Time served Puns

I got so good with scarves, they started calling me scarf ace.

A time traveler walks into a bar.

A time traveller walks into a bar.

His funeral will be held at 350 for about 20 minutes.

There was, for instance, the time he conducted a crew of new S.A.R.H. (Society for the Aesthetic Rearrangement of History -BJ) recruits – all from late twentieth-century Terra – on a training study of Carter’s World, a newly established agricultural colony attempting to support itself by the export of edible nuts. Barely into their second generation, and having yet to show a profit, the colonists were technologically backward. Nevertheless, they showed a surprising ingenuity in the use of their few advantages. It was this resourcefulness that Feghoot was demonstrating to his rookies.

“Look at the perfection with which these streets are graded”, exclaimed one student. “Earth-moving machinery on this scale is strictly high technology stuff. How can they do it?”

“A new alleyway is being constructed, nearby”, said Feghoot. “Let us walk that way while I explain.” As they strolled, he told his students that countless centuries before, the Carter’s World system had been inhabited by a now-vanished race of giants. This very planet had served them for a nursery, and among the many artifacts they had left were thousands of childrens blocks, immense and precision-cut. You simply jack one up onto logs, bring it where you want it, put collapsible jacks underneath, snake out the logs, spread soil more or less evenly beneath, and collapse the jacks.

“I see”, said the student. “It’s not graded road at all; its a simple hammered-earth base.”

“That’s right,” Feghoot went on smoothly. “You just hit the road jack and don’t come back no mo.”

His students registered dismay and anguish.

“Isn’t that right, old-timer?,” Feghoot demanded of an ancient Carterian standing by the mouth of the newly completed alley they had just reached.

“Ahm afraid not, suh”, said the senior citizen, and the students giggled at Feghoots discomfiture. “Oh, we used to do it that way, but it was far too much trouble. It’s the soil heah. You see, the very same soil which produced our famous cashews is so high in clay content that a child could roll out a road of it. Then, we simply use a system of lenses to bake it into hardness. Ahve just completed this alley mahself, and ahm just a retired professor of Sports History, much too old and feeble to handle hydraulic jacks.

“So you see,” he finished, eyes twinkling, “Mah hammered alley is really cashews clay.”

Howls of agony rose from the students, but Feghoot never hesitated. “And he”, he said, turning to his students, “is clearly the gradi

We all know there’s no plates like chrome, for the hollandaise

The Pillsbury Doughboy, remembered best as "Pop N Serve", and/or "Pop N Fresh", died yesterday of a severe yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71.

Doughboy will be buried in this lightly greased coffin.

Dozens of celebrities will turn out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch.

The grave site is expected to be piled high with flours.

Aunt Jemima will deliver the eulogy and lovingly describe Doughboy as "a man who never knew how much he was kneaded".

Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers.. He was considered a very smart cookie, but wasted much of his dough on half-baked schemes.

Despite being a little flaky at times, he still was a crusty old man and was considered a positive roll model for millions.

Doughboy is survived by his wife, Play dough, three children: John Dough, Jane Dough and Dosey Dough, plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father, Pop tart.

The funeral will be held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.

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

Now I have to read the trouble shooting section in the manual.

The bartender replies, "I'm sorry, but you're a rope. I can't serve you, and I'm not even sure how I could. Please leave."

A short time later, the rope comes back into the bar and asks for a beer.

The bartender, a bit annoyed at the situation, says, "Look, I told you I can't serve you. Just go away."

A few hours later, the rope comes back in again.

The bartender is getting mad now. "Look, I told you twice that I can't serve alcohol to a rope! Now get out and STAY OUT!"

Dejectedly, the rope leaves the bar and sits at the curb until a gentleman passes by. Suddenly, the piece of rope has an idea.

"Excuse me", says the rope, "but could you do me a favor?"

"Um... me?" says the puzzled gentleman. "Uh... I guess so..."

"Great! I just need you to tie a big ol' knot right in my middle."

"Well," says the gentleman. "I just so happens I was a former Eagle Scout. Here you go," and ties a perfect knot in the rope. "Will that be all?"

The rope pauses for a second and says, "Actually, could you pull apart my ends and unravel them for a bit?"

