Generation Y Puns

If you have wine from that time is it genuine?

A physicist set his goal to be the first person to create power from a re-created celestial star. He put great work and effort into creating the most cutting edge nuclear fusion reactor.

However, when he ran the reactor, it caused a massive power failure in his laboratory. So, he hooked up the engine of his VW Bug as a generator to turn the lights back on.

He then deemed his project a massive failure, or so he thought. He did get to power a building off of beetle juice.

I never imagined younger generations would be interested in cod.

I was Bjorn in the wrong generation.

I sat down and ordered a drink. Shortly afterwards, a weasel came in. I noticed he was wearing a U2 shirt.

“So, you are a U2 fan?” I inquired.

“Oh yes!” He exclaimed, “I’ve been a fan of them since the 80s. I think Bono is this generation’s greatest front man and The Edge is the most underrated guitarist. And the rhythm and grooves provided by Adam and Larry make them such a well rounded band. I’ve seen them in concert 33 times and every time they blow me away. They keep reinventing themselves and they always amaze me. I have all their albums!”

“Wow, you are a big fan! What’s your favorite album?”

“Pop” goes the weasel.

This is not a traditional /r/dadjokes with a delivery and a punchline.

I just wanted all dad's, with kids around 2-6, to know that changing the name of Winnie the Pooh to Winnie the Poop will generate maniacal laughter from your kids. Especially if you combine it with singing the theme song from the movie.

As an added bonus, there is no statute of limitations on when you add the extra P. You can say: Winnie the Poop Winnie the Pooh...P Or Winnie the Pooh...... ...... .... P And your kids will laugh just as hard.

I've gone a full minute without saying the last P, while my kids hang on my every facial movement.

Enjoy

I don’t know if I am allowed to post this but I just made a dad joke generator. Hope you guys like it. If I am breaking the rule, please let me know I don’t mind withdrawing the post. Here’s the link:

https://kiranojhanp.github.io/random-joke-generator/

Father: "So, how does it feel being a dad?"

Son: "It feels good. I'm a bit scared of course, but so excited at the same time. How does it feel being a grandfather?"

Father: "It feels pretty great. You've always been a good son and I've been patiently waiting for this special moment. There's something now that I have to give you."

The son watches curiously as his father pulls a large tome out of his backpack with exquisite text on the cover: 'The Big Book of Dad Jokes'.

Father: " For generations these sacred texts have been passed down through the patriarchs of our family. My father gave it to me when you were born and now, as a new father yourself, I bestow it to you. With this book you will have all the knowledge needed to become a truly great Dad."

Son: " Wow, Dad, this is amazing! Truly! I'm... I'm honored."

The father smiles as he extends his arm out to shake his son's hand and says,

"Nice to meet you, Honored. I'm Dad."

There was, for instance, the time he conducted a crew of new S.A.R.H. (Society for the Aesthetic Rearrangement of History -BJ) recruits – all from late twentieth-century Terra – on a training study of Carter’s World, a newly established agricultural colony attempting to support itself by the export of edible nuts. Barely into their second generation, and having yet to show a profit, the colonists were technologically backward. Nevertheless, they showed a surprising ingenuity in the use of their few advantages. It was this resourcefulness that Feghoot was demonstrating to his rookies.

“Look at the perfection with which these streets are graded”, exclaimed one student. “Earth-moving machinery on this scale is strictly high technology stuff. How can they do it?”

“A new alleyway is being constructed, nearby”, said Feghoot. “Let us walk that way while I explain.” As they strolled, he told his students that countless centuries before, the Carter’s World system had been inhabited by a now-vanished race of giants. This very planet had served them for a nursery, and among the many artifacts they had left were thousands of childrens blocks, immense and precision-cut. You simply jack one up onto logs, bring it where you want it, put collapsible jacks underneath, snake out the logs, spread soil more or less evenly beneath, and collapse the jacks.

“I see”, said the student. “It’s not graded road at all; its a simple hammered-earth base.”

“That’s right,” Feghoot went on smoothly. “You just hit the road jack and don’t come back no mo.”

His students registered dismay and anguish.

“Isn’t that right, old-timer?,” Feghoot demanded of an ancient Carterian standing by the mouth of the newly completed alley they had just reached.

“Ahm afraid not, suh”, said the senior citizen, and the students giggled at Feghoots discomfiture. “Oh, we used to do it that way, but it was far too much trouble. It’s the soil heah. You see, the very same soil which produced our famous cashews is so high in clay content that a child could roll out a road of it. Then, we simply use a system of lenses to bake it into hardness. Ahve just completed this alley mahself, and ahm just a retired professor of Sports History, much too old and feeble to handle hydraulic jacks.

