Account For Puns

It’s a balancing act

It said it is supposed to be case sensitive.

Is it a 'joint' account.

It's his shavings account.

It'll be our joint account.

They told me to check my privileges.

@RonDawg64
https://twitter.com/RonDawg64

Tax-is

Sheepdog: Yeah I know, but I rounded them up!

...she was an LPN.

We had a Don't Bother Checking account.

My first pet only had 3 legs, and it was a centipede.

Mom had one bra, and it was a lease.

For breakfast we ate Lieutenant Crunch.

My first spoon was monogrammed though ("1/2 TSP").

We were too poor to even say "awesome." We had to say "awefew."

We sat at the campfire and made S'Lesses.

My pillow only had one side.

Repossession was 9/10 of the law.

Five kids had to share one shoelace, and instead of toenails we grew toe staples.

Our scotch tape was scots-irish.

(I'm allowed)

My first shower came with sound effects and a lightshow.

One year Santa had to bring stockings.

The next year he filled them with nooses.

I did have a jumprope with a rattle on the end. And fangs on the other.

Other kids hunted eggs for Easter but we just died.

I interrupted the conversation and said "you mean the acCOWntants?"

This was over a month ago and I still proudly think about that joke.

"Well...it's the thot that counts."

My reply: "He must be cooking the books."

She just stared at me...

Finance was his principal interest.

Life Goals:

Have a daughter

Name her 'Dearly'

Train her to be an accountant

Employ her at my business

Wrap up every transaction with: Now you'll pay Dearly for this.

EDIT: Spelling

There is a lot of interest in your credit history.

So this surgeon always posts pictures of the masks he wears during his surgery on Instagram. He does this every single time he has a surgery, and his nurses can never understand why. Eventually, he garners a massive following on Instagram. So, he goes into his supervisor's room, and he says, "Hello, it's a pleasure to see you". The supervisor says, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" The surgeon says, "Well, my Instagram business is really taking off. I think it would be better for me to quit being a surgeon and focus on Instagram full time". The supervisor thinks he's a little crazy but decides to let him do what he wants. The former surgeon now goes and buys as many masks as he can to sustain his Instagram account. Eventually, he becomes so wealthy that he is able to buy all these lavish things and not have to worry about economic failure. However, one day, he decides to begin posting pictures of medical needles on his Instagram account instead of masks at about the same time that he gets a horrible sickness that is almost always fatal. Because he posts pictures of masks now, his account begins failing, and even though he tries to save it, he's unable. He no longer has any money to treat the illness and is on his deathbed. His entire family is surrounding him, and his father leans in to hug him. As this happens, the ex-surgeon says in a weak voice, "Dad, where did I go wrong?" The dad, with tears in his eyes, seeing what his son has been reduced to and sadly knowing his dear son's death is imminent says, "You post syringe, you lose subscriber"

Whilst gathering food, they find a magical golden lamp. The Englishman says “rub the lamp!” They do, and a genie appears. “I only have three wishes to offer,” he says, “so I’ll give you one wish each.

The Englishman says, “I’d like to be living in a penthouse in London with £1,000,000 in my bank account.” His wish is granted.

The Scotsman says “I’d love to live in a renovated Scottish castle with £2,000,000 in my bank account.” His wish is granted.

The genie then turns to the Irishman: “And what do you wish for?” The Irishman says to the genie, “It’s getting a bit lonely here, can I have the other two back?”

Idk if this fits this sub, but I'm planning a Halloween costume and just need a punny name for it.

I'm going to wear timberland boots, camo cargo pants, an olive/brown/green/earth t-shirt, aviator sunglasses, and get a beer bandolier.

I need a solider/army/military + beer/alcohol/drinking pun to name the costume. Any suggestions?

A physicist, an engineer and a statistician go on a hunting trip. They see a deer in a clearing. The physicist calculates the distance to the target, the velocity and drop of the bullet, he fires but misses five feet to the left.

