At Content Puns

It'll be on the channel E. S. Peein.

...would I get arrested and charged with an assault with battery charge?

They always riposte.

So I get home from school one day and the car isn't in the driveway... I ask Dad where mom is and he says "She went to the other side of down to get some crack. I told her she could just buy from you, but she insisted.."

It's true

Like all beings, the cow was brought into being by the universe.

The cow was very curious about its existence and asked a lot of questions of the universe.

"what am I?" it asked.

"a cow" the universe relied.

"why am I here?" it asked

"to be a cow" the universe relied, and nudged a pile of hay nearby, trying to distract her from digging deeper into that question.

The universe has a lot on its plate, existentially speaking, and in the past its gotten a bit fed up with some of its creatures.

But after what happened to Adam and Eve, the universe learned to be more patient with inquisitive beings.

The success of cats is largely because they take responsibility for their own curiosity.

But the cow was a bit needier, seeking answers rather than exploration.

The universe hoped the smell from the hay would entice it to act rather than ask.

"What's that?" the cow asked.

"Hay" the universe sighed..."for eating," it added, hoping to keep the cow quiet for a while so the universe could focus on other things.

It worked for a while but as soon as the cow's 4 stomachs were full it started asking questions again.

And that's when the universe created a bull.

"And what is that?" she asked

"That's a bull" the universe replied and wiggled its existential eyebrows suggestively.

The cow headed over to the bull and chatted him up, leaving the universe in peace for a while.

The cow was content in until she started started noticing some changes in her body.

"what's this?" she asked, pointing to her swelling body.

"You're pregnant" it replied.

She got really curious about what that meant and became very hyper asking question after question about pregnancy and birth.

She remained excited throughout the gestation, asking questions to prepare for her for the birth.

But when the day came she relaxed, and stayed focused on the task at hand. And after she gave birth, she was exhausted!

Nevertheless, she pulled herself together, looked at the baby that she brought in to the world and, predictably, asked the universe:

"What's that?"

"A calf" the universe sighed, trying to accept the relentless inquisitiveness of the cow.

"Ohhhh!" she sighed, "that explains it!"

The universe blinked. It couldn't help itself.

"Explains what?" it asked.

"Why I'm so tired!"

The universe paused.

"it's because," the cow said, "I'm decalfinated".

And the universe took the power of speech away from the cow for eternity.

... ...

Edited

The steaks were high

An infantry

Side note: I will be a first time father at the end of March. I am proud to join the dad joke ranks, my wife and son will learn to appreciate the content from this subreddit 😬

There was, for instance, the time he conducted a crew of new S.A.R.H. (Society for the Aesthetic Rearrangement of History -BJ) recruits – all from late twentieth-century Terra – on a training study of Carter’s World, a newly established agricultural colony attempting to support itself by the export of edible nuts. Barely into their second generation, and having yet to show a profit, the colonists were technologically backward. Nevertheless, they showed a surprising ingenuity in the use of their few advantages. It was this resourcefulness that Feghoot was demonstrating to his rookies.

“Look at the perfection with which these streets are graded”, exclaimed one student. “Earth-moving machinery on this scale is strictly high technology stuff. How can they do it?”

“A new alleyway is being constructed, nearby”, said Feghoot. “Let us walk that way while I explain.” As they strolled, he told his students that countless centuries before, the Carter’s World system had been inhabited by a now-vanished race of giants. This very planet had served them for a nursery, and among the many artifacts they had left were thousands of childrens blocks, immense and precision-cut. You simply jack one up onto logs, bring it where you want it, put collapsible jacks underneath, snake out the logs, spread soil more or less evenly beneath, and collapse the jacks.

“I see”, said the student. “It’s not graded road at all; its a simple hammered-earth base.”

“That’s right,” Feghoot went on smoothly. “You just hit the road jack and don’t come back no mo.”

His students registered dismay and anguish.

“Isn’t that right, old-timer?,” Feghoot demanded of an ancient Carterian standing by the mouth of the newly completed alley they had just reached.

