddit always reminds me of his sense of dry, quick humor. Take care!

There once was a man from the Ukraine named Ivan Ivanavich. Now Ivan and his family were dirt poor, in fact they were so poor, that they had to sell the cockroaches and rats they found in their hovel to make some spare change to to feed their many family members. One day, Ivan decided it was time to travel to the United States to try and have a better life and miraculously he managed to get aboard a ship to the States. Now his journey on this ship was miserable, he was down in the bowels of the ship, which was flooded with rats and feces, but he hunkered down and gave it his all to survive this terrible journey. finally, one day he hears commotion above, they had arrived at last. Ivan walks up to the topside of the old ship and sees the New York Harbor. He stands there amazed seeing such a beautiful sight. Ivan starts his life in New York but he doesn't have a significantly better life than the one he left behind. Nobody is interested in hiring immigrants but eventually he lands himself a gig of selling old newspapers. He would go through garbage cans to find old papers and would sell them to people in the poorer part of town. He makes slightly more spare change, but not really enough to live a better life. In his spare time, which he had plenty, he decides to start free diving in the bay. He goes there each day, and started to get really good at it. One day, an owner of a Circus spots him diving and is amazed at how good he is. He decides to offer Ivan a job at his circus doing performance diving. Ivan eagerly accepts and begins his career as a circus member performing amazing high jumps into really small containers of water. After a few months of doing this he suggests to the owner one amazing jump to wow everyone and put his circus on top of the entertainment world. The owner contemplates this and eventually agrees. He rents a ship much like the one Ivan arrived in and placed the smallest container yet. The radio and tv crews, journalist all arrive to spectate the event of a lifetime. The hour arrives and Ivan begins his climb up a massive lighthouse on the edge of the cliff, and the ship is positioned into place beneath him. Ivan is very nervous but decides it's go time, and jumps from the massive lighthouse. As Ivan falls, he takes perfect form heading straight towards his target. As he dives a sudden wave pushes the ship ever slightly throwing off the careful alignment. Ivan hits the deck and goes straight through the top of the ship. The spectato

An Aussie blonde was sent on her way to Heaven. Upon arrival, a concerned St Peter met her at the Pearly Gates. 'I'm sorry,' St Peter said; 'but Heaven is suffering from an overload of godly souls and we have been forced to put up an Entrance Exam for new arrivals to ease the burden of Heavenly Arrivals.'

'That's cool' said the blonde, 'What does the entrance exam consist of?'

'Just three questions' said St Peter.

'Which are?' asked the blonde.

'The first,' said St Peter, 'is, which two days of the week start with the letter 'T'? The second is 'How many seconds are there in a year'?

The third is 'What was the name of the swagman in Waltzing Matilda?''

'Now,' said St Peter, 'Go away and think about those questions and when I call upon you, I shall expect you to have those answers for me.'

So the blonde went away and gave those three questions some considerable thought (I expect you to do the same).

The following morning, St Peter called upon the blonde and asked if she had considered the questions, to which she replied, 'I have.'

'Well then,' said St Peter, 'Which two days of the week start with the letter T?'

The blonde said, 'Today and Tomorrow.'

St Peter pondered this answer for some time and decided that indeed the answer can be applied to the question.

'Well then, could I have your answer to the second of the three questions' St Peter went on, 'how many seconds in a year?' The blonde replied, 'Twelve!' 'Only twelve' exclaimed St Peter, 'How did you arrive at that figure?' 'Easy,' said the blonde, 'there's the second of January, the second of February, right through to the second of December, giving a total of twelve seconds.'

St Peter looked at the blonde and said, 'I need some time to consider your answer before I can give you a decision.' He walked away shaking his head.

A short time later, St Peter returned to the blonde. 'I'll allow the answer to stand, but you need to get the third and final question absolutely correct to be allowed into Heaven. Now, can you tell me the answer to the name of the swagman in Waltzing Matilda?'

