A Story About Puns

For example a march to battle was sung around middle D, Georgian chants were sung in low to middle G, it seems that most if not all pirate chants were sung on the high C’s

Once a punnet time....

And it’s about time too.

When he asked who the best composer was, they kept replying “Bach, Bach, Bach”

A pony tale!

It was legend dairy.

But it's just a running joke among friends

It was gut wrenching.

Age 6 they were separated in a successful 13hr surgery. Later in life they went to prison for armed robbery. They served 10yrs. Afterwards they wrote their book about being ex-con joined twins.

It's just two fowl to discuss

It was very deer-pressing...

saved by the Belle

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

K, so...

Poor guy turned to a life of mime.

It's because they bless the rains down in Africa.

It was legend dairy.

It was all straightforward until I found a twist in the tale.

A couple of years ago, one night, I was about to propose to my girlfriend when my roommate Joseph barged into the porch out of nowhere, tripped and fell over, breaking a glass table with his face. Totally ruined the mood. Now, I didn't know Joseph THAT well, don't even remember where he was from, but let' just say I put my plans on hold to help him through his injuries.

Joseph had gotten big glass shard in his eye, making him completely blind in that eye. He was walking around with one of those cotton pads on his eye for a couple of months. Then suddenly, he disappeared, along with my girlfriend

Apparently they'd bonded during the time after his injuries, and eloped together , left me behind without as much as a note. I tried to track them down, but never could.

In conclusion, if it hadn't been for cotton eye Joe, I'd have been married a long time ago. Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, cotton eye Joe?

My publisher said it was a mediogre work.

I can feel it

It was in the mewspaper

"She became a little spore addict."

"A? AA? AAA? AAAA!"

He was operating a late night train and fell asleep at the controls. He ended up failing to recognise a stop sign and as a result his train hit a person and killed them immediately. He was tried for manslaughter and sentenced to the electric chair. Just before being put in the chair, he was given the choice of final meal and chose a single banana, oddly. His time came and he was placed into the chair, the room vacated and then the switch was thrown.

But... Nothing. No sparks, no burning, nothing. They checked the machine and it was working fine, it just seemed not to harm him. The state law meant that, legally, his sentence had been carried out and he was free to go. He walked away a free man, and actually got another job as a train driver.

Sadly, almost exactly the same thing happened again. This time his negligence killed two kids playing around on the tracks when again he'd fallen asleep and failed to stop the train in time. Hauled before the courts again, he got exactly the same sentence - the electric chair. He was asked again for his final meal, chose two bananas this time, and his sentence was carried out again.

And yet again, he didn't die. In fact, he was entirely unharmed. The state law remained the same, so he was let out again, where - somehow - he got another job with another train company. I guess it was the only job he was trained for (pardon the pun). Anyway, this time he did much better and worked hard to stay awake during his late shifts. But sure enough, eventually he slipped back in to old habits and this time killed five people - a family trying to free their dog stuck in the tracks.

Once again he faced a jury, once again they found him guilty and a judge sentenced him to the electric chair. This time he asked for 5 bananas, but the guard was wiley - he has read about this man and how he always had bananas before his sentence was carried out, and so this time (with a grin, it's said) he brought the train driver 5 apples instead. The guilty man plead and begged for bananas, but the guard claimed it was an honest mistake but too late to change now.

The man was lead for a third time to the electric chair. His head was wetted, his arms strapped in, and the guard eyed him with something between wonder and fear. Finally the room was vacated and the switch thrown. Surely this time the machine would do its job? With the process finished, the guard ran back into the room, only to find the man still alive and looking entirely healthy. "I do

Two landed on the ground and one landed in the water.

Badoom tshhhhhh!

It's old butt gold.

In 1827, after Beethoven died, he was buried outside the local church, in the graveyard, and people came to pay their respects frequently.

One morning, about a week after the funeral, two girls came to leave some flowers on his grave, only to hear strange, unearthly sounds coming from it. Creeped out, they called for the local Paranormal Investigator.

The Investigator arrived an hour later, and with him, a small crowd, who had come to see what was happening to the composer’s grave.

Suddenly, one member of the crowd exclaimed, “I recognise that sound! It’s his 9th Symphony, backwards!”

Soon after, another said, “and that’s his 8th, backwards!”

After leaning closer to the grave to inspect this for himself, the Investigator straightened himself up, gave a soft chuckle, and said:

“Never fear, ladies and gentlemen! Beethoven’s just decomposing.”

It was inside job

What a hare-brained scheme.

I love the pitta patter of tiny Pete

It was riveting.

It was Riveting.

It was a pretty funny tangent, though

That’s loyalty

This typeface group had successfully designed upper-case numbers.

It was called Capital One.

There's always too many holes in the plot.

There are lots of horrible thieves in the world but this one really takes the cake.

He just looked at me and replied, "You asked for a cock tale, sir."

Without missing a beat my dad goes "Why didn't they just keep him in the trunk.

I'm still laughing like a drunken seal.

I look over, and he's reaching into his pocket and pulls out a little vial, and shakes it out all over me. He hands me this vial and he's made a shitty label around it, and he wrote on this fricken label, "Directions: Add in salt to injury".

He's a legend among my friends dads.

It truly was a gripping story.