“Ahm afraid not, suh”, said the senior citizen, and the students giggled at Feghoots discomfiture. “Oh, we used to do it that way, but it was far too much trouble. It’s the soil heah. You see, the very same soil which produced our famous cashews is so high in clay content that a child could roll out a road of it. Then, we simply use a system of lenses to bake it into hardness. Ahve just completed this alley mahself, and ahm just a retired professor of Sports History, much too old and feeble to handle hydraulic jacks.

“So you see,” he finished, eyes twinkling, “Mah hammered alley is really cashews clay.”

Howls of agony rose from the students, but Feghoot never hesitated. “And he”, he said, turning to his students, “is clearly the gradi

[from NPR-- this sub doesn't allow link posts]

The annual turkey pardon is a silly tradition, and President Obama knows it. On Wednesday, before pardoning turkeys named Tater and Tot, Obama summed up his feelings about this particular duty.

"It is my great privilege — well, it's my privilege — actually, let's just say it's my job to grant them clemency this afternoon," Obama said.

Not in attendance for the president's final turkey pardoning ceremony were first daughters Sasha and Malia Obama, who gamely laughed alongside their father last year. So instead, the president's nephews Austin and Aaron Robinson stood by for what Obama called his "corny-copia of dad jokes about turkeys."

And thus began a pun-fest for the ages. Here's a list of President Obama's groaners from this year's pardoning ceremony:

"Actually [Sasha and Malia] just couldn't take my jokes anymore. They were fed up."

"What I haven't told them yet is we are going to do this every year from now on. No cameras, just us, every year. No way I'm cutting this habit cold turkey."

"Tater is here in a backup role just in case Tot can't fulfill his duties. So he's sort of like the vice turkey. We're working on getting him a pair of aviator glasses."

"I want to take a moment to recognize the brave turkeys who weren't so lucky. Who didn't get to ride the gravy train to freedom. Who met their fate with courage and sacrifice and proved that they weren't chicken."

[After touting positive economic indicators and the low uninsured rate] "That's worth gobbling about."

"We should also make sure everyone has something to eat on Thanksgiving. Of course, except the turkeys, because they're already stuffed."

"When somebody at your table tells you that you've been hogging all of the side dishes, you can't have any more, I hope that you respond with a creed that sums up the spirit of a hungry people: 'Yes, we cran.' "

"Look, I know there are some bad ones in here, but this is the last time I'm doing this, so we're not leaving any room for leftovers."

"And now from the Rose Garden, Tater and Tot will go to their new home at Virginia Tech, which is admittedly a bit hokey." (The Hokies are the Virginia Tech mascot.)

"And so let's get on with the pardoning. Because it's Wednesday afternoon and everyone knows that Thanksgiving traffic can put people in a foul mood."

[from NPR -- http://www.npr.org/2016/11/23/503178220/president-obamas-2016-turkey-pardon-dad-jokes-the-definitive-list?utm_source=facebook.com

Pointing his firearm at two cashiers, he shouts “hand over the contents of the cash register! I need it to set myself up in a trade or profession...you know, a habitual occupation followed for a livelihood and involving commercial transactions!”

Cashier 1: “What do we do?”

Cashier 2: “Do what he says, I think he means business!”

My boy, Arthur, is slow. He is the slowest child I’ve ever met. And I don’t mean mentally, he just doesn’t move quickly at all no matter what the urgency.

He takes an hour to get out of bed and stand up in the morning. He takes an hour to eat. When we go anywhere we have to tell him 20 minutes in advance because he takes that long to get his shoes on. His showers…we had to install an industrial sized water heater and hook it up to his shower exclusively because he would drain the tank and shower in ice cold water and started getting sick from it.

The worst part is that even if you help him out he doesn’t go faster. We can feed him and he’ll just swallow slower. We can wash him and he’ll just sit there for longer.

I’ve learned to live with it and be content because I know he won’t change. But my wife can’t take it. Just the other day she told me she was going to punish him to make him go quicker:

“I’ve had it with him! I’m going to start giving him timeouts and taking away toys for going so slow!”

“Honey,” I said, “it’ll never work.”

“Why not?!”

“Because you can’t rush Art.”

Drifting down the alphabetised rock section, nothing really appealed to me from A-M. Disappointed, I moved around to the other side of the rack when suddenly I felt uplifted, content and at one with the universe. I had reached Nirvana.

The man frowns. “What do you mean it’s a secret? What’s the special today? Is it a latte?”

