This story is about a man called Trevor, and his obsession with tractors.

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

... keep reading on reddit ➡

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📅︎ Aug 07 2020
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My dad seems to think the best time to pick on my boyfriends is at the dinner table...

Here are two of my dad's funniest (most memorable) moments while out to eat...

About five years ago, my ex-boyfriend and I went out for Valentine's Day with my parents. My mom and I were having a conversation about my brother's ex-fiancee when...

Ex: "Oh, so you guys don't like her?"

Dad: "No, but that's alright, we don't really like [K's] boyfriend all that much either."

Needless to say, it wasn't as funny at the time...

Then about a few months ago, with my current boyfriend, we went out to eat with some family friends. At the time, my boyfriend was employed at an A/C company doing Chinese drywall and was talking with two of the men employed in other construction trades.

Family Friend: "Don't get involved in concrete. Or Construction. Better yet, stay out of anything that begins with a C."

Dad (from the other side of the table): "You better stay out of anything that starts with a K, too."

It's even more ironic considering I happen to have one of those names that's commonly spelled with a C, but my parents decided to spell with a K. But as mortified as my boyfriend was, I have to give it to my dad, that one was pretty damn funny.

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📅︎ Oct 01 2013
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Dadjoke from memory

Allow me to regale you with a couple tales illustrating my late dad's sense of humor. Last names faked because I'm not that stupid.

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(1). At a routine PTA meeting about me in my Georgia school, everyone found themselves packed into a hot and stuffy room waiting for the boredom to end. Shoulder to shoulder fun, can you picture it?

My dad lets one rip. It's loud, smelly, and echoes. The room falls silent as the fart invites itself unfavorably to the nostrils of those in attendance.

He turns to my mom and with his best shocked face says, "... Patty!"

I like to think he slept on the couch that night.

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(2). During my old man's wait for us to arrive at the new home he had bought, he had to deal with ongoing construction and roughed it at a hotel for a few nights. He was a retired Master Chief Machinist's Mate, so cramped quarters reminded him of the sub's nuclear engine room. No biggie.

An interview comes up for a civilian nuclear power plant nearby, and before you know it my dad's sitting before these stuffy, serious, wrinkly old board members and managers, having his (mostly military) resume picked through.

"Well Mister Smith, we're impressed. Twenty two years is no small amount of time to dedicate to the service. But do you feel you're qualified to operate and audit a civilian fission power plant?"

My dad thinks on it for a second.

"Well no, sir, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night."

He got the job immediately.

(For those needing the reference)

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Thanks for caring to read. I miss him a lot and this subreddit always reminds me of his sense of dry, quick humor. Take care!

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👤︎ u/Morvick
📅︎ Nov 17 2013
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