We Insist! Puns

He wouldn’t techno for an answer.

She called me a massage-anist.

sectionally transmitted diseases!

He found his way to the men's department where a young lady offered to help him. "Quiero calcetines," said the man.

"I don't speak Spanish, but we have some very nice suits over here," said the salesgirl. "No, no quiero trajes. Quiero calcetines," said the man.

"Well, these shirts are on sale this week," declared the salesgirl. "No, no quiero camisas. Quiero calcetines," repeated the man.

"I still don't know what you're trying to say. We have some fine pants on this rack," offered the salesgirl. "No, no quiero pantalones. Quiero calcetines," insisted the man.

"These sweaters are top quality," the salesgirl probed. "No, no quiero sueter. Quiero calcetines," said the man.

"Our undershirts are over here," fumbled the salesgirl, beginning to lose patience. "No, no quiero camisetas. Quiero calcetines," the man repeated.

As they passed the underwear counter, the man spotted a display of socks and happily grabbed a pair. Holding them up he proclaimed, "¡Eso sí que es!"

"Why didn't you just spell it in the first place?!" yelled the salesgirl.

He was very per-tick-ular about it

Down south in the backwoods. Along my way I met a friendly family that took me in for the night. Despite being impoverished they insisted that I stay the night and have dinner.

When we had dinner it seemed they were serving a kind of stew. Quite aromatic. I asked them what it was and the reply I got was “It’s Ma’s Soup Y’all.” I shrugged my shoulders and started to eat. The food was good of course but the meat was quite gamey. So I asked what type of meat it was?

‘Possum.

I've two bulls who just love to fight //
they simply cannot be polite //
Just one needs to breed //
and so I'll proceed //
to castrate the weak one tonight

The procedure is safe, I insist //
if we make the blood flow desist //
to make bleeding halt //
do the "ball somersault" //
and give that whole sack a huge twist

To do this requires no skill //
I'll just need a quite large power-drill //
and a specialized clamp //
to hold on to that champ //
then turn it on fast- what a thrill!

It is clear this device should appeal //
to those who need bulls with less zeal //
I shall name this device //
with a drill and a vise //
the most perfect of names: "Steering Wheel!"

Working at an ice cream parlor there was a customer that insisted I serve him chocolate ice cream even though we were out of it. He just wouldn’t give up. So I said “let’s play a game”. How many “vans” are in vanilla ice cream? -he said “one”(correct) So how many “straws” are in strawberry ice cream? He said “one” again (correct) So then how many “ F’s” are in chocolate ice cream? He said there is no “F” in chocolate ice cream - I said “Exactly- THERE IS NO F IN CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM!!!

And while I was working a nice old lady came to my til. I scanned through all her items and it came to £56.83, but after counting up all her change she had just shy of £40.

So I offered to help her, to which she refused but I eagerly insisted. I thought this is probably someone’s Nan, and I’d like to think someone would help my Nan in the same situation.

So after no time at all, we had all her shopping back on the shelves!

A man named Dave comes home very drunk late at night...

So this guy has been drinking with his buddies all night and he's as drunk as a skunk, gets home, falls up the stairs, undresses and goes to bed next to his wife. He falls asleep and next thing he knows, bang, he dies and finds himself waiting at the pearly gates.

The guy refuses to believe this is happening, he says to St. Peter: "This can't be possible, I'm a healthy man! This is not the way I die. You have to let me return down there!"
The guy can see St. Peter looks like he's feeling sorry for him, but he tells him that unfortunately, there's no policy for allowing people back on Earth. The guy insists: "But come on, there's got to be something you can do! I'll put up with anything, really, as long as you let me go back down."
So St. Peters tells him: "Well really, there's just this one possibility: you can go back, but only as a hen. That's the only thing we can allow." The guy guesses that this really is his only chance, so he agrees reluctantly.
So he's back on Earth in this beautiful chicken coop, the sun is shining, there's green grass everywhere, this is hen paradise. The other hens greet him with delight and he tells them his story, everything goes nicely. But then he feels kind of unwell, there's something wrong with his stomach. He asks this old hen: "Tell me, I've got this weird feeling in my belly, I'm not too well. What is happening to me?"

The old hen: "Well dearie, we hens lay eggs, you know. I bet you've never laid a nice egg before... You need to push it out now, and you'll feel much better after!"
So the guy pushes and pushes, and wham, out pops his first egg. The old hen congratulates him and he feels much better. But not 5 minutes later, his pain comes back. He returns to the old hen for advice.