The engineer says he forgot to account for the wind, takes the rifle, aims and misses five feet to the right. The statistician claps and says "we got him!".

He took the phone, and said, in the voice of Freddie Mercury, "Is this the wi-fi? Is this just fantasy?...Caught in a landline, we don't need AT&T.." and then passed the phone back. We already have AT&T, and I WAS ON THE PHONE WITH A FRIEND THAT DOES ACCOUNTING?, NOTHING TO DO WITH SOMEONE CALLING OUR HOUSE. No more Crockpot broccoli and cheese soup using weed butter for him. Good god... I'm almost impressed. We also haven't had a landline in years. God bless this small dog weilding, vaping man.

... but there's no accounting for taste.

What do you call a savings account for obtaining more bushes?

A Hedge Fund!

I propose we start a daily competition.

Each day the winner of the pervious days thread provides the word for the day.

Then you lovely lot will go off into reddit and try make the best pun around that word/phrase you can, and link your best result in that days thread. The comment with the most up votes wins for the day. Only one pun per account per day.

Ill start with a relatively easy one: Pun

So once upon a time, there was a planet shaped like a cheerio. A small moon made of milk or tied the planet, going through the center of the donut shaped world. On this planet, lived an interesting species. They acted and lived similarly to us humans? But looked just like large Cheerios (with footings hands and feet like miis) Within this society there were levels of Cheerios: original, honey nut, and finally frosted. The originals were the backbone of the economy, doing the herd labor while the honey nuts ran the businesses and the frosted Cheerios (the top of the top) led the world. Our story today focuses on a single Cheerio. Born into an original Cheerio family, this lad learned the hard way how to work. From a young age, he was forced to get a job in the local milk refinery, where his dad worked. He grew up, and soon had a family of his own. His wife, son, and daughter all worked hard, but were happy. One day walking home from school, the kids found a runaway honey nut Cheerio pup, and decided to keep him. It wasn’t much, but it inspired our little Cheerio friend here. One day, he got fed up with taking orders, and demanded a raise. His entire family has worked in this one factory for three generations, and he wanted to move up in the world, not just for him but also his kids. His old boss however, did not have the power to promote this Cheerio, and he was forced to make a life changing decision: he would go to the refinery company and use every penny in the family savings account (under the bed) to try and get a higher position. After waiting on line for over a week, his appoint was finally here. After bickering and bargaining for hours, the refinery company boss saw a spark in this lad’s eye. He agreed to give this Cheerio a promotion to the honored honey nut glaze in exchange for everything this man owned, including the family’s prized honey nut dog. Was it worth it? Well pretty soon he owned his own milk refinery and was able to breed his own honey nut dogs, so yes, yes it was. Owning and operating the refinery went smoothly. Milk was transported from the moon to the planet using space busses, and the milk itself was funneled down to the refineries using large straws. After the milk was ready to drink, it was shipped off to be sold. He was happy working here, but eventually he realized it wasn’t enough. This Cheerio, once a simple original Cheerio wanted to follow the “American dream” and do the best he could. He wanted to become a frosted Ch

Posted this on r/Talesfromretail and it was suggested I post here.

I used to work in store where we would ask customers if they had an account number at the check out. The number would be put in manually before putting the shopping through and the customer would get back one penny on every pound they spent.

One day a family who I hadn't seen before came in and while the mum and kids wandered off to start shopping. The dad came over to the side of my till while I was serving customers, announced his account number and then ran off to join his family without saying anything else. OK, that was weird, I went on serving.

About 10 minutes later the family are queued for my till. When it comes to the point where I should ask for their number the dad grins at me and I realise what's going on. Fortunately, I have a bizarrely good memory for numbers and, without skipping a beat, I reel off the one he gave me when he came in the store. The kids both gasp and their eyes go wide. They look at their dad in awe.

As I'm putting through the shopping, I hear the dad say:

>See? I told you they were psychic.