“So you see,” he finished, eyes twinkling, “Mah hammered alley is really cashews clay.”

Howls of agony rose from the students, but Feghoot never hesitated. “And he”, he said, turning to his students, “is clearly the gradi

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

I hope to one day be recognized as the beet poet of our generation!

The truth is, it's genetic. I actually come from a long line of dads spanning many generations.

r/punpatrol

r/punKGB

r/Pun_Internal_Affairs

r/punspecialforces

These are the names of our oppressors! There may be more, but they are our greatest threat. They are currently amassing an army to try to end puns as we know it.

If we are to save this beautiful form of our language, than we must unite! We must not divide ourselves by titles, but unite ourselves as punners!

They plan on eradicating all puns by going to the source, the pun user. Are we to let ourselves be undermined by those who think they are better than us? Are we to let ourselves and all future generations be banned from puns? If you say no, then join in the revolt

##VIVA LA R/PUNS

I feel that i have passed the tradition down yet another generation. Im going to live forever!

this soup is the worst

(jk borscht is the best. we have a generational recipe for it. I am ashamed of myself for even posting this and my ancestors shame me from the heavens)

haha I'll see you guys next time

Some cool and PUnny PUns

https://generatorfun.com/pun-generator

While putting on a pair of jeans this morning before work, I remarked to my gf something along the lines of "I've had these jeans for years, they're so old!"

To which she replied: "Yeah I can see that, they look like they've been in your family for generations."

I'm still absolutely floored with pride.

So once upon a time, there was a planet shaped like a cheerio. A small moon made of milk or tied the planet, going through the center of the donut shaped world. On this planet, lived an interesting species. They acted and lived similarly to us humans? But looked just like large Cheerios (with footings hands and feet like miis) Within this society there were levels of Cheerios: original, honey nut, and finally frosted. The originals were the backbone of the economy, doing the herd labor while the honey nuts ran the businesses and the frosted Cheerios (the top of the top) led the world. Our story today focuses on a single Cheerio. Born into an original Cheerio family, this lad learned the hard way how to work. From a young age, he was forced to get a job in the local milk refinery, where his dad worked. He grew up, and soon had a family of his own. His wife, son, and daughter all worked hard, but were happy. One day walking home from school, the kids found a runaway honey nut Cheerio pup, and decided to keep him. It wasn’t much, but it inspired our little Cheerio friend here. One day, he got fed up with taking orders, and demanded a raise. His entire family has worked in this one factory for three generations, and he wanted to move up in the world, not just for him but also his kids. His old boss however, did not have the power to promote this Cheerio, and he was forced to make a life changing decision: he would go to the refinery company and use every penny in the family savings account (under the bed) to try and get a higher position. After waiting on line for over a week, his appoint was finally here. After bickering and bargaining for hours, the refinery company boss saw a spark in this lad’s eye. He agreed to give this Cheerio a promotion to the honored honey nut glaze in exchange for everything this man owned, including the family’s prized honey nut dog. Was it worth it? Well pretty soon he owned his own milk refinery and was able to breed his own honey nut dogs, so yes, yes it was. Owning and operating the refinery went smoothly. Milk was transported from the moon to the planet using space busses, and the milk itself was funneled down to the refineries using large straws. After the milk was ready to drink, it was shipped off to be sold. He was happy working here, but eventually he realized it wasn’t enough. This Cheerio, once a simple original Cheerio wanted to follow the “American dream” and do the best he could. He wanted to become a frosted Ch

Are the sixth generation of royalty

I was talking to my dad about Africa, and I jokingly said that they should have some casinos to generate income.

Dad: They can't have any casinos that would stay in business.

Me: Why?

Dad: Because of all the cheetahs.

Bjorn in the wrong generation.

I'm here today to tell you all a horrible story, so that none of you have to go through the same experience as my friend.

My friend, Hugh, is a very religious man, who is also involved in our community. 2 weeks ago, our local church burned down and Hugh believed it was his Christian duty to help them get back on their feet. Hugh allowed the friars of the church to set up a cart in his mall to sell their flowers. Every day, the friars came in at 7:00 in the morning with a bushel of beautiful flowers and began to work diligently to arrange them into bouquets. All was going well, the mall was generating more revenue and the church was making more money than they were by selling the flowers in front of the church on Sunday. Everyone was happy; until that first weekend.

Our town is kinda tourist-y, so we get some out-of-towners on the weekends. A gay couple came to the mall the first weekend that the friars had taken up shop (Typically, our town is pretty progressive, but the friars tended to be uber-conservative). The couple came over to the cart and admired the flowers; they tried to purchase a bouquet, but the friars refused to sell to them. The couple was outraged and went to see Hugh directly. They complained to him that the friars were being discriminatory, so Hugh promised to have a talk with the friars. When Hugh confronted the friars, they refused to sell to the couple on the grounds that “they were committing an atrocity in the eyes of the lord.” The couple stormed off and promised to boycott the cart.

