Drag One's Feet Puns

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

A little context: I'm driving around in Yellowstone with my dad and my girlfriend. My dad went on a three week cross country ski winter camping trip when he was 17 in Yellowstone. We are currently talking about whether or not it is important to carry bear spray.

Dad: "Did I ever tell you about that time I woke up a bear on my ski trip?"

Me: "What?! No, that's crazy, what happened?"

Dad: "Well, we were skiing through an open field when we hear a rumbling from about 100 yards behind us, and we turn back and there's a huge bear, and he looks at us and starts lumbering in our direction. At the time, I was with this girl who was not a very good skier, but we were pretty sure black bears can't climb trees, so we start hustling towards the woods. So I'm pulling her along and this bear is gaining on us but we get to the closest climbable tree and the bear is still 50 yards back. Like I said, she wasn't a very good skier, or really very coordinated in general, so I help boost her up into the tree and she's up there and she's pretty safe, but this took a minute and a lot of my energy. So now the bear is only about 15 feet away, and I've still got my skis on, and, you know, back then we didn't have fancy cross country skis, we had these big metal cable bindings and leather lace up boots, so I definitely don't have time to get them off. And I'm so exhausted from dragging this girl across the field and then shoving her up into the tree that I've got almost nothing left, and the first branch is about 8 feet off the ground. But this bear is coming at me and there's nothing I can do but jump for it, so I leap and pull myself up and over the branch using everything I've got right as the bear lunges for me and bites into my ski boot. So here I am, doubled over this branch with a bear's jaws on my foot, my skis on, and not one ounce of energy left, and he's really sinking his teeth in and he's really just pulling my leg just like I'm pulling yours!"