Have You Seen Her Face Puns

You should have seen the expression on her face.

The wife kisses her husband on the cheek and says, "Merry Christmas, hun! Don't get up, I have a surprise for you - as your first Christmas present, I'm going to make you your favorite breakfast in bed... Eggs Benedict!"

"Wow, great!" says the husband, propping himself up in bed as his wife scampers away to the kitchen.

A little time and lots of clanging and cooking later, the wife returns with a beautiful plate of Eggs Benedict - fresh and steaming hot on a plate.

The husband smiles from ear to ear as he takes the plate from his wife, but gets a slightly quizzical look on his face when he notices that the plate is one he's never seen before. Instead of their usual dinnerware, this plate is a shiny, silvery metallic one.

"This is wonderful, darling!" the husband says, "But what's with the fancy plate, did you get it special for today?"

"Of course I did," beams the wife, "it's Christmas!..."

"... There's no plate like chrome for the Hollandaise!"

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta

Me: My wife yesterday was all on my case. "You'll never get a car made out of spaghetti to work!" she says. Man - y'all should have seen her face when I drove pasta.

Friend 1: Oof - seriously. You should see if you can get supplements for that bad-joke problem.

Me: Maybe I'll try some vitamins. I'll grab some B2, B3, B5, and B6. Gonna skip B4 - that's in the past.

Friend 1: If I stop setting these up will you just, you know, stop?

Me: I tried Omega3 before, but the benefits were Super Fish Oil.

Friend 2: How do I unsubscribe from this group text?

Me: Maybe I can order some Vitamin C from a Mexican website. That means "Vitamin Yes" in Spanish, right?

Friend 1: Dead. I'm dead here. You've killed me. And humor.

Me: Actually my doctor said I should be eating more citrus fruits. Oranges, specifically. He also said I needed to drop some pounds. He said it was the "Weight and C" approach.

Friend 2: You're looking these up.

Me: Not all of them. I mean, I did get some of them from this big dictionary I have. It's pun-abridged.

Friend 1: If I had to grade these jokes, you'd get a Vitamin D. That's a 1.0 GPA.

Me: I'm going to have to put those grades up for adoption. I don't think I'll be able to raise them.

Friend 1: D-

Me: Maybe I should look into becoming a marine biologist as a career. Since my grades are so far below "C" level.

Friend 2: JFC. Is there any way to make it stop?

Me: Nope! I'm PUN-STOPPABLE!

In all fairness, I had heard most of these before (I have loved puns since college) but this was the first time I've gotten a good long run in a single pass. Also this is nearly-verbatim. I removed a couple identifying things and re-ordered a few of the messages for clarity of response.

you should have seen the luke on her face

You should have seen her face light up.

Some stories have hooks.

This story has a bloody good one.

It's about love—

Or at least marriage.

My marriage.

At heart, it's your typical fish out of water story, but like I said there's a hook.

The hook's in the beginning.

Although it's really the tail end that's most moving—at least now, when our love's drying up.

Understand:

I'm a fisherman, and I caught my wife with another man.

Well, I caught the man first.

I used Craigslist.

But I suppose the details don't really matter. It's enough to know that by the time he was naked in the shed it was too late for him to change his mind.

He broke down easily. He wasn't particularly thick skinned.

That's where the hook came in—

pushed through a fold of flesh on his back.

He wasn't much in the size department, but I didn't intend for him to get hung up on it. Unfortunately, he kept trying to escape, so what choice did I have? Then he seemed quite insecure, so I pierced him with another steel hook just in case.

Like I said:

Bloody good hook.

After he stopped struggling, I took him down and dragged him to my boat. Then we went fishing.

Hold on, though.

I may need to backtrack a little, because you may be wondering how I even knew she was out there.

The answer is: I'd already seen her swimming a few times.

It was love at first sight.

Like many couples nowadays we met on the net.

So back to when I was fishing:

I was in my boat with the Craigslist man with the steel hooks in his back. I had tied a thick rope to one of the hooks, placed the man onto a net, and pushed them both overboard. He splashed and choked, attracting a lot of attention.

I waited for her call.

It came.

She sounded so near to me.

When she swam just close enough to the Craigslist man in the water, I pulled in the net—and there she was: shining, mine to the gills and writhing so enticingly!

I took her ashore.

I placed her in a water tank and told her she would be my wife.

I screwed her—

shut.

For days I watched her bang—

on the glass.

Until one day it happened: the glass cracked, the tank broke open, and with the water she spilled onto the floor.

Now here I am, watching my marriage fall apart.

Her gills are barely stirring.

Her face: dry and still.

It's only her scaly tail that's still gently moving.

I caught my wife with another man. I met her on the net. I thought our love would last forever, but now, listening to her shriek, I realize I was catfished! I wanted to marry a siren—but this thing is nothing

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 know it isn't much, but you should have seen her face light up when she opened it.

