Way Forward Puns

there’s three main candidates in the running. first is joe biden, looking to keep the presidency; second is donald trump, looking to take back the presidency, and lastly is obama, wearing a sombrero and a mustache, going by the name… juan-bama. as the election results are tallied in, it’s apparent that it’s a perfect three-way tie in both the popular vote and the electoral college. the nation is in uproar, nobody can reach a decision as to how to choose the next president. but at last a solution comes forward: a literal presidential race. whoever can run the fastest lap around the white house—timed by a secret service member—will be sworn into office.

first up is donald trump. he boldly states “this will no doubt be the fastest lap around the white house, perhaps even the fastest lap run anywhere, ever,” but, not being in the best shape, he takes 18 minutes and 34 seconds.

next is joe biden. he doesn’t waste any breath for trash talk or boasting, he just readies himself at the starting line and—at the count—takes off. he’s running fast, really fast for someone of his age… at least for the first 5 minutes. but he forgets where he’s going, and finishes his lap as a leisurely walk around the grounds, taking 26 minutes and 49 seconds.

lastly is juanbama, who runs like hell around the white house. he’s running fast, faster than he’d ever run before. he completes his lap, collapsing across the finish line, and looks up desperately at the secret service member. “what was it?” he asks. “what was my time?”

the agent looks down at their stopwatch. “twelve oh-three.”

juanbama looks at them in disbelief. “well,” he sputters, “that’s got to be some sort of record!”

the secret service member shakes their head. “no, actually. bush did nine eleven.”

One weekend, my son, 21 at the time was spot on with dad jokes/comments all weekend. Sunday after church I was cleaning up lunch dishes and his mother was folding laundry. He made a perfect joke and instead of laughing I asked "Is Holly (his girlfriend) pregnant?" He and his mom both stopped dead in their tracks and simultaneously said "What?!?!?!". I said that his jokes were so on point something had to be going on... We all laughed.

Fast forward two days later. I took my son and his girlfriend to lunch. We ordered and while we were waiting, my son says "You know all of those dad jokes I have been making?" Me "Yeah, why?" Him "Well, I'm gonna be a dad!" Holly punched him in the arm and said "I can't believe you told him like that!"

There was a conversation about money and sleepless nights and what next, but we will support you any way we can. After our conversation my son asked if I would tell his mom since she works with Holly's dad and her parents found out earlier that day. Heck NO I won't tell your mother!!

TL;DR My son made dad jokes. I asked if his girlfriend was pregnant. She was.

Notre Dame held a funeral service for him but were then left with the task of finding a new bell ringer however they feared they would not find anyone with the talent to match Quasimodo.

The cathedral decided to hold an audition, all day many hopefuls showed their talent and the judges were spoiled for choice but none matched the beauty of Quasimodo's melodies. After the auditions wrapped up and the cathedral started to empty one man with no arms runs in apologising for being late and begging for a chance. The judges were apprehensive but decided to give him a chance any way and let him have a try.

Once he got to the top he started head butting the bells and produced a fine melody matching the skills of Quasimodo himself and the cathedral refilled with spectators.

After he finished playing the cathedral filled with applause but this startled the armless man who tripped and sadly fell to his death.

The priests started asking the audience if anyone knew this man for he never gave a name and they wanted to record him posthumously as an official bell ringer.

One man stepped forward from the audience and said...

"I don't know his name but his face rings a bell"

When I walked in the place was great, everything was perfect apart from the kitchen. There were gas mains but no cooker! Work surfaces and water pipes, but no sink; empty plugs and spaces for where the fridge and freezer should sit.

When I bought the house I was told it was fully furnished! Furious, I called up intending to give whomever answered an earful.

I was told that everything should be arriving individually, and the house is being used as an experiment for completely autonomous, self thinking kitchen appliances!

Before I could reply there was a knock on the door. I opened it and a stove strolled in, tilted forward in a bow, slid past me and set itself into its spot! Even attaching itself to the gas mains!

Later that day another knock at the door signalled the arrival of the fridge and freezer.(who had travelled together) They bowed and sat themselves perfectly in place in my new kitchen. I was beaming!

That evening I was explaining to my wife how the appliances had arrived, when came another knock at the door. “This technology is going to change the world, I swear it!” I told her. “Can you answer the door? I’ve been on my feet all day”

“Yeah,” she replied, less enthusiastic than I,“but it’ll get to a point when humans are completely inferior.” She explained “When these machines develop such sentience, what’s stopping them from overthrowing us?” “Treating us as slaves, like we to them now?” She asked, distraught at theses ideas.

Knock knock

“It’s best not to worry about these things,” I said in an attempt to alleviate her fears.

“There are people- professionals developing contingencies for any possible future robot uprising!” “That future you’re frightened about is purely science fiction right now, and the way our collective knowledge and application of technology has advanced, (Even in the past 50 years!) our own scientists and engineers will be able to crush any worries we may have when the time comes.” I explained.

She sighed, agreeing somewhat reluctantly. “Don’t think on it now, have some faith!” I told her.

Knock knock

“Now let that sink in!”

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

So this needs a little backstory.

About 10 years ago my wife and I went to see the comedian Jim Gaffigan in Santa Rosa, CA where we live. About 2/3 the way through his set, he did an old Steve Martin bit. I leaned over to my wife and said quietly (or so I thought,) "Steve Martin called, he wants his bit back."

Apparently Mr. Gaffigan heard me, because he did the last 1/3 of his set staring at his shoes.

Flash forward to last night. We were at a public event with TONS of people, loud music, dancing, whatever. Some guy walked by wearing an outrageously funny outfit, and I leaned very close to my wife's ear to make a comment about it. She mildly upset and said, "Don't do a Jim Gaffigan," she said.

I blinked and leaned in again and said, clearly: "You mean...Don't make a Jim Gaffe Again?"

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.

I've been looking forward to this. This food is delicious and they are to die for. I found out the hard way

Yesterday, I was running back from the school bus after asking the driver to give me a moment because my disabled son had had an accident and I was about finished cleaning him up. It was raining and muddy and I was in my bare feet, but this is the norm out here.

On the way back I managed to get my big toenail ripped up off the nailbed down to about halfway to the cuticle. Never done that before in 31 years, and oh my, I have to say it was a whole different level of exquisite agony when I finally noticed it. Funny how you never notice things like that until you see all the blood and how it doesn't even hurt until you touch it.

Sparing you the details of tracking in blood for five minutes before I even noticed I'd done it, the husband cringed quite a bit when he got home from work and saw it.

Fast forward to today--my period started and I had one hell of a headache all day long. He gets home from work and asks, "you ok, babe?" Because I'm usually pretty cheerful when he walks in the door, but today I was cranky as fuck.

"Eh, period started. Headache. Glad you're home, I can take a pain pill and you can watch the kids."

"Oh." He looked me up and down slowly and grinned. "So... now you're hurting from head... to toe?"

Motherfucker.

I used the bathroom last night while my girlfriend was showering, and forgot to close the door on my way out.

GF: Honey!

Me: Yes, darling?

GF: What's the difference between a hot shower and the NFL?

Me: Uh, what?

GF: Well in one of them I look forward to the draft.

:-I

My dad was teaching me to juggle tonight. He was facing me and said "this move is called the forward cascade." He proceeded to juggle for a few seconds? He then says, "wanna see the reverse cascade?" He then puts his back towards me and juggles the same way. "get it?"