Hand Related Puns

...are countless.

"Don't do that, you'll hurt his peelings!"

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 now wash my hands of all COVID-19-related April Fool's jokes.

Jim was working hard sawing wood. It was hot, his hands slippery with sweat and the saw slipped from his fingers and cut off all of his toes. No ambulences were available so he called a toe truck, but he got there too late. His toes could no longer be reattached. He could not walk right, so he could not work. He got workers comp but it wasn't enough. Worst of all, his wife was lack toes intolerant. She filed for separation. He looked online for solutions to his problems and found a post telling him where he may find an answer. It said "Go to the forest late at night and wait in the glade. There you will find the Great Toed. He is wise in these matters." Having nothing to lose he followed the instructions and reached the glade spoken of. There was a line drawn that said "wait here." And wait he did for over an hour, and just as he was about to leave, a many toed toad toed the other side of the line with a bag in tow. "Ask your question," it said in a raspy voice. So Jim related his tale of toe woes. After listening the many toed toad replied "Have you tried the supermarket?" Jim wondered how a supermarket would help but decided to give it a try. He went the next morning and walked down aisle after aisle and then he found it: The supermarket was giving away free toes. Elated, he grabbed as many bags of them as he could and checked each one. He found enough that fit, but needed to attach them. He went back to the glade for help getting the new toes attached, and the toad was happy to help. He helped attach the new toes and jim ran off (little did Jim know that the toad croaked soon after) He was able to walk normal again, his wife came back, he got his job back and everyone lived happily ever after.

Oh the punch line? It's over there by the table.

So, my dad could be considered a regular jokester. He had his dad jokes, his dirty jokes, clean but provocative joke, setup jokes, everything. He never missed a chance to turn something into a joke for hinself, even, and perpahs especially, if it only amused himself. I found out at an young age that no situation is too serious for him.

I was around 9 years old and I was in the cub scouts, and it was box car derby season. I was in the dining room, carving away at my block of wood when the blade in my right hand skipped the wood and carved my left thumb. It fucking hurt and bled like a sonofabitch. I immediately starting screaming and my dad raced into the room and found me covered in blood, my left hand now with two thumbs. We get it wrapped and he drives me to the emergency room. By the time we got there the bleeding had stopped and I have stopped crying. As we pull up, my dad looks st me, shakes his head and says "We can't go in there like this, we'll end up waiting forever to see a doctor. You need to cry once we're in there and that'll help" I said ok, and he said as we were walking up, "I'll give you a signal to start crying." How will i know, i asked him snd he just said i'll know. We go inside and walk up to the admittance desk. I'm short, so at the time my head just cleared the desk. My dad tells the nurse that we have a cut, and need to see a doctor right away. The nurse pushes paperwork at him and he tells her again, this time that its a real bad cut. The nurse finally looks at me for the first time and she frowns, because im relatively normal looking, even though im hurting and nervous, waiting for my dads signal. My dad pulls me back a bit and her eyes widen really big when she sees all the dried blood caked on the lower left side of my body. She starts getting excited and says "Ohmygoshohmygosh" over and over and this point im starting to get scared when my Dad, in a serious voice says "Its even worse than it looks! You're going to have to take the whole hand!"

Then I start crying.

My sister posted about loving my little ponies, and we got on the topic of rainbow horse poop jokes. My dad just pops in with this:

Dad - I can't think of one right now. I do, however, have a poem that is somewhat related: (first assume standard high-class poetry recitation position; head high, chest out, hands clasped behind back, heels together, toes @ 180 degrees, knees slightly bent): "In days of old, when knights were bold, and toilets weren't invented; they left their load beside the road, and went away contented."

Having a family get together after several of my relatives got pregnant when the conversation turns to this fact one says:

"Ahhh there must be something in the air..."

"Well, their legs." he calmly explained beer in hand and staring into thin air.