My mother always laughed at me when I told her my dream was to build a car out of spaghetti. You should have seen her face when I drove pasta.

She didn't believe me when I told her I could ride Italian food.

You should have seen the look on her face when I drove Pasta!

Mr. Sterling Frogsen was desperate. After a few months of success, his bakery was beginning to flounder and running in the red. He was a proud man who was proud of starting his small business without asking for any help. But now times were tough and he had to face the fact that without a loan his bakery was doomed.

So he went to local bank but was disheartened to see that the loan officer was the notorious Patricia Wacomb, the hard-nosed banker who only agreed to sure bets and rarely took risks.

"Please, ma'am, I am in sore need of this loan! My bakery is only going through a temporary setback!" Normally such pleas fell on deaf ears, but today Patricia was feeling generous. Something about Mr. Frogsen moved her and she believed his plight.

"Mr. Frogsen, I would approve this loan, but this bank cannot afford to take any risks."

"Is there anything you can do, Ms. Wacomb? I am desperate!"

"Well, do you have any collateral?"

"Only this family heirloom," Sterling responded while handing Patricia his prized family treasure. Patricia was at a loss, however, for she had never seen anything like that before.

"Let me ask my manager," she responded as she showed her director the prized heirloom. His eyes opened wide in amazement as he told her,

"It's a knick-knack, Patty Wack, now give the Frog a loan!"

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

This might be a bit long? My family isn't the brightest of individuals.

Sister: My balls are caught in the door!

Me: LOL, WHAT?

Sister: The poof balls on my shoes.

**Grandpa**: I saw you took my junk out of your car and threw it into my car.

**Grandma**: *grins and nods*

**Grandpa**: You're so sweet.

**Grandma**: And I saw lotto tickets too.

**Grandpa**: I dunno where those came from.

**Grandma**: Uh-huh. Probably a damn $5 dollar ticket too.

**Grandpa**: No, $2.

**Me**: He doesn't know where they came from, but he knows how much they cost.

**Grandpa**: *starts adding more to my list of chores*

~

**Grandpa**: It's kinda hot in here.

**Grandma**: NO IT'S NOT, Take off your damn clothes if you're hot.

**Grandpa**: Is that all you ever want me to do, take my clothes off?!

**Me**: OH DEAR GOD, I'M RIGHT HERE.

~

**TV**: The line, "To be, or not to be. That is the question!" is from which Shakespeare play?

**Grandma**: Julius Caesar, right?

**Me**:  Wow.

~

**Me**: How can you NOT like that movie. It has WILL SMITH.

**Grandma**: *thinks* Is it that movie, and he has a partner?!

**Me**: YES. And he's in the west and there's that giant spider at the end!

**Grandma**: WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?!

**ME**: I DID.

~

**Grandpa**: I need to get a tree saw.

**Grandma**: What's a tree saw...

**Me**: A TREE SAW. A saw, that saws trees. You can't simplify it anymore than that.

~

*while watching American Idol*

**Me**: Omg, that guy's nose is HUGE.

**Grandpa**: If he sniffs really hard, he could overdose on oxygen.

~

**Grandpa**: I'm looking for my camouflage underwear, but they're camouflaged so well, that I can't find them!

~

*Sister rambles on about hating cats and how they're scary*

**Me**: You're just a weenie, Tyla.

**Tyla**: Oh yeah?  Well at least Papa loves weenies!

*Me and Papa look at each other*

**Me**: I sure as hell hope Papa does NOT like weenies.

~

*As we drive home, the tornado siren goes off* 

**Kaylah**: Have you ever seen it?

**Me**: ...Seen what? 

**Kaylah**: The car with the siren.

**Me**: What in the hell are you talking about? 

**Kaylah**: Isn't the tornado siren on a car that drives around town? 

**Me**: ......

~

*While driving through Alton one morning* 

**Grandma**: Here, take a sip of this.

**Me**: Ew.  Coffee is nasty.

**Grandma**: No it isn't!  It wakes ya up, and puts hair on your chest!

~

*Grandma walks out of the bathroom and wipes her wet hands on my face* 

**Grandma*

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta.

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta.

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta.

You should have seen the look on her face when I drove pasta

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta.

You should have seen her face when I cycled pasta!

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta.

You should have seen the look on her face when I drove pasta

You should have seen her face as I drove Pasta

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta

You should have seen the look on her face when I drove pasta

She told me to grow up and stop being an idiot. You should have seen her face as I drove pasta.

You should have seen the Luke on her face

You should have seen her face light up when she opened it

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta

You should have seen the look on her face as I drove pasta

You should have seen the look on her face as I drove pasta!

You should have seen the look on her face when I drove pasta.

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta.

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta

You should have seen her face as I drove pasta!

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta.

You should have seen the look on her face when I drove pasta.

You should have seen her face when I drove pasta.