Broken English Puns

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My Wife "OH GOD HERE COMES ANOTHER CONTRACTION"! Me "Can't".

I was just in a checkout line at the grocery store and the man behind me was going on and on in broken English about being from some Neo-Mediterranean superpower. He got my attention, pointed to a newspaper above the belt, and asked what it was. I replied “It’s the Times, New Roman.”

I have written this book to sweep away all misunderstandings about the crafty art of punnery and to convince you that the pun is well worth celebrating.... After all, the pun is mightier than the sword, and these days you are much more likely to run into a pun than into a sword. [A pun is a witticism involving the playful use of a word in different senses, or of words which differ in meaning but sound alike.]

Scoffing at puns seems to be a conditioned reflex, and through the centuries a steady barrage of libel and slander has been aimed at the practice of punning. Nearly three hundred years ago John Dennis sneered, “A pun is the lowest form of wit,” a charge that has been butted and rebutted by a mighty line of pundits and punheads.

Henry Erskine, for example, has protested that if a pun is the lowest form of wit, “It is, therefore, the foundation of all wit.” Oscar Levant has added a tag line: “A pun is the lowest form of humor—when you don’t think of it first.” John Crosbie and Bob Davies have responded to Dennis with hot, cross puns: “...If someone complains that punning is the lowest form of humor you can tell them that poetry is verse.”

Samuel Johnson, the eighteenth century self-appointed custodian of the English language, once thundered, “To trifle with the vocabulary which is the vehicle of social intercourse is to tamper with the currency of human intelligence. He who would violate the sanctities of his mother tongue would invade the recesses of the national till without remorse... ”

Joseph Addison pronounced that the seeds of punning are in the minds of all men, and tho’ they may be subdued by reason, reflection, and good sense, they will be very apt to shoot up in the greatest genius, that which is not broken and cultivated by the rules of art.

Far from being invertebrate, the inveterate punster is a brave entertainer. He or she loves to create a three-ring circus of words: words clowning, words teetering on tightropes, words swinging from tent tops, words thrusting their head into the mouths of lions. Punnery can be highly entertaining, but it is always a risky business. The humor can fall on its face, it can lose its balance and plunge into the sawdust, or it can be decapitated by the snapping shut of jaws. While circus performers often receive laughter or applause for their efforts, punsters often draw an obligatory groan for theirs. But the fact that most people groan at, rather than laugh at, puns doesn’t mean that the punnery isn’t fu

In India, cab driver is Muslim, speaking with broken English to my friend about his family. Cab driver says something about his mother being ill.

Friend: "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Is your mother sick?" Cab driver: "Sick? No, she is Muslim!"

Sick = Sikh

Guide: (broken english) "There is a lot of grass in this area because...[good reason]."

Dad: (to me, but loud enough for everyone to hear) "You know what the locals call that...?"

Me: "No, what?"

Dad: "Muchas gracias!" (followed by the biggest grin I've ever seen)

Guide: (confused) "De nada..."

My family quickly and casually disassociates before seeing other families face palm for us.

I was the only one who laughed...

Yesterday, the bell system was broken at school.

So my English teacher says, “Hey! Looks like they get the No-bell prize!”

There was silence in the classroom. The only noise to be heard was one boy in the back throwing his book to the ground.

(Stolen from Tumblr)

Sitting in the Chinese Restaurant, my dad is reading the broken English menu and says:

Dad: Does this dish come out with Beethoven playing?

Me: What? Why?

Dad: Well it's under 'classical dishes'.

I was just in a checkout line at the grocery store and the man behind me was going on and on in broken English about being from some Neo-Mediterranean superpower. He got my attention, pointed to a newspaper above the belt, and asked what it was. I replied “It’s the Times, New Roman.”