Up for Grabs...Live Puns

So, she walks over and takes a seat next to him on the bench, turns to him and says, "Sorry to bother you. I know this may be a little forward but I would love to grab coffee with you some time."

Flattered, the man responds, "Sure... but what makes you so certain you and I would get along so well?"

"Well..." the woman says. "A couple things, actually. I noticed you were wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt. Iron Maiden are my favorite band of all time. When they went on their reunion tour in 1999, my parents took me to see them in Cleveland. I was 12 years old and it was the first concert I ever went to. I absolutely love Iron Maiden."

The man can't believe it.

"I saw them play Cleveland in '99! First concert I ever went to on my own. My best friend Jimmy Spitz and I told our parents we were sleeping at each others' houses, snuck out, took a bus into the city and saw them play at the Plain Dealer Pavillion!"

Naturally, they're both shocked.

"If that isn't weird enough..." says the woman. "I noticed you're reading Mark Twain. I was a communications major in university and I actually wrote my thesis on Mark Twain and how he used satire as a lens to comment on current events of the time, comparing him to satirical news sources of today. He's my favorite author."

Now the man is really taken aback, "Get out of here! I was an English major in university! I specialized in 19th century American literature and this is like my fourth or fifth time reading Tom Sawyer, I absolutely love Mark Twain."

They both can't believe it...this has got to be a match made in heaven.

"Ok..." the woman says. "Well, buckle up because here's the icing on the cake. I noticed you're eating a prune. Prunes are my absolute favorite fruit. When I was a kid, my grandfather lived on a farm. He had an orchard that mainly grew apples and some lemons, but he knew how much my sister and I loved prunes so he kept a couple of plum trees. Every year at the end of the summer, we'd go up and harvest the plums with him. He'd dry them and by the time we'd go back to his place for Thanksgiving he'd always have those prunes saved just for us. They're my favorite fruit! I love prunes, you're eating a prune, this has got to be fate. What do you say?"

The man puts down his fruit and responds,

"It's a date!"

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

Once upon a time, there was a small desert village with a single well on the outskirts of the town. One morning, a woman went to the well to fetch water for the day. The lady was crying and the well heard this. A voice came from the well and asked “what’s wrong?”

The lady stopped sobbing and asked the well, in utter disbelief, “you can talk?”

“Yes” the well said, “long ago, the witch living in this town gave life to me so I could protect the towns people”

“Alas” the woman said, “I am the daughter of that witch. She lived in peace with the town for many years, but the new mayor, who is a violent and hateful man, riled the townspeople up against her. The town burnt my mom at the stake! I am still young and do not know much magic. I tried to curse the town, but failed, and now I fear I may never avenge my mother.”

“Do not be afraid” the well said, “I will take care of this.”

The next morning the mayor was going to the well to fetch water when he heard an odd noise. He peered over the edge to look down as far as he could when an impossibly long arm shot up at him. The arm grabbed the mayor and dragged him down into the depths of the well. There was a horrible crunching sound and the mayor was never seen again. The townsfolk apologized to the witch’s daughter and everyone lived happily ever after.

See moral above for the pun...

DEAR NEIGHBOUR: Hi, Fred, this is Richard, next door. I've got a confession to make. I've been riddled with guilt for a few months & have been trying to get up the courage to tell you face-to-face. At least I'm telling you in this text, & I can't live with myself a minute longer without your knowing about this. The truth is that, when you're not around, I've been sharing your wife, day & night. In fact, probably much more than you.
I haven't been getting it at home recently, & I know that that's no excuse. The temptation was just too great. I can't live with the guilt & hope you'll accept my sincere apology & forgive me. Please suggest a fee for usage, & I'll pay you. Regards, Richard

NEIGHBOUR'S RESPONSE: Fred, feeling very angry & betrayed, grabbed his gun, went next door, & shot Richard, killing him. He went back home, shot his wife, poured himself a stiff drink & sat down on the sofa and calmed down. Fred then looked at his phone & discovered a 2nd text message from Richard.

2ND TEXT MESSAGE: Hi, Fred.
Richard here again. Sorry about the typo on my last text. I expect you figured it out & noticed that the darned Auto-Correct had changed "wi-fi" to "wife".
Technology, huh? It'll be the death of us all.

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.

First off, I'm new here. I've only been a dad for a few years but, I'm not sure i'll ever be able to top this and the circumstances of the set up were so chance and specific, I will never be able to use this again. This is what inspired me to seek you out and tell my story.

So, like most thanksgivings, we went to a relatives house and had very large but unusually early dinner. We went home and by nine or ten o'clock we had the little one off to sleep and my wife and I were getting hungry and wanted something simple. She asked for fast food and I was willing to oblige.

I drove to Taco Bell and it was closed. I called my wife, "sorry Taco Bell is closed. What do you want from BK?". I then drove to BK and discovered it was also closed. Called the wife "Sorry honey, BK is closed. What do you want from McDonald's?". You might see were this is going and, if you haven't already guessed it, Micky D's was closed too."Ok, I'm just going to the gas station. What do you want?" She asked for cheddar fries and I was willing to oblige. Got in side, no cheddar fries! I grab her funyuns. She like funyuns, it will be fine. As a joke (not the one we are leading up to) I called her on my way home and told her the gas station was closed too.

I got home, told her the truth about the gas station and gave her the back up back up back up back up back up plan bag of funyuns. She joked around about the number of times I had failed her in one outing (keep in mind, I had been giving her a hard time through this whole event) and then asked me for a soda from the fridge. So is This when the magic happened. I was opening the fridge when the gravity of the situation and what was at stake here suddenly struck me. I closed the fridge, got out a glass and filled it with water. I brought it back to her in the living room. She says "why did you bring me water?"

THE FRIDGE WAS CLOSED!

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