The blonde replied: 'Of the three questions, I found this the easiest to answer.' 'Really!' exclaimed St Peter, 'and what is the answer?' 'It's Andy.' 'Andy??' 'Yes, Andy,' said the blonde. This totally floored St Peter and he paced this way and that, deliberating the answer. Finally, he could not stand the suspense any longer and turning to the blonde, asked 'How in God's name did you arrive at

My friend had a really interesting job. One of those jobs you didn't know people could get.

tl;dr just read it, it's worth reading the whole description of the job

Before I moved, my neighbor's job was based in Antarctica. He worked with one of the research centers there, and his job was standing up penguins. I kid you not — when shipments arrived by air, like by helicopter or by airplane or whatever, the penguins would all look up with their tiny heads and look up so high they would fall over backwards. Now, penguins are super awkward in how they waddle everywhere, and so, not wanting to disturb the local environment, the research station had to have someone that could suit up and go out there and stand up penguins.

As soon as every shipment arrived, he would say, "Welp, better go suit up now," get into the whole penguin suit, and waddle out there all incognito and stand the penguins on their feet again. I'm sure they could have done it on their own, eventually, but the idea was to disturb the animals for as little time as possible.

I thought it was the most ridiculous thing when he told me, but he got the job through his dad's researcher colleague. Basically, the deal was they would get people to go down for 3-month periods (I think he ended up doing 6 months) and this was his occupation for that time. Actually, is plane flight there was one of the really cool parts: LA went to Sydney, which then went back across the Pacific to Buenos Aires. Then, on the final leg, he would finally go Buenos Aires to the research station. The planes actually had to be specially fitted for the job, though — Of course, you can't have typical runways in Antarctica because they'd get ice all over them and there'd be all these problems — so the planes had to have mechanics on board each flight who would, mid-flight, switch out the take-off wheels for the landing skis. Just like a sea plane, except it was a snow-plane. Coolest thing ever.

Oh, but the way he described working with the penguins was the best! Most of the time he'd just go out and stand them up, but sometimes one would hurt itself. Like one time one of them fell over backwards and hit its foot the wrong way, so he had to not only pick it up, but give medical help, too. He seriously had to prop up the penguin, take off his glove, and pull on each of the penguins little webbed toes, pull on their legs. Sort of like how I'm pulling your leg right now.

With the holidays upon us, I would like to share a personal experience with you about drinking and driving. The following experience was a first for me, and I hope you won't mind my "preaching" to you about it.

As you may know, a few of us have been known to come close to brushes with the authorities from time to time on the way home after a "social session".

Well, two days ago Christina and I were out for an evening with friends. We had several cocktails followed by some rather nice red wine. I was feeling jolly, but I still had the sense to know that I was probably over the limit.

That's when I did something that I've never done before in my entire life - I took a cab home. Well, Christina doesn't drive so this seemed the logical option.

Sure enough on the way home there was a police sobriety checkpoint, but since we were in a cab they waved us through and we arrived home safely without incident.

This was a real surprise as I had never driven a cab before. I don't know where I got it and now that it's in my garage, I don't know what to do with it. Any advice?

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!!

One day a duck walks into a bar and asks the bartender "hey do you got any grapes?" "No this is a bar, we don't have any grapes" replies the bartender and with that, the duck leaves.

The following day the duck walks in to the bar and asks the same bartender "Hey, got any grapes?" The bartender looks at him confused and replies "No this is a bar, we don't have any grapes, nor will we ever" and with that, the duck leaves.

The third day of the week arrives and the duck is back asking the same bartender the same question "Got any grapes?" Enraged the bartender replies "No we don't have any grapes, and further more if you ask me that one more time I will nail your feet to these floor boards!" The duck thinks for a moment and then asks "got any nails?" The bartender replies "No" the duck smiles and says "Got any grapes?"

Paul has a shitty life, his wife constantly berates him, his job sucks, his boss is a bully, his car is a shitty 85 ford pinto with a cracked windshield and is in bad need of a new transmission and to top it all off he's chubby, balding, and he has a small penis.