The barista shakes her head.

“A mocha?”

She shakes her head again.

“Oh, come on! Tell me! A cappuccino?”

She shakes her head.

“An affogato?”

She shakes her head.

The man is getting frustrated at this point. “Can you at least give me a clue!?”

The barista thinks for a moment, then points at a jar on the counter. “Ok, the special is in this jar.”

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s a secret.”

The man, enraged at this point, tries to grab the jar.

The barista grabs it too.

They fight for control and the man wretches it away only for the jar to fall on the ground and its contents spill out onto the floor.

The man stares, “It’s just been normal coffee this whole time?!”

The barista shrugs, “I guess you spilled the beans.”

Back a few decades, I was working in a program with a local college in the Middle East.

The name of the program for ExPats has the clever acronym of "IDEA" (hey, I said it was clever); which stands for "Inter-Departmental Educational Adjunct". It's interdepartmental because my particular specialty not only covers field geology but also paleontology and a bit of archeology thrown in for good measure. Everyone hopes to have a good IDEA...

ahem...

Well, we saddle up and head for the Dune Sea out in the west of the country, where the Precambrian, Cambrian, Silurian, Cretaceous, Pliocene, Pleistocene, and Holocene crop out and access is relatively easy and non-injurious.

Well, we caravan out, some 30 Land Cruisers, Nissan patrol, and the odd Mitsubishi Galloper strong. We all get our maps, compasses and split up into 5 or 6 special interest groups ("SIG's"); where each IDEA has his own GPS and LIDAR laser ranging apparatus. Reason being, that there are very few benchmarks out in the desert, and even those are constantly at the mercy of the shifting and ever-blowing sands.

Since we're split into groups and at any one time, ranging up to and including some 50 km2, when a real find is located, a device called the "DIME" (Digital-Interface Monitor Encoder) is attached and programmed into the GPS for location later; it is a digital sort of low-frequency transponder, developed from technology used by offshore drillers and jacket setters where benchmarks are even more transitory.

The way it works is rather simple. When something is to be marked for later retrieval, a series of wooden posts are pounded in a triangular manner around the find and the DIME is set, programmed with the GPS and attached to one or more of the posts.

That's the theory, at least.

Everything works well, especially all the hardened electronics and computer gizmos, but attaching the DIME to the stakes is the real problem. It can't be nailed, screwed or fastened with any sort of metal contrivance as that farkles the magnetic field and causes all sorts of goofy spurious signals. Zip ties don't last long in the heat and duct tape is right out. Many sites have been lost to the shifting sands this way.

Velcro doesn't work too well, as the sand fills the hooks of the receiving piece of velcro and soon renders it useless. String or fishing line work, but that's temporary (they melt). Glue or mastic are out as these are supposed to be temporary. Even plastic sleeves don't work due to the heat out

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.

The contractor was adamant that whatever was in the box would not go in the building at any cost. The plumber insisted he was just trying to do his job and that it was imperative that the box go into the master bathroom. The contractor turned him away despite warnings that there would be consequences. Upon hearing this, the owner of the building got angry and hired a new contractor. The new contractor also wouldn't allow the contents of the large box into the building. He was also fired and a new contractor hired. This contractor was a fun person, giving the workers breaks and buying them lunch. Out of fondness, the workers warned him that when plumber comes, he should allow the box to go into the building. So the contractor asked how important the contents of the box were and the workers replied, "Two people have been fired for not listening to the plumber, just let that sink in"

So last night, I decided to treat my husband to a big dinner. He piles food on his plate and begins to eat. A while later I heard him sigh out in contentment. So I proceeded to ask...

Me: Was it good?

Him: Yeah, I ate my whole plate and now I'm stuffed.

Me: Well you could've left the plate. I didn't look too tasty to me.

I got glared at.

And so the string decides that he shall stop at his favorite Pub and treat himself to a pint before going home to the wife. But after a decent walk he arrives at the pub to find a new sign on the door that reads " No Strings Allowed".

The string becomes infuriated. "How dare they" he thinks to himself. After having been a loyal patron for 10 years he decides this injustice is not to be tolerated and comes up with a plan.

He takes a moment and steps into the back alley way to be discreet. While he is there he ties himself into a knot and frays the top. Content with his disguise he marches back around to the front, enters the bar and has a seat when requests a pint of beer.