"Well dearie, it's quite special but it happens that you need to lay TWO eggs, so go back there and keep pushing!"
So he goes back to his nest and pushes, and nothing comes, and he pushes harder, and wham, out comes his second egg! He feels much better, but not 2 minutes later, you guessed it, he's back in terrible pain and goes to see the old hen.

"What's this bullshit here, and don't tell me I've got a third egg to lay!" The old hen can't make head or tail of it and just tells him that when in doubt, he should be pushing. So the guy goes back to work and then, wham, his wife wakes him up with this smashing slap in the face and yells: "*Dave! Dave wake up you’re

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

At the end of it, the person that ran the course said, "Ok, buddy, so for the week you owe me...£380."

"I refuse to pay," I told him.

"You have to," he insisted.

"Well then, you'll have to fight me for it."

So we fought, and he absolutely battered me. Left me bloody, bruised and beaten.

He said, "£380. Cough it up."

"No," I told him, wiping my lip. "Because it was clearly a waste of money."

Everyone was being very polite, patient and not barging in.

Even between the laughing and joking, the women in front of me insisted that we swap places, so I could get mine first.

I thought to myself at last a decent punchline

RETIRED HUSBAND

After I retired, my wife insisted that I accompany her on her trips to WalMart. Unfortunately, like most men; I found shopping boring and preferred to get in and get out. Equally unfortunate, my wife is like most women - she loves to browse. Yesterday my dear wife received the following letter, from the local WalMart:

Dear Mrs. Harris:

Over the past six months, your husband has caused quite a commotion, in our store.

We cannot tolerate this behavior and have been forced to, ban both of you from the store.

Our complaints against your husband, Mr. Harris, are listed below and are documented by our video surveillance cameras:

1. June 15: He took 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in other people's carts when they weren't looking.

2. July 2: Set all the alarm clocks in Housewares to go off at 5-minute intervals.

3. July 7: He made a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the women's restroom.

4. July 19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official voice, 'Code 3 in Housewares. Get on it right away'. This caused the employee to leave her assigned station and receive a reprimand from her Supervisor that in turn resulted with a union grievance, causing management to lose time and costing the company money. We don't have a Code 3.

5. August 4: Went to the Service Desk and tried to put a bag of M&Ms on layaway.

6. August 14: Moved a, 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.

7. August 15: Set up a tent in the camping department and told the children shoppers he'd invite them in if they would bring pillows and blankets from the bedding department to which twenty children obliged.

8. August 23: When a clerk asked if they could help him he began crying and screamed, 'Why can't you people just leave me alone?' EMTs were called.

9. September 4: Looked right into the security camera and used it as a mirror while he picked his nose.

10. September 10: While handling guns in the hunting department, he asked the clerk where the antidepressants were.

11. October 3: Darted around the store suspiciously while, loudly humming the, 'Mission Impossible' theme.

12. October 6: In the auto department, he practiced his, 'Madonna Look' using different sizes of funnels.

13. October 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed through, yelled 'PICK ME! PICK ME!'

14. October 22: When an announcement came over the loud speaker, he assumed a fetal position and screamed;

'OH NO! IT'S THOSE VOICES AGAIN!'

15. Took a bo

So My roomate invited me to his family Thanksgiving/holiday party yesterday. After dessert we're all sitting around and the children present are being rowdy. My roomate's brother calls them all over to our table and insists on showing them how to make a duck call. He begins ripping apart an empty soda can and wrapping it up in a very complicated fashion with a napkin and a plastic fork. He meticulously takes the top off, makes strips of metal, and winds them into this plastic fork. He carries on like this for about five minutes, the children utterly transfixed, sit watching until his creation is finally "complete". He then holds it up to his mouth, inhales, and shouts: "HERE DUCKY DUCKY DUCKY!!!"

when he saw two pathetic-looking men by the side of the road, eating grass. He ordered his driver to stop and got out to investigate. He asked the men, "Why are you eating grass?"

"We don't have no money for food," the first man replied.

"Then you must come with me to my house," insisted the lawyer.

"But, sir, I got a wife and three kids here," said the man.

"Bring them along!" replied the lawyer.

The second man exclaimed, "I got a wife and six kids!"

"Bring them as well!", the lawyer proclaimed as he headed back to his limo.

They all climbed into the car, and once underway, one of the men expresses, "Sir, you are too kind. Thank you for taking all of us with you."

The lawyer replied, "I'm most happy to do it. You'll love my place. The grass is almost a foot tall."

Instead, he insisted we buy a Mickey van.

Dwayne Johnson recently came to the arts and crafts store I own looking to buy equipment for the wardrobe department for his latest movie. He asked if we could quickly fill a large order of cloth-cutting shears. I told him yes, but given the rush, we couldn't offer a bulk discount. For the next hour, Mr. Johnson haggled with me, insisting on paying a single, reduced price for the order of shears rather than the standard per-item price.