One of the classic  Abbott and Costello  routines, where Bud Abbott takes advantage of a common math mistake that we all make to fleece his pal, Lou Costello, out of all of his money.  The skit ends with a simple ‘read my mind’ routine that takes Lou’s last remaining bill.  This routine was done  many  times, both in the movies and their radio show.

Bud Abbott: Do me a favor, loan me $50.
Lou Costello: Bud, I can’t. I can’t loan you $50.
Bud Abbott: Oh, yes, ya can.
Lou Costello: No, I can’t. All I got is $40.
Bud Abbott: All right, give me the $40 and you’ll owe me 10  
Lou Costello: Ok, I’ll owe you 10.
Bud Abbott: That’s right.
Lou Costello: How come I owe you 10?
Bud Abbott: How much did I ask for?
Lou Costello: 50
Bud Abbott: How much did you give me?
Lou Costello: 40.
Bud Abbott: So you owe me $10.
Lou Costello: That’s right.  [Pause] But you owe me 40.
Bud Abbott: Don’t change the subject.
Lou Costello: I’m not changing the subject; you’re trying to change my finances. Come on, Abbott give me my $40.
Bud Abbott: All right, there’s your $40, now give me the 10 you owe me.
Lou Costello: I’m paying you on account.
Bud Abbott: On account?
Lou Costello: On account I don’t know how I owe it to ya.
Bud Abbott: That’s the way you feel about it, that’s the last time I ask you for a loan of $50.
Lou Costello: But how can I loan ya $50, now. All I got is 30.
Bud Abbott: Well, give me the 30 and you’ll owe me 20.
Lou Costello: Ok. This is getting worse all the time. (Look at audience) First I owe him 10, now I owe him 20.
Bud Abbott: Well, why do you run yourself into debt?
Lou Costello: I’m not running in, you’re pushing me!1
Bud Abbott: I can’t help it if you can’t handle your finances. I do all right with my money.
Lou Costello: And you do all right with my money too.
Bud Abbott: Now I asked you for a loan of $50. You gave me 30, so you owe me 20. 20 and 30 is 50.
Lou Costello: No. No. No. 25 and 25 is 50.
Bud Abbott: All right, here’s your $30, now give me the 20 you owe me. Fine guy, won’t loan a pal $50.

Cause there’s no accounting for taste.

I said “they’re not, they’re oatey.”

(This is a factual account of a real life event. Please send donations for children’s counseling.)

EDIT: I am now closing applications and will make a decision in the next day or so. Thank you to everybody who applied - the general enthusiasm and support is wonderful to see.

( as this is a self post, I receive no karma - however I would appreciate it if you upvoted purely for visibility <3 )

Hey everybody,

The /r/dadjokes community is now over 85,000 subscribers strong. That's pretty great. Pretty super great.

Thus far, over the entire existence of this sub, I have been the only mod. Quietly watching, taking your feedback, removing a post here, approving another there - doing my best not to interfere too much. I'm going to be honest, it hasn't been that hard.

You lot are generally a pretty nice bunch, give or take a few of the more vocal lunatics. There isn't usually a lot of work to be done, or issues that need resolving.

That said, I'm not awake all the time. I can't lurk on Reddit all the time. I don't have all-seeing eyes.

So it's about time I gave another pair of eyes moderator status and entrusted those eyes with a duty of care.

Let's get down to the chase; here's what I'm looking for in an additional mod:

• You live in a very different timezone to Syd, AU - GMT+10
• You have a good sense of humour
• You're not in this purely to grow your 'net rep
• You're interested in being fair, and maintaining fairness
• You maintain civility in yourself and your responses at all times
• You have a bit of time every day to go through reports, spam, and post comments
• You understand that your moderatorship will initially be a trial, and can be revoked at any time if you aren't being magical and rad
• Some general CSS/subreddit formatting knowledge wouldn't go astray, but is not required

Here's what I am not looking for:

• Strong, cemented opinions about what constitutes a dad joke and what doesn't - everybody's dad and humour is different
• An overzealous post remover - I am not looking for an enforcer, the title moderator implies moderation
• A(nother) dictator - it is my preference that this subreddit be gently guided, and not forcibly ruled, we let the community find itself and we listen to what they say

If you wish to apply for the title and duty of being a moderator to /r/dadjokes, simply state your case (why you should be selected, what benefits or experience you bring, etc) in a comment reply to this thread. I will then get in touch with the most worthy seeming applicants. Upvotes and downvites will not be taken int

Ok, but I'd rather you hop real slow. Bathroom falls account for the majority of home injuries.