The bartender being a little suspicious looks at him a little uneasily but just can't seem to peg what the problem is. He serves him the beer regardless while keeping a close eye on the suspicious character. A little while later the string decides that the week at work has been so long that he is deserving of two pints of beer before going home to retire for the weekend.

It is just at that point when the bartender is serving him his second pint that he pauses and looks at the string and says "Hold on one minute! Aren't you a string?"

To which the string replied, "Sorry, I'm a frayed knot".

I apologize for this wall of text, I didn't know where I should cut out parts because they're all relevant to the story. Sorry again.

Hey TFR people! So for background, I work at a kiosk in a mall where I repair cracked phones and do other mind numbing work that I can now probably do in my sleep. I've been doing this job for a little over two years and can fix an iPhone, for example, in about 15 minutes. I apologize for the wall of text. Anyway, this story happened last night.

So, a family of three walk up (mother, father and daughter) but only the father spoke to me and this is where conversation starts. Note: When I was handed this girls phone she had a case with this image on it and was already about to laugh. Customer will be C and I of course will be Me.

C: How much does it cost to fix my daughters phone and can it be fixed?

Me: Oh it's very repairable, after tax and labor, it comes to $xxx.xx.

C: Do it

Fuck, he's one of these guys...

Me: Alright then, I just need a name and signature on this disclaimer we have.

At this point, I've taken their phone and am prepping to work on it.

C: Do I have to use my real name?

PAUSE Now, over the 2+ years I've worked here, I have never heard this question. So I was kind of taken by surprise by it. For a minute, I thought he was one of those paranoid people. PLAY

Me: Um.. Well I guess you don't have to. It's preferred since we can look you up in our system faster later.

C: Oh ok.

I turn back around and start to use my tools on the phone when customer guy throws me another curve ball question.

C: Can my daughter still play the piano when this is done?

I manage to turn and see him smirking a little and go back to his serious poker face so I pick up that he's joking.

Me: Well I would hope so. Slight laughter

C: Oh ok great! She's never even touched one before so it's good to hear her skill won't change in the slightest.

I'm on the verge of outright laughing at this point. I manage to hold it back and finish my repair. I snap her grumpy cat case back on, hand her phone back when she mentions the home button isn't working.

Oh that's an easy fix

Me: Ah, don't worry. Give me one second and I'll have that fixed.

C: One. Try it now "Insert girls name"

Me: Haha well I haven't done what I need to yet.

I pull out a giant clear bag half full of spare parts.

**

Throwaway since I could be identified if someone tried hard enough.

My father is currently partaking in a long and grueling pilgrimage of over 300 miles on the Notre Dame Trail. The organizers suggested family members write letters to encourage and motivate the pilgrims.

I have chosen to borrow some amazing content from /r/dadjokes to text to my father on a daily basis. He loves to make bad jokes and is often seen laughing at his own puns. He said he tells the jokes to the group every day when they've finished walking and they always get a chuckle from the crowd.

So sincerely, thank you and keep up the good work!

My mother has also joined him for the final 3 days so if anyone has some good, clean mom related dad jokes, feel free to share them with me!

So she's driving me in to work because my car's at the garage having some work done, when there's a sudden beep of horns and a minor road rage incident between two identical cars like this:

https://carleasingmadesimple.com/news/v01/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/Mini-Countryman-rear-view-1024x767.jpg

Without even a split second hesitation she comes out with "Well, you'd think their fellow countryman would simply let them merge wouldn't you?".

I'm a kitchen hand, and we take these big containers the chefs fill with dirty pans etc to clean the contents. These containers are called warwicks (pronounced "WORRICK").

I took one of these warwicks, and the chef next to me thanked me. As a response to his thank you, I just said "hey mate, no warwicks!"

Chef turned to look at me in disappointment, and almost dropped a pan of garlic prawns.

Grandpa: Pulls out all of the contents of his pocket and stands in a crowd staring at it... just waiting for the sucker who asks what he's doing.

When someone finally notices, sometimes after minutes of waiting, he says "They say I lost my marbles, but I found one"

Sure enough, he'll have a marble in his hand. He always carries a marble so he can make this joke.