This past weekend, the couple came back with a large group and a letter from the mayor, saying that the friars had to sell to them, regardless of sexual preference. The friars stood firm and refused to sell to them, so the group started a protest. They brought in signs and started chanting around the cart. The friars continued to sell their flowers and Hugh allowed them to remain, so eventually the protest began to boycott the mall, rather than just the cart.

By today, the mall had lost 50% of its normal weekend revenue. The group sent a letter to Hugh saying that they could forgive him if he shut down the flower cart within the week. Hugh was pretty broken up, but he had no choice. To maintain his livelihood, he would have to kick the friars out of his store. He talked with the friars this morning and revoked their previous agreement. The friars had their cart packed and left by 7:30, to huge cheers from the community. The mall has been pretty norm

Christmas dinner, 2013. My mother in law is asked if she'd like some wine, is offered choices, Pinot Grigio, Mulled Apple or Cabernet. She's indecisive for a minute or so. Eventually, she settles on the apple wine. Her father comments, "well that sure took a long time."

I retorted with, "Well, she had to mull it over for a bit."

Simultaneously, 4 generations of women roll their eyes at me, while the guys all laugh.

...until you've had some lasses

Just wanted to say that this dad joke has been passed down through four generations of dads, me being the fifth once I have a kid.

All generations agree that the bird is the word.

Hello everyone! I am part of a team project from the Computational Linguistics department in Saarland University. We made an automatic pun generator and we want to test our system. The following questionnaire will ask you to rate punchlines. It's short and we hope you can get a giggle out of it. Thanks for your help (and please delete it if it goes against the subreddit rules).

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdTRNrncAZTemkojUBZytgevxXx5FJ5qh0kquZiirlaGioNPA/viewform

Allegedly, this happened a generation or two back in my family:

After having given birth to her first child, a far out aunt of mine was asked by a younger girl if it didn't hurt to push out a baby. Her husband broke into the conversation saying "No, of course not! If I could get seven pounds into her, then of course she could push seven pounds out!"

And there we sat, the entire family, in total awkward silence...

The generator in a prison is the power house of the cells

So, it's service week at my school and I decided to serve locally at a nearby elementary school. I was assigned to a 3rd grade class. On the second day, the whole class was setting up Google Classroom, and after completing it, one of the little buggers looked at me said with a huge smile

"I'm done!"

Being a man of culture, I naturally responded with

"Hi Done! I'm [Dakkadence]."

The little girl looked at me, groaned, and facepalmed. She whined

"That's my dad's joke!"

With kids getting such an upbringing, I'm slowly regaining my faith for the next generation.

Edit: A word.

Help wanted from r/puns!

I am planning to make my girlfriend a picture calendar for 2015 of some dog/ cat based puns of famous dictators. I'm running short of ideas, and so am turning to Reddit, given their penchant for all things pets and puns.

My ideas so far:

Adolf Kitler

Chairman miaow

Kitty Amin

Ho chi(huahua) Min

Robert Pugabi

Colonel Catdafi

Saddam Hussaint Bernard

Benito Pussolini

Fidel Catstro

I'm looking to Reddit's collective pun power to generate some more ideas. Help me punslingers!

It'll generate mega-whats.

Characters: My wife, my son (four years old), and my daughter (his twin, so obviously also four).

Son: "My classmate didn't like me laughing at her today."

Wife: "Why were you laughing at her?"

Son: "I'm a vampire! Bwa ha ha ha ha!"

Wife: "OH! Like an evil laugh?"

Son: "Yeah! Bwa ha ha ha ha!"

Daughter: "I'm a witch! Hee hee hee hee!"

Wife: "So you're both monsters?"

Son: "Yep!"

Daughter: "Hee hee hee hee!"

Wife: "Am I a monster too?"

Son: "Yeah! You're a ... " <dramatic pause> " ... mummy."

Whole family in hysterical laughter, and after it dies down he goes, "Get it!? Mummy!"

I've never been so proud. A spontaneously generated pun of that caliber at four years old, AND an unnecessary clarification/repetition of the joke? I've got high hopes for this one.

I hope this joke generates lift.

Some cities plan to fight mosquitoes by releasing swarms of sterile male mosquitoes, which don't bite, and can reduce future generations of mosquitoes. That's a good idea and I hope it works well.

The governor of Kentucky plans to fight crime by having prayer groups go to high-crime neighborhoods to pray there.

Those two ideas give me an idea for fighting crime even better: Release swarms of praying mantises.

