Big Block Puns

His dad answers, “It’s terrain.”

My XL-wearing half-black friend and I were in Trader Joe's when I started being excited about this huge pound block of chocolate.

When I asked him why he wasn't excited, he replied, "I guess I'm just not a big chocolate guy."

I laughed for about an hour at his complete genius.

Because he might Pikachu!

I used to get to do these all the times. When the drawer got stuck I would wrestle the obstruction inside blocking it and exclaim that this would not be a problem if we just had a lesser cheese grater...I began to love bombing there for a while. Ah...

Edit- no one got the grater joke then either, don't feel bad. but it was on the spot so it didn't need all the setup i ruined here. Try this for your brains: Our drawers often had a lot of utensils and stuff in them, and some of it was also big, like the cheese grater. That would get jostled and end up on top of a fork pile or whatever and be up high enough in the drawer to keep the thing from opening, ie the drawer would open to where the grater hit the back of it and jam the works up, right? the grater was too great. i needed a lesser grater so the drawer wouldnt get jammed. Did that help?

So, my dad could be considered a regular jokester. He had his dad jokes, his dirty jokes, clean but provocative joke, setup jokes, everything. He never missed a chance to turn something into a joke for hinself, even, and perpahs especially, if it only amused himself. I found out at an young age that no situation is too serious for him.

I was around 9 years old and I was in the cub scouts, and it was box car derby season. I was in the dining room, carving away at my block of wood when the blade in my right hand skipped the wood and carved my left thumb. It fucking hurt and bled like a sonofabitch. I immediately starting screaming and my dad raced into the room and found me covered in blood, my left hand now with two thumbs. We get it wrapped and he drives me to the emergency room. By the time we got there the bleeding had stopped and I have stopped crying. As we pull up, my dad looks st me, shakes his head and says "We can't go in there like this, we'll end up waiting forever to see a doctor. You need to cry once we're in there and that'll help" I said ok, and he said as we were walking up, "I'll give you a signal to start crying." How will i know, i asked him snd he just said i'll know. We go inside and walk up to the admittance desk. I'm short, so at the time my head just cleared the desk. My dad tells the nurse that we have a cut, and need to see a doctor right away. The nurse pushes paperwork at him and he tells her again, this time that its a real bad cut. The nurse finally looks at me for the first time and she frowns, because im relatively normal looking, even though im hurting and nervous, waiting for my dads signal. My dad pulls me back a bit and her eyes widen really big when she sees all the dried blood caked on the lower left side of my body. She starts getting excited and says "Ohmygoshohmygosh" over and over and this point im starting to get scared when my Dad, in a serious voice says "Its even worse than it looks! You're going to have to take the whole hand!"

Then I start crying.

My son had his end of the year art project inside a large cardboard sleeve with handles on it. He had carefully scrawled with magic marker in big block letters:

PORTFOLO

I said, "Well, I guess the fun and games are over!"

He looked puzzled, and asked "why?"

I pointed at his portfolio - "someone has lost an I"