Gluing Puns

I've been reading up.

But that’s his story, and he’s sticking to it.

I guess I'll give it the old collage try.

Me: 👌

Now everyone waves at me

She could see I was stressed out with work and she and I have a very dark sense of humour.

Hey Dad, you ok?

Yeah li'l beat just over worker and tired and stressed about the holidays.

"hey dad, lots of men struggle with mental health don't worry about it too much, Robin Williams and Kurt Cobain daughters turned out just fine."

...it’s always going to be okay...

It was a family album

He's sticking to his guns.

Well, thats my story and I’m sticking to it.

Now I can't read it. What a waist of time.

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

...whenever someone asked me what I was, I shrugged my shoulders and said "eh, I'm just a little board."

Me: Should I use the Gorilla Glue?

Dad: Did you break your Gorilla?

Me:....

Now I'm glued to the T.V.

My wife couldn't open a jar of grape jelly. Our two year old didn't understand why she had to bring it to me. He was only concerned with how long it was taking to make his sandwich. I opened it, but it was pretty hard because the jelly had caked around the threads and dried in place, gluing the lid to the jar.

My wife saw our son getting impatient and told him, "Hold on kiddo, mommy couldn't open the jar, so she had to bring it to daddy. Even daddy had a hard time opening it."

At this point, my internal dad joke radar started screaming a proximity warning. The collision with a dad joke was imminent. I smiled, took half a second to bask in my dad glory, and added, "Yeah, it was jammed."

Wife groaned, but son laughed (because he saw the lid was finally open). I take whatever I can get.

A quaint little men's class,

a few with class,

some smelling of a gin glass,

some with eyes of a lass,

the remainder eyeing a lad,

but all glad,

and all present,

youngster of the present,

bearders of the crescent,

readers new testaments,

preachers of old testaments,

bearers of saffron tenets,

wearers of white tints,

weird lovers of croissant,

well, all here, will all hear?

we never know,

lets look at the show

 

The English teacher, said,

"how to drink a juice?"

i know, said bart the bartender,

"with vodka and chicken tender"

the weirded beardo now angry,

showed he was a shouter,

wanted to be a bart-ender,

while shushing the crowd,

use a pipe, piped up a voice, loud,

"huh" exclaimed preacher pastor,

"no smoking" he said, showing a guilty fluster ,

"no sir" said the voice,

I'm extra maker,

spoke the voice quicker,

Mr.White scratching head,

"I'm an ex-straw maker",

the air cleared.

 

Proceeding further, Teacher continued,

the class was listening, eyes glued,

"etiquette is important" he said,

"wear napkin before eating",

their faces changed,

pulse now beating,

Mr.White said, "sir, we don't bleed",

an irritated saffron Sundar spoke,

"if you bleed, education you don't need"

the English sir, now a sundered bloke,

calmed the masked fish market,

as his God's fate chisel hammered,

"Do you know how to fork?" he stammered,

a brief silence, and too many whispers later

"I Pen is use sir", said a bright face,

"Do you know how to use a fork?" he corrected,

with damage now done, Silence resumed.

 

>ThePundits

Back in April, me and the young men &a women of my family helped move my grandparents out their house, a house they had lived in for almost 45 years, into a small, 1-bedroom add-on to my uncles land.

Now, my grandpa had been a Baptist pastor for 47 years (now retired) and he was always quick on wit.

Well, as we were moving out the garage. My brother noticed something glued to the ground by some kind of resin. A piece of paper, looked almost 30 years old. We found out it was a sermon that my grandpa had preached way, way back in the day. And someone had spilled some kind of oil and that had gotten stuck to it and preserved it over the years. We brought my very frail grandpa out into the garage and told him what it was. He stared at it for about 5 seconds and said "Well, I guess that's one of my sermons that stuck!"

We're out of state visiting my family. My sister (13) was being Moody and argumentative all day. By the time we got to dinner she was just glued to her phone. So, I took her phone, and say it in front of my SO. she pleaded several times to get her phone back, and I kept saying no. So, she started asking my SO.

Me: M | SO: SO | Sister: S

S: Can I just see my phone?

M: Picks up and shows it to her What colour is it?

S: ugh.. White. Duh.

M:, Good. Good. Then you can see it.

S:, Drawn out sigh

*S's phone buzzes

S: What does it say?

M: Samsung.

D: will you [SO] turn it and read it to me?

SO: rotates phone 90° Still says Samsung.

S: whhhhyyyyy???

Phone buzzes again

S: flip it over, and read it to me

SO: grins flips twice Samsung.

S: Are you on her side?!

SO: of the table

S: Uuuuuuggggggghhhhhhhhhh

Edit: Format

Gravity was pretty good. I felt glued to the floor the entire time

But that’s his story, and he’s sticking to it.

But that's his story and he's sticking to it.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it

But that’s his story, and he’s sticking to it.

But that’s his story, and he’s sticking to it.

But that's my story and I'm sticking to it!

That’s his story, and he is sticking to it.