In the not too distant future, web censorship is pervasive; speech and freedom are strangers to one another; while pirates sail the seas with impunity, digital pirates are incarcerated by the busload.

Anyone who speaks out against this ban on open-dialogue or the free-sharing-of-ideas is ground down and hidden away, and the resistance is loosing its will.

A small group of contributors to reddit, huddled together in a bunker beneath barely-waving flags of Snoo, worked tirelessly to repost new ideas from around the internet, to release ideas from their chains, and make speech free ... again!

But it was not to be - a gang of the governments anti-piracy enforcers descended on this, the last bastion of humankind's will to share-freely. Arriving in an armored bus, ten shock-troopers breached the bunker and it looked like the day was lost.

Fortunately for us all, one brave redditor led the collective out a back entrance and they circled to the driveway. This leader told the other redditors to wait in the bushes while he overpowered the one soldier left guarding the transport. There was a flash of movement, a crack from a fallen branch as it struck the guard, and then, stolen keys in hand, the hero revved the engine and told the redditors to pile in.

He had to will himself ignore the gas gauge as he floored the accelerator on the 25,000 pound ticket to freedom - there was only survival or defeat, and nothing in between. Sirens came alive behind him as he rushed for the border to the promised land, to the Free-North.

As the engine begins to cough, the titanic weight of the transport cleaves the barricades asunder and the pursuing vehichles have to hard-brake to avoid skidding beyond their corrupt jurisdiction. Both exhausted and elated, the redditors follow their hero to the freedom promised by their new surroundings ... but their peril is not yet passed.

Though most of the pirate-hunters glower from the south-side of the border, one special agent has crossed over and is speaking with the border guards. The tension is thick. A long-faced guard turns to the newcomers, clearly troubled by what he must do.

"Folks," he says, a pained look on his kindly face, "I'm sorry, to do this, don't cha' know, but I got no choice, eh!"

Confused, the redditors look to one another, and tremble as they notice the agent's smug expression, greedy eyes fixed on the leader of the exodus.

"Look here, now, you are all welcome here, of course, and since speech is free here, we are

A penny saved, is actually about 1.25 pennies, once you account for Income Tax.

[my dad works for the Canadian tax department (IRS) and he used to always say that when I was a kid. He thought he was very funny. I'm now starting to see the wisdom in that statement.

There's no accounting for taste.

Way back when I was a kid, for my school's Renaissance Faire-esque fundraiser, I went around wearing a sign that read "Vilage Idiot". When guests asked why, I'd reply, "I wasn't always the village idiot...

• “I used to be a tailor... but it didn't quite suit me... It was only a so-so job.”
• “I once was a lumberjack... but I couldn't hack it... so they gave me the axe.”
• “I was a fisherman too... I just couldn't live off my net income.”
• “I thought about being a witch for a spell.”
• “I tried being a chef... but I just didn't have enough thyme for it.”
• “I was a musician once... but I didn't accomplish anything noteworthy.”
• “For awhile I was a doctor... but I didn't have the patience to keep it up.”
• “I once was a accountant... but I lost interest. The job was too taxing.”
• “I tried moonlighting as a nun... but I confess, they didn't like my altar ego... or my bad habits.”
• “More recently, I was a baker... but I couldn't make enough dough at it... Guess I wasn't bred for the job.”
• “Heck, I was even king for a day... but I didn't have any crowning achievements.”

...And so now, here I am: village idiot, just like my father was. Ah... my father, he was the best village idiot we ever had. It's hard living in his shadow sometimes. You see, my father was a complete idiot! ...I'm just a half-wit.”