My family came back home from eating chinese and then my dad got back home from work a couple of hours later. That's when my mom says "We went to eat chinese, but I didn't really eat right. I wasn't really having the feeling for it at the time. I only ate a few plates" that's when my dad drops "That's why you couldn't eat right. You're supposed to eat the food, not the plates!"

My groan was heard past Andromeda and will be talked about for generations to come.

So in my calculus class last year in math, there were these two Chinese twins. Ving, and Ling. Ving was always super cool with me. In exchange for answers (he was super smart) I would hang out with him and be his friend and stuff. After I cheated off of him and studied with him though, I did get to be his friend and we got very close.

His sister, Ling, was always uptight about school and she made sure to study, she got stressed about a B, etc. One day I was hanging out with Ving, and we started talking about names. He went off on this huge rant about how he hated his, and how he wanted to change it to something more Asian-American, like Lee. I told him that the Courthouse downtown had a form that you could fill to legally change it. He told me: "I always give you answers. If you could just drive me down to the courthouse this one time, I will never forget you. I just hate this god-forsaken Chinese name and I want to get rid of it forever."

He seemed pretty adamant about it, so I decided the best decision would be to take him. We walked out to my car, and right as I put the keys in the ignition Ling came running and tapped on the car door like a madman. I rolled it down and she started freaking out about how Ving's name had been passed down through generations and generations, but Ving didn't care. He just wanted to go down to the Courthouse and get it over with.

Ling figured that coming with would be the best idea, so if anything else came up that she would be needed for, she would be there for Ving. Honestly, I felt stuck in the middle of a family feud, so I just took her along. When we got to the Courthouse, Ving confidently walked up to the front desk and asked the receptionist if he could change his name. She gave him a little packet of paper and told him to sit down. Ling and I waited patiently while Ving filled out his info. I was watching him fill it out and I noticed he really did want to change his name to Lee.

Before he finished, though, he started tearing up. He told me he couldn't change his name. He asked the lady at the front that he couldn't do it, and she told him he would need twenty dollars to cancel the request. Ling was so relieved and happy that he changed his mind, she dug through her purse, found the money, and started to hand it to the receptionist.

It was at this moment that the most stereotypical Asian man burst through the doors. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, a visor, American flag shorts, flip flops, everything. This

My fiance and I were getting ready for bed. I was the first one to climb under the covers. For some reason it seems to be really cold when I first climb in, so I start rolling around frantically to generate some heat.

My fiance walks into the room and gives me a puzzled look.

> Her: Wow. You're looking intense, honey.

> Me: I'm not intense! I'm in a blanket!

The look on her face and the long groan was priceless.

So, my grandfather by the name of Leonard might lose his foot soon, due to diabetes/infection. Not at all hilarious, sure, but me and him have an awesome sense of humor. He lost his toe a few weeks back and I asked him if they placed it in a jar. He said, "No, they made it into stew."

My mother was less than pleased with our toe jokes but that was not the groaning moment.

A series of texts about my grandfather losing the entire foot ensues between my uncles, mom, sister and I. It went like this:

Me: If gramps loses his foot, in the worst case of scenarios, how would I go around asking the OR to put it in a jar? (directed to my sister who's a nurse)

Mom: OMG. Bad.

Sister: Ew. Lol.

Sister: http://giphy.com/gifs/jar-AuSAduPrXkDgk

Me: Oh man, if in forty years I'm ever at a family reunion all drunk, I'd be doing that. "Come my niece/nephew/grandchild! Speak of all your woes to the foot!"

Mom: STOP! Bad Grandchild!

Sister: You need a nap.

Me: I'd put the foot in an estate so that it can be passed down for many generations. It'll be the GrandPAW of Leo!

Mom: OMG

Sister: Ha!

So this frog walks into a bank looking for a business loan and sits down with a banker, miss Wak. "I'm afraid in order for this loan to go through you may be required to put forth some collateral." To which the frog replies, "Well Patty, I do have one thing I could offer." He then proceeds to offer up a small trinket, says it's been in his family for generations. Unsure if it was enough, she excused herself to consult with her manager. After a short debate between the two her manager finally exclaimed, "It's a knick knack Patty Wak, give the frog a loan!"

My girlfriend wnted a new watch so we went to the local shopping centre to go to the Fossil shop. It was shut due to a power outage. Go back the next day and they're open; a quick chat with the shop assistant and she says the problem still isn't fixed and they're using generators to try and get through the day.

I couldn't help myself and say "I guess that means you're running on Fossil Fuel then?"

It didn't go down very well.

It's genetic. I come from many generations of dads.

Bjorn in the wrong generation.

Bjorn in the wrong generation.