A list of puns related to "Fumble"
You'd think the ground would know that by now.
Just couldn't find their whey in the dark.
He found his way to the men's department where a young lady offered to help him. "Quiero calcetines," said the man.
"I don't speak Spanish, but we have some very nice suits over here," said the salesgirl. "No, no quiero trajes. Quiero calcetines," said the man.
"Well, these shirts are on sale this week," declared the salesgirl. "No, no quiero camisas. Quiero calcetines," repeated the man.
"I still don't know what you're trying to say. We have some fine pants on this rack," offered the salesgirl. "No, no quiero pantalones. Quiero calcetines," insisted the man.
"These sweaters are top quality," the salesgirl probed. "No, no quiero sueter. Quiero calcetines," said the man.
"Our undershirts are over here," fumbled the salesgirl, beginning to lose patience. "No, no quiero camisetas. Quiero calcetines," the man repeated.
As they passed the underwear counter, the man spotted a display of socks and happily grabbed a pair. Holding them up he proclaimed, "¡Eso sí que es!"
"Why didn't you just spell it in the first place?!" yelled the salesgirl.
Bump…
Bump…
Bump…
Walking faster, he looks back and through the fog he makes out the image of an upright casket banging its way down the middle of the street toward him.
Bump…
Bump…
BUMP…
Terrified, the man begins to run toward his home. The casket still bouncing quickly behind him.
Faster…
Faster…
FASTER…
Bump…
Bump…
BUMP…
He runs up to his door, fumbles with the keys, opens the door, rushes in and slams and locks the door behind him.
Rushing up the stairs to his bathroom, the man locks himself in. His heart is pounding. His head is reeling. His breath is coming in sobbing gasps.
With a loud CRASH the casket breaks down the door. Bumping and clapping towards him.
The man screams and reaches for something, anything, but all he can find is cough syrup!
Desperate, he throws the cough syrup as the casket!
And…
The coffin stops….
She ended up saying 'fundled'. Wife asked "what is fundled?"
I said, "it's the type of harassment you can't get sued for."
Sometimes I fumble when switching between chords on a guitar, but it’s just A Minor inconvenience.
A fumble-bee.
One says to the other 'I bet I can get dressed faster than you'
So each hurriedly puts their socks on, followed by their underwear and trousers, both at the same time.
Now the hard part! Each fumbled frantically with their buttoned shirts, quickly but painstakingly ensuring that each button was right - a minute or so later each finished the last button at the same time.
The heat was on! It was all down to the last item of clothing!
It was a tie.
I was at the grocery store and saw a cute girl, so i dropped a lime on the ground and fumbled around with it for a minute and said "sorry im terrible at pickup limes"
I was pulling up to Walmart yesterday evening for a call. As I'm going in the store there is a lady walking out with some items in her hands. In one hand she has like 4 bags of stuff and in the other arm she is carrying a large bag of Fresh Step cat litter. Anyway as we're about to pass each other, she fumbles the bag of Fresh Step, drops it and the bag bursts open...cat litter goes everywhere.
Without missing a beat I looked her straight in the eye, pointed to the ground and said sternly, "Ma'am, there's no littering here." She looked like she was about to cry and then just burst out laughing. I helped her pick up the bag and bring it back in the store so she could get a new one. She couldn't stop laughing the entire time.
There isn’t another soul on the street.
Suddenly, from out of the gloom, comes an ominous bump...bump…bump.
He looks behind him and spots a furtive, shadowy thing coming down the street after him.
Unnerved, he picks up his pace, finally breaking into a panicked run.
He looks behind him again, and the shadow is closer.
Bump…bump…bump.
The glow of a streetlight illuminates the shadow momentarily, and, to the man’s horror, it is a coffin, bumping down the sidewalk.
He quickens his pace, running as fast as he can go, but the coffin only pursues more quickly.
BUMP…BUMP…BUMP!
He reaches his house, fumbles frantically for his keys, and slips in the door just as the coffin reaches his front steps.
He slams the door and leans against it, catching his breath.
Bump…bump…bump.
There is a moment’s silence, and the man wonders if he dares to breathe.
Suddenly…. Bump…bump…bump…Bump…
BUMP! BUMP!
BUMPBUMPBUMPCRAAAAASH!!!!
He rebounds away as the door breaks off its hinges.
Scrambling to his feet, he charges up the stairs, and the coffin races after.
BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP!
Terrified, he backs into a corner and starts throwing everything within reach at the coffin — a handful of papers, a vase, a box of crackers, a lamp — but the coffin keeps coming!
BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP INCHESFROMHISFACE, and nothing seems to slow it down!
His hands fall upon a bottle of cough syrup, and he throws that at the coffin, too!
The coffin stops.
That's just the way the rookie fumbles.
The sun shone into my office through the lowered blinds all clumsy like, fumbling through the gaps between the venetian slats like a drunk fishing for loose change in his pockets; trying to see if he has money enough for one last drink or maybe the bus ride home.
The dame looked me up and down, clearly disappointed by what sat in front of her. I didn’t blame her. Three days of salt and pepper stubble clung to my my crude boxer’s jaw and the bags under my eyes were so big half the bums downtown could sleep in there and not even know anyone else was with 'em. That was ok. This broad wasn’t hiring me for my looks and I wasn’t looking to her for approval. We both knew what brought her in here, it was the name on the door.
Max Dad P.I. - that’s me. Private Investigator’s sure not the profession my mother would have picked out for me, but it keeps me in whisky and it keeps a roof over my head and that’ll do for now. The dame parted those cherry red lips of hers as she took another pull on that just-lit cigarette and nervously stubbed it out in the ashtray. My eyebrows knit together slightly. I hate seeing things go to waste.
“So as I was saying, Mr Dad,” she began.
“Please, call me Max”
“Alright, Max… well, as I was saying, my bag is missing. Stolen, I think. I urgently need it back. Shall I describe it to you?”
“No that’s alright miss. You got nothing to worry about,” I replied, sliding a bottle out of the desk drawer and pouring a big slug of scotch into to my morning coffee, “I’m sure it’ll be a brief case.”
A fumble bee.
There are three classes of cheerios, the lower class (plain ol' cheerios), the middle class cheerios (frosted), and the elite class (honey nut). One soggy morning in Seattle, a plain cheerio awoke in his single room apartment. He looked out at the still sleepy city, blanketed in a mist of rain. He quickly got dressed and put his shoes on, this would be the day. He stood propped against the bus stop, smoking a cigarette. "God I have got to stop this habit." He thought to himself. Glancing back and forth at the bustle of cheerios, he saw her. She looked about 25, devastatingly gorgeous, and he could smell the honey from where he stood. "Excuse me ma'am," his voice quivered, "I - I think you might be the most beautiful cheerio I have ever seen." She smiled and her otherwise golden brown face grew red. " This is a long shot, but will you marry me?' She was obviously caught off guard by this, but her red lips formed the word, "Yes." They raced through the morning mist of the city, and arrived at her fathers house. The cheerio bent down in front of her father. "Sir, I would like to ask for your blessing in marrying your daughter" "No! You are a regular cheerio and my daughter needs a high quality honey nut" he snapped. "But sir." "No means no damnit!" "Sir this is very unrea-" "You come back a honey nut and you'll have my blessing, my daughter is not about to marry a low life like you." The cheerio sprinted home, tears streaming down his face. He fumbled against the lock and sprawled out on his bed. When he awoke it was early, his sheets had a dark silhouette from his wet jacket. He sat up and lit a cigarette. "Damn." he sighed to himself. Walking in front of his mirror, he noticed something different. His body was frosted! He had become a frosted cheerio! He darted out the door without shoes, reaching the honey nut household in no time at all. He banged on the door, and the beauty's father answered. "Sir I am a changed cheerio! I'm frosted!" he exclaimed. Her father had a stern look on his face. "You think you are any better? The dirt on my boots are worth more than you." he hissed. The old honey nut slammed the door on the young frosted. He heard the deadbolt click. The newly frosted cheerio didn't take the same way home. He stood on the edge of a bridge, feeling the cool autumn wind on his sugar coated skin. Was he really going to go through with this? Was it worth it? No he was a frosted cheerio now. He couldn't get the girl, but he was a changed cheerio. He
... keep reading on reddit ➡I was going for driving lesson after a 2 month break, and after fumbling around and finally successfully getting the car started, my driving instructor said this to me:
DI: "Have you been filming a show recently?"
Me: "No, why do you say that?"
DI: "You look a lot like a character in this show on TV."
Me(kinda flattered): "What show is that?"
DI (Deadpanned): "Oh you know, Lost."