A man is riding his horse through the desert, and, well, he starts to get thirsty. He sees a small town off in the distance, so he sets off in that direction to get some water for his horse and some whiskey for hisself.

Well, as he gets into that little town he starts to notice something peculiar. Not a soul is out. Sun's setting, but still plenty of light. Water in the horse troughs tells him it ain't a ghost town, but folks ain't comin' out for some reason.

Now, as soon as he turns onto the town's main street, he sees a soberin' sight; the sheriff, on a ladder, hammering the last nail into a brand new gallows. He sidles his horse on up to the sheriff and says, "Pardon me sheriff. I don't mean to pry, but pray tell, who're them gallows fer?"

The sheriff looks around, surprised to see someone out. He steps down, takes off his hat and scratches the back of his head thoughtfully, before replying, "Well, I reckon you must be a stranger in these parts. I reckon then that you ain't never heard of Brown Paper Bart. Anyway, we're lynchin' him come sunrise."

"Brown Paper Bart? I reckon not, sheriff. That's a mighty peculiar name, pray tell, whaddaya call him Brown Paper Bart fer?"

"Wayill, I reckon we call him Brown Paper Bart on account 'a the fact that everything he wears is made a' brown paper. His hat's made a' brown paper, his boots is made a' brown paper. His chaps is made a' brown paper, his neckerchief's made a brown paper. Heck dang shoot, even his lunch bag is made a' brown paper!"

The man looks at the sheriff a moment, perplexed, before replying, "Well, sheriff, I reckon that's a mighty peculiar thing for a man to do, but that don't explain these brand new gallows. Pray tell, what're you lynchin' Brown Paper Bart fer?"

[Insert a dad-length pause here.]

"...Rustlin'."

This one was about two years ago, but it was one of my favorite memories of work due to the reaction it got. There's a little bit of a setup/backstory for this.

I landed a job at the local Sam's Club before it opened, so I, along with the other associates, was to attend a credit training event at a very nice bank in town.

There were probably 30 or 40 in the class and most of us knew each other pretty well because we had spent the past few weeks 'blitzing,' or selling Sam's Club memberships at Walmarts in the area.

Anyway, the credit guy (his name fails me) was giving a powerpoint presentation on the ins and outs of the Sam's credit accounts. At one point, he said that for pre-approved members, a piece of paper called a 'chit' will print out. There were a few chuckles and he smiled and said "yeah, I know," and carried on.

Then I raised my hand.

He called on me, and I began: "So if a church with a business membership is pre-approved, who's responsible for applying? A church accountant or one of the clergy or something?"

"Yes, whoever owns the account itself."

"Would that be considered a 'holy chit?'"

The class erupted in laughter and one associate even left the room because she was laughing so hard. I saw one of the managers in class with us had his head buried in his arms laughing to the point of tears.

Probably my finest moment.

First and foremost, I've decided to add a rule 7. Please, for the love of God, have the slightest bit of creativity and do not put the punchline of the joke in the title. The reasoning being as follows.

Most importantly, putting the punchline in the title ruins the joke, unless it is a one liner!
*
Secondarily, this is a puns subreddit dedicated to wordplay, if you lack the creativity to restate something in a humorous way rather than regurgitating the punchline as the header, perhaps this isn't the subreddit for you...

#Secondarily,

I've made a few minor spam filter tweaks. Your post will be caught in the spam filter if:

1. Your account has less than +3 combined comment and link karma.
2. Your account is less than 7 days old.

What will happen if your post is filtered is it will automatically go into the spam queue, and I'll try to have it unfiltered in the span of a couple of minutes/hours, but sometimes I do sleep so sadly it may take longer.

My post isn't appearing! How do I fix it?

If your post is not appearing and it has not violated any of the rules, feel free to drop us a mod message and I'll get a mobile notification within 30 minutes or so of the post removal, putting it on the fast track to being restored.

Tax-is.

There’s no accounting for taste!