The gentleman obliges and goes on his merry way. The piece of rope, satisfied at its new appearance, heads back into the bar.

Furious, the bartender shouts, "HEY! Aren't you that same piece of rope I kicked out three times already?!?"

"No, I'm a frayed knot."

"Greetings, comrade." says the spy, but before he could finish his sentence, the Russian says, "I think you are American spy."

The spy is alarmed, but being a skilled, trained, spy, he says, "That is not true! I am the proudest Soviet there is! I can sing the anthem more beautifully than any other man in the country!"

He then proceeds to sing the Soviet anthem, so melodically and beautifully, that everybody in the bar cheers.

"Very good, very good!" says the politician. "But I still think you are spy."

The man continues to keep his cool.

"I am a historian! I can tell you everything about this glorious country!"

He then spends about two hours recounting the Revolution, the Great Patriotic War, about how superior to the Russia is in terms of technology compared to America and makes a great argument about how communism is beneficial to society.

"Amazing! You are skilled!" says the politician.

The spy smirks.

"But I still think you American spy."

The spy is getting frustrated, but still unfazed.

He replies, "I am good drinker, a true Russian! Let us drink, and see who can come out top!"

The bar turns its attention to the politician and the spy, who are now in a drinking contest.

The bartender serves drink after drink of vodka.

After about an hour of drinking, the politician nearly passes out, unable to hold as much liquor as the spy, to a resounding cheer amongst the bar.

In the midst of the cheering, the Russian politician gets up, smiling, and in a slurred speech, repeats, "You are good, you are good... but I still think you are spy."

The American spy, piss drunk, loses his skill and gives up.

"Okay, you got me. I am an American. But what made you think that way, after all this time?"

The Russian politician replies, "There aren't many black people in Russia."

Every time she does my dad dumps a bunch on the table and says "oh no I've peed on the table!"

He peeked around the corner and asked "Son, do you want an ankle meat sandwich?" to which I replied "A what?" to which he quickly retorted "You know, below-knee? (baloney)."

I don't think I have ever laughed so hard in my life.

Edit: I know the proper spelling is "bologna" but since I have seen both spellings used interchangeably and I know a lot of people DON'T know how to spell it, I used the improper spelling so more people would get the joke. Jeeze.

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?

The waitress went up to the customer and said, "Hey, I'm sorry about this but for some reason your card didn't read, I'm going to need your card again."

I overheard this from behind the bar and said, "Amber, it's the middle of the summer, why in the world would this guy have his cardigan."

That was the first and only time I ever got a tip from a guy I never served or talked to.

The string says to the bartender, “One beer, please.” The bartender looks at him and says, “We don’t serve your kind here.”

The string goes outside, loops itself around a few times, and goes back inside. The bartender asks, “Aren’t you the guy from before?” The piece of string says, “I’m a frayed knot.”

And the bartender says, 'We don't serve puns here.' So the pun dashes out. This happens 6 more times over the next week.

7 days later...

A pun sprints into a bar, and the bartender says 'We don't serve puns here.' So the pun dashes out. The bartender says 'Aaha! THAT'S THE RUNNING JOKE!!!'

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

So a horse walks into a bar and the bartender asks if he wants a beer. The horse goes "neigh." So the bartender kicks him out for wasting space, and on top of it, horsing around. 30 minutes later, a donkey comes in, orders the most expensive drink and a round for the house. When it comes time to pay the tab, the donkey says, "oh, by the way, you kicked out my husband, a horse, earlier," then walks out without paying. The bartender was upset, but knew he'd serve the occasional horse's ass.

This past week I've been working in a town where almost the entire infrastructure is based on mining. One night I was sitting in my hotel room talking to my girlfriend, and this happened.

Her: "I bet bars there get in trouble all the time."

Me: "Why do you say that?"

Her: "Because they serve miners."

Sorry about being a little out of touch the past couple of months. My business partner bailed on me in January and I'm in the process of forming a new corporation with a couple of investors, hiring a new bookkeeper (my expartner's wife used to do that), arranging a storage facility, moving offices and re-organizing staff. It has been hectic.