The only thing good in Paul's life is his friend Artie. Artie isn't the brightest bulb in the world, but he's always been there for Paul in the tough times. On October 5, 1953 Artie stood up for Paul against his bully in 7th grade. Artie got his ass handed to him at that time, but so did Paul. That incident resulted in a life long friendship. Paul and Artie went to the same High School together. They traveled around Europe that one summer in college. Artie was Paul's best man at his wedding. Everyone thought speech Artie gave was terrible, But Paul loved it Artie was his best friend.

Artie's life wasn't much better either, he never had the smarts for that great Job. In fact he was stuck in a dead end job as a construction labourer. Artie's car was pretty shitty too. Artie never married, but he was happy in the knowledge that at least he didn't end up with Paul's shitty wife.

For Paul's 46th birthday Artie was pretty broke, so all he could get his friend was a single lottery ticket. Artie being the sentimental guy that he was picked the date of the start of their friendship, and their respective ages (46, 45). Paul loved the present, and thought that the two of them should go to the Legion that friday to split a round of beers and listen to them call out the numbers.

On Friday they are both sitting there at the Legion having a laugh over a couple of beers when the cute lottery girl comes on the t.v. to read out the numbers. Paul pulls out the ticket and spreads it out on the beer stained table in front of them. The lottery girl starts reading out the numbers, 45, 10, 05. Both of Paul and Artie's hearts start beating, thats 200$ already. 53, Holy crap thats like a 10, 000 ticket. They both start losing their shit. 46....... Paul feints. He just won the jackpot. 37million dollars.

Two minutes later Artie finally revives Paul. Paul and Artie celebrate the night away, buy round after round for the people at the Legion and get absolutely shittered. They close out the bar and as the ugly lights come on they stumble blitzed, singing, onto the street arm in arm with the winning lottery ticket in hand and start the long walk back to Paul's place.

Halfway home, Paul comes to two drunken

Arty, a professional hit man, will only let his friend pay him a dollar for the job. Professional courtesy. Arty strangles the wife, but both the maid and butler hear the commotion and come barging into the room. Arty has to take care of them as well, but by the time he's done, the cops have arrived and he is arrested.

The news reports the next morning:

"Arty Chokes 3 for a Dollar."

Really close family friend of ours told us this one that allegedly happened while he was on duty. I'm going to tell it from his perspective, as it reads the 'funniest'.

So I'm on duty and we have to go and put out a simple brush fire off to the side of a busy intersection. Since it's the dry season of Southern California literally the smallest spark can cause a giant fire you know, so we're trying to put it out pretty fast. So we arrive there and we notice that an ambulance is speeding down the road to this one pretty sharp bend, and you know, they're making haste since they're on a code 3. A code 3 is where both the siren and the lights are on at the same time and they obviously have something that they need to do. Anyways, they're speeding around this corner and one of the backdoors gets flung open and a cooler flies out and lands at the curb. By this point we've handled the fire and we're just assessing the damage, like where it's spread, stuff like that, so I go and retrieve the container and I open it and inside there's a human toe in there. I tell most of my crew and we decide that we'll get the toe back to the paramedics and then head back to the station. So we call the emergency services and we let them know that some EMT's have left a human body part and didn't come back to get it. They tell us, "we'll have someone come pick it up soon". We wait about 20 minutes and no one arrives and we're all a bit startled that no one's come back to come pick up a fucking human toe, so we call back and they give us the same thing. Half an hour goes by so I decide to call AAA and see if they can help us. Sure enough, AAA is able to help us and within 10 minutes they dispatch the help we need by sending us a toe truck.

Preface: My dad, mom, and I went out to eat mexican food. Like we usually do, we order a huge platter of nachos and demolish the whole thing. Surely we are full even before our main course arrives. We all ordered combination platters that consisted of, burritos, enchiladas, and tacos which were overflowing with lettuce that no one except for my mom wanted to eat. My mom kept on nagging my dad and I to eat the lettuce so that it would lighten us up and make us feel less full:

Mom (for the 10th time): You boys should eat your lettuce. Come on now.

Me: Mom lettuce be!

Immediately my mom cringed and groaned, while my dad, after repeating the joke, gave a hearty chuckle.