With my frustration growing, Mr. Johnson wouldn't back down. Finally, he made a desperate attempt to get the deal he wanted: he suggested we play any simple game of my choice; winner sets the price structure for the shears. He then asked me what I wanted to play.

Fed up, I shouted: Rock! Pay per scissors!

My grandfather, in his younger days, retired from his NASCAR dreams to do construction so he could raise a family. Fast forward 45 years to 1994. I was around 15. My grandfather, grandmother, her mother, and I were on the return trip from the Costco and liquor store just inside the no sales tax state of Oregon. My grandfather was, as usual, driving. He raced for Lincoln and they sponsored him so they gave him a really good lifetime discount. He drove a brand new Continental his entire life. He always raced down to Oregon as fast as he could and then tried beating his time while driving back. Suddenly, at about 140mph, a Pheasant committed suicide on the front end. We could see feathers occasionally come loose. Grandpa already had a couple minutes to make up. Needless to say, despite my grandma's insistance, stopping to investigate wasn't in the plans. When we got home, he was cussing an ill timed traffic light with a bored motorcycle cop parked on the sidewalk waiting for his target. My grandma and great grandma nearly died when, without batting an eye, grandpa pulled the Pheasant off the car, grabbed his Gerber knife, and stripped, cleaned, and threw the bird on the BBQ. I was in dying from laughter at this point. Grandma and my great grandma were dying from embarrassment. He offered them some and grandma angrily refused for the 3 of us, calling it road kill. Without skipping a beat, he calmly replied "This isn't road kill, it's Continental Wild Pheasant, Twice-Grilled."

Any time we'd go to drive somewhere... "And we're off like a herd of turtles!"

"What would you like to eat?" "Food." "What kind of food?" "Edible food."

"If you're American outside the bathroom, what are you inside the bathroom? European!"

"I'm thirsty!" "Hello Thursday, My name's Friday. Would you like to go out on Saturday and have a Sunday?"

And then, of course, he convinced me (or maybe I made it up in my little head?) that if I drank enough carrot juice I would be able to see in the dark, haha.

Wish I could remember more... He passed away when I was 8 or so. I'll happily share more if I remember them sometime. Heh, when he told my sister and I that he had cancer he insisted he had probably just swallowed a big crouton. :')

As stated my wife banished me to the couch for this.

She had a late start at work today, so she did some work around the house, including hanging the wreath.

After picking her up from work that evening we got home and she asked me if I liked the wreath. I responded with "the Franklin? It looks good".

She wasn't happy about that, and kept insisting I call it a wreath. Our friends all came over for D&D and I continued to interject whenever she showed someone that it was called "A Franklin".

Eventually she got really mad and demanded to know why I wouldn't call it a wreath. So I hugged her and said "I'm sorry sweetie, I didn't know it was so important to you. I mean, A-Wreath, A-Franklin, what's the difference?".

So yeah, sleeping on the couch.

Two naturalists spent the bulk of their lives studying bears in the Soviet Union. One was from Czechoslovakia and the other from Poland. When the USSR fell in December 1991 they were both old men, but they were excited about the prospect of finally getting the chance to study grizzlies in America. That following Spring they made arrangements to travel to Yellowstone to finally see the grizzlies.

When they arrived and informed the park rangers of their plan the rangers were alarmed, telling the scientists, "You can't go now. It's mating season, and the bears are very aggressive." But the former Soviets were insistent. "Please," they said, "We must go. We've waited our whole lives. We may never get another chance." Realizing the men couldn't be dissuaded, the rangers gave them a radio with instructions to report in with their location every day. The scientists set out, and for several days they reported dutifully that all was well.

On the third day, though, they failed to report in. Anxiously, the rangers sent out a search party to the scientists' last known location.

Unfortunately, the rangers discovered a bloody mess when they found the men's camp, and the tracks of two bears, a male and a female, leading off into the woods.

The rangers followed the tracks until suddenly they came upon the female grizzly, her muzzle still crimson with blood. They shot her and conducted an autopsy on the spot, sadly finding the remains of the Polish scientist inside her stomach.

"You know what this means, don't you?" said one ranger to the other. "Yes," the other replied, "The Czech is in the male."

I actually got my dad with this one, and I was so proud.

I was getting ready to head back home after visiting my folks for Thanksgiving. My mom is, of course, insisting that I take insane amounts of leftovers home. My dad pulls out what's left of the turkey.