Me: "......."
Took my precious grandparents to Cold Stone for a late night snack. After waiting line, trying many samples and finally ordering and getting our ice cream, my grandma goes to pay. After some searching, she hands the cashier her rewards card and continues to search for her money. After a little more fumbling, she looks up to see the cashier with a funny look on her face and tells my grandma she can't use that card. My grandma is confused and asks, "why, is it expired?" To which the young girl responds, "no, it's just that we're not Ohmaha Steaks."
My grandma is super embarrassed and my grandpa turns to me and says, "it seems your grandma has a case of cardszheimers."
A dad walks up to his son and says, "Son, I think it's about time I told you about your real heritage. You see son, you're half-Arabic." The son is very surprised: "What?! Dad, I thought we were white!"
The dad fumbles around behind his back for a minute and says, "I know it comes as a shock, but I think in time, I can help you embrace your roots." He then pulls a paper bag from behind his back and puts it on his head: "In the meantime, you can call me BAG DAD."
Yesterday I was in the grocery store with my MIL, right by the lettuce section. A woman grabbed a bag of lettuce at the top of the case (just above her head), fumbled and somehow managed to knock it with the back of her hand, sending it flying into another case and onto the floor.
Without missing a beat, I turned to my MIL and said, "Hey look, tossed salad!".
And yes, I laughed at my own joke. :)
When behind him he hears:
BUMP...
BUMP...
BUMP...
Walking faster, he looks back and makes out the image of an upright casket banging its way down the middle of the street towards him.
BUMP...
BUMP...
BUMP...
Terrified, the man begins running home, the casket bouncing quickly behind him.
FASTER
FASTER
BUMP...
BUMP...
BUMP...
He runs up to his door, fumbles with his keys, opens the door, and slams it shut and locks it behind him.
However, the casket crashes through the door, with the lid of the casket clacking
Clapity-BUMP...
Clapity-BUMP...
Clapity-BUMP...
on his heels, the terrified man runs.
Rushing upstairs in the bathroom, the man locks himself in. His heart is pounding; his head is reeling; his breath is coming in sobbing gasps.
With a loud CRASH the casket breaks down the door. Bumping and clapping towards him
A man screams and reaches for something, anything, but all he can find is a bottle of cough syrup! Desperate, he throws the bottle of cough syrup at the casket and...
The coffin stops.
A man is walking home alone one foggy evening, when behind him he faintly hears:
thump...
thump...
thump...
Senses tingling, he begins walking faster only to look back and make out the image of an upright casket banging its way down the middle of the street towards him.
THUMP...
THUMP...
THUMP...
Terrified, the man begins running home, the casket bouncing quickly behind him.
FASTER
FASTER
THUMP...
THUMP...
THUMP...
He runs up to his door, fumbles with his keys, opens the door, slams it shut and locks it behind him.
However, the casket crashes through the door, and with the lid of the casket clacking on his heels, the terrified man runs.
Clappity-THUMP...
Clappity-THUMP...
Clappity-THUMP...
Rushing upstairs to the bathroom, the man locks himself in. His heart is pounding; his head is reeling; his breath is coming in sobbing gasps.
With a loud CRASH! the casket breaks down the door. Thumping and clapping towards him, the man screams and reaches for something, anything, but all he can find is a bottle of cough syrup! Desperate, he throws it at the casket and...
The coffin stops.
He found his way to the menswear department where a young lady offered to help him.
"Quiero calcetines," said the man.
"I don't speak Spanish, but we have some very nice suits over here," said the salesgirl.
"No, no quiero trajes. Quiero calcetines," said the man.
"Well, these shirts are on sale this week," declared the salesgirl.
"No, no quiero camisas. Quiero calcetines," repeated the man.
"I still don't know what you're trying to say. We have some fine pants on this rack," offered the salesgirl.
"No, no quiero pantalones. Quiero calcetines," insisted the man.
"These sweaters are top quality," the salesgirl probed.
"No, no quiero sueter. Quiero calcetines," said the man.
"Our undershirts are over here," fumbled the salesgirl, beginning to lose patience.
"No, no quiero camisetas. Quiero calcetines," the man repeated.
As they passed the underwear counter, the man spotted a display of socks and happily grabbed a pair. Holding them up he proclaimed, "Eso sí que es!"
"Why didn't you just spell it in the first place?!" yelled the salesgirl.
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