Part of my business model is consulting. I recently had an experience that proves the value of consulting & demonstrates how consultants can make a difference in an organization. I was very impressed. I think this is a segment that I can develop with financial help.

Last week, I went out with some friends to a new restaurant (Steve's Bistro & Provisional Ales). I noticed that the waiter who took our order carried a spoon in his shirt pocket. It seemed a little strange. When the busboy brought our water and utensils, I noticed that he also had a spoon in his shirt pocket. Then I looked around and saw that all the staff had spoons in their pockets. When the waiter came back to serve our soup I asked about the spoon.

He told me that restaurant's owner had hired Andersen Consulting to revamp all of our processes. After several months of analysis, they concluded that the spoon was the most frequently dropped utensil. It represents a drop frequency of approximately 3 spoons per table per hour. Everyone started to carry a spoon & since the staff is better prepared now they reduced the number of trips back to the kitchen and are saving 15 man-hours per shift.

A few minutes later I dropped my spoon and & my waiter replaced it with his spare. (I think that he thought I was texting him). He said that he would get another spoon next time I go to the kitchen instead of making an extra trip to get it right then. Pretty smart efficiency. These are the types of little changes I plan to make as we move forward.

As we finished dessert I noticed that there was a string hanging out of the waiter's fly. Looking around, I saw that all of the waiters had the same string hanging from their flies. Before my waiter walked off, I asked the him, about the string. He lowered his voice & told me that not everyone is that observant. The consulting firm he had told me about also learned that the restaurant can save time on bathroom breaks. By tying the string to the tip of the penis, the male staff can pull the penis out without touching it and eliminate the need to wash their hands. This small change shortens the ti

Our very hot Wonton soup was served to us and we both recoiled at the first sip because it nearly burned our mouths.

Gf: This soup is really hot.

Me ::wicked smile:: Would you say it was Soup-er hot?

Groans were had and for the fifty millionth time, she threatened to leave me with a smile on her face.

I'm a server at a restaurant part time, and the other week I was serving a table of around 8 people. I went over to check on them and see if anyone was done so I could clear their plates. They said they weren't done...

Me - Okay I was just checking, I don't want you to think I'm rushin you.

The dad - Yeah I don't think anybody here is Russian.

Me - Yeah but is anyone Finnish?

The whole table busted out laughing. I walked away satisfied and was also left a handsome tip.

I work in a bar as a doorman, so I check IDs all night. The night before Halloween I had a group of people come in the wrong entrance so I had to wander to them to get said documentation. Upon approaching a dancing slice of pizza and giving her the usual, "ID please" line, she responded, " I don't have ID, I am a slice of pizza. " By some sort of divine inspiration my instant response was, "will this is a bar not a restaurant, we don't serve pizza.". Her entire group collectively groaned, I got to see her ID the night was saved. One dad joke at a time.

My mom told me about the first time she ever cooked for dad. She cooked chicken cacciatore. She brought in the dish and set it on the table . My dad grabbed the serving spoon, and as he was filling his plate, he asked:

"The real question is did the chicken ever catch the Tory."

He ordered a pot pie that had been advertised that the restaurant had been serving since 1976.

Every time someone asked him how it was ge would reply that it was great for having been in the fridge since the 70s.

Two time travelers walk into a bar

A time traveler walks into a bar.

A time traveler walks into a bar.

Two men from the future walk into a bar

A time traveler walks into a bar.

Two time travellers walk into a bar

Two time travellers walk into a bar...

A time traveler walks inside a bar.

a time traveller walks into a bar.

because there is no place like chrome for the Hollandaise.

Merry Christmas

Two time travelers walk into a bar and realize, "We're in a timeloop."

"Breakfast served all day? I don't have time for that!"

A piece of string walks into a bar, sits down at the counter, and orders two shots and a beer. The bartender says "I'm sorry, we don't serve string here," so the string walks back out. He comes in again later, and this time sits at a table, and again tries to order two shots and a beer. The waiter says "I'm sorry, we don't serve string here," so he walks back out again. This time, before going back in, he ties himself in a knot and ruffles up his hair. He walks back in, sits at the counter, and the bartender says, "Hey, aren't you that same piece of string that was in here earlier?" and the string says "I'm a frayed knot"