Dad (rube): "All we've got left are the legs and wings. Are you sure you want those?"

Me (smart): "Of course! You know I like the Napoleon pieces."

Dad: "The what?"

Me: "The Napoleon pieces."

Dad: "........."

Me: "The bony parts."

They couldn't wait for me to leave.

When I worked for a design agency, I had two adamant higher-ups. There was a brand identity project for a new company, and I was in charge of typography, but those two disagreed with my choice of font.

The first one was this stony-looking Peruvian-American man named Esteban Ferrero, but since that's Spanish for Steven Smith, and our company had a rule that everyone has to call each other using nicknames instead of last names, everyone, including himself, just called him Steve. The second one was a Dutch woman with a sharp glare named Evelien van der Berg. She was famous for giving designers a hard time convincing her that their design choices work better than hers. In accordance with the company rules, we called her Eve.

Anyway, I showed Steve my first draft, and he wasn't convinced that I chose LinoLetter as the main font, and told me that I should use a sans-serif font. But I stood by my position that serifs add legibility to printed and digital material, that it fits the company's identity as an organic store, and that it is hard to stand out with a sans-serif. It took a lot of debate, but in the end, Steve was convinced that LinoLetter was acceptable.

A few days later, I showed Eve a more elaborated version, as for the sizes and styles of the font, and the pairing of LinoLetter with Century as the headline font. She insisted that I should have used a sans-serif font for the headline. I expressed my view that LinoLetter is a font with composed and legible shape, and Century, while it is also legible, has flair at larger sizes. She kept disagreeing with me, saying I should use something bolder and more contrasting, like Tungsten. It felt like hours had passed before the conversation went anywhere, so I had to give up and look for a sans-serif font that goes with LinoLetter.

So it goes to show that the one who gave me a hard time was adamant Eve, not adamant Steve.

Each member in our family split up the amount of eggs so that we'd get 6 to dye each, two dozen. At the end of the dying session, my sister looks over at my dad's 6 eggs and we see he's got one white egg left. My sister wants an extra egg if he's not going to use it and asks if she can dye the egg. He looks at her like she's lost her mind and said he dyed all of his eggs, there isn't one left. This banter goes on for about 5 or 6 minutes with all of us insisting he has a leftover egg to dye. Finally, he looks down and says "oh do you mean this one?" Pointing to the white egg. We all let out an exasperated "YES!" He turns to is all, with the big old dad smirk on his face and says, oh no that one's done, I put that one in the white dye. groans all around.

While at WalMart, we were picking up some new bedding, and on the way out, I insisted that we buy a copy of Spaceballs from the DVD bin.

They asked, "Why do you want that?" I replied, "For sheets and giggles."

"The dogs are out off food honey" said my wife. "you'd better go get some this afternoon or we'll have a mutiny on or hands" she insisted.

"Don't you mean a muttany?" I'll see myself out, the site to the store then.

The whole time thinking "oh man the dad's on reddit are gonna love this one"

Here's a "classic" from my own father:

"I remember one time I was at my grandma's house as a kid. I was so excited to tell her what I'd been learning about in school that week. I was telling her about how we'd learned all about πr^2 that week. She kept giving me funny looks and telling me that I was wrong, but I insisted that it was true, we had learned all about it. Finally she took me into the kitchen and opened the oven, where there was a pie baking. She pointed to the pie and exclaimed, 'Pie are ROUND!'"

As he died, he kept insisting that we "be positive", but it's hard without him.

As he died, he kept insisting that we “be positive”, but it’s hard without him.

He found his way to the menswear department where a young lady offered to help him.

"Quiero calcetines," said the man.

"I don't speak Spanish, but we have some very nice suits over here," said the salesgirl.

"No, no quiero trajes. Quiero calcetines," said the man.

"Well, these shirts are on sale this week," declared the salesgirl.

"No, no quiero camisas. Quiero calcetines," repeated the man.

"I still don't know what you're trying to say. We have some fine pants on this rack," offered the salesgirl.

"No, no quiero pantalones. Quiero calcetines," insisted the man.

"These sweaters are top quality," the salesgirl probed.

"No, no quiero sueter. Quiero calcetines," said the man.

"Our undershirts are over here," fumbled the salesgirl, beginning to lose patience.

"No, no quiero camisetas. Quiero calcetines," the man repeated.

As they passed the underwear counter, the man spotted a display of socks and happily grabbed a pair. Holding them up he proclaimed, "Eso sí que es!"

"Why didn't you just spell it in the first place?!" yelled the salesgirl.

My dad died when we couldn't remember his blood type. As he died, he kept insisting for us to "be positive", but it's hard with out him.