Hundred Days Puns

He told me that was an eggsaturation.

The secret reward is called Waist of Time.

Well played, Blizzard, well played.

... he picked it up carefully with his trunk and peered at the little window with a racing heart...

Positive! ... Brenda was pregnant!

OMG... fear, excitement, shock... and yet more worrying "why hasn't she told me?"

A hundred scenarios raced through his head, his ears trembling, his trunk twitching as each played out...

Finally he calmed... maybe she was waiting for the right moment to tell him the news?

He chose to be patient... he watched her carefully the whole day, carefully avoiding anything that might show that he knew... but Bethany gave no hints whatsoever.

Several days went by, and he grew more and more anxious.

Finally, he could take it no longer...

"Bethany..." he said

"It's time we discussed the elephant in the womb".

After a few days of doing this, he realizes he is simply not fit for this type of job. On his final day of trying to chop down trees, he notices an old scrawny man chopping down trees as if he was a woodpecker, the amount of hits he made grew more and more each swing. The first swing was one hit, the next, ten hits, the next one, a hundred hits, and the next one after that, a thousand. He kept swinging until the tree he was swinging at was chopped down. Amazed, the young man walks over to the old man and asks, "Sir, what is your secret, how do you chop them down so quickly?"

The old man turns and says, "It's all about the rhythm." Puzzled by the old man's answer, the young man returned home pondering what he said.

The next morning, he was motivated to keep trying to be a lumberjack. "If an old scrawny man can do it, so can I!" he thought.

So he went back to the forest, and tried to use his advice. Trying to time each swing, he realizes this simply doesn't work. Later in the day, he sees the old man again, comes up to him, and asks, "I tried to time my swings, but it does no more than just chopping normally. How do you do it?"

"You can't just make up any old rhythm and follow it, you have to find a very specific one," he says, "you have to find the Logger-rhythm."

Every year, the team was in the state championship game, and usually won it handily. Every able lad within a few hundred miles wanted to play football for Central Catholic Fighting Knights.

Those who were familiar with the program, knew that the true heart and soul of the Knights football program was Sister Mary Margaret, an aged nun who would, in full habit, get out on the practice field and work on routes with the receivers, give pointers to the quarterbacks on their stances and releases, but most of all, love them like the second mother that she became to all of the boys in that program.

One year, on the eve of the state championship game, some evil malefactors broke into the convent and kidnapped Sister Mary Margaret. Everyone was stunned by the news, but none more so than the Knights of Central Catholic. They were devastated at the loss of their mentor.

As you might guess, the state championship game didn't go very well. For the first time in the history of the football program, the Knights were shut out. The Spartans beat them 42-0.

The next day, the headline on the local sports section read:

No Offense, Nun Taken

Nobody's posted anything all year!

Happy New Year /r/dadjokes. May you tolerate hundreds of iterations of this kind of joke in the coming days.

So my front yard has a lot of weeds and crappy grass I've been trying to get rid of for years. They're mutants, so nothing will kill them. This year, one of the decorative rocks has turned out to be covered by a giant shroom as well. This thing is enormous. It has about a hundred different canopies, but as far as I can tell it's all one organism.

So I was talking with her about things I might be able to use to get rid of all this stuff, shroom included, and after she suggested a mixture of various household products I asked if it would work on fungus as well. She said it was worth a shot and asked why I wanted to know.

I replied, "Because that thing's just taking up way too mush room."

I was over it in a few seconds, but she's been randomly cracking up for days now. Send help.

Doing a crossword yesterday with FIL, MIL & GIL.
FIL says "Hey did you know I completed The Times crossword the other day apart from one clue" (For those of you who don't know The Times crossword is like one of the hardest crosswords)
MIL: "Go on then tell me the clue, I bet I'll work it out"
FIL: "Ok, the clue was "Heavily laden postman"
MIL: "How many letters?"
FIL: "Hundreds and Hundreds I would imagine"

Dead

Turns out Quasimodo had a brother, Semimodo, who was also a Church bell-ringer and crippled. Instead of being a hunchback, though, Semimodo had no arms. He had to do his job by running along the rafter and striking the Church bell with his head.

One day he fell, a hundred feet to the ground. The head priest was asked to identify the body, and could only say "I don't recall his name, but his face rings a bell."

Almost 10 years ago now when my daughter’s mom was pregnant with her—waddling miserably towards the tail-end of her third trimester and about ready to pop—she looked forlornly at her figure in the mirror one day and announced, “Omigod I’m as big as a house!”

And so I, the Rico Suave motherfucker that I am, popped my head up from the book I was reading on the bed and responded thusly without missing a beat:

“Well, baby girl, if you’re a house then you’re my dream home...”

I thought our relationship was my rock on which we would build one hundred stories, but there were termites in the foundation. Unfortunately she ultimately turned out to be a mobile home that couldn’t stay tethered to a single lot for more than a few years at a time as, a short time later, she up-and-skedaddled from our lives and has been a deadbeat mom to our little girl ever since. (My daughter and I built a beautiful, cozy little bungalow-for-two anyways.)

Anyway, does that qualify as a pun, or just an extended metaphor? If not, sorry, I just always thought that was a good line and I wanted to humble-brag a bit.

I saw a white, fluffy thing swinging through my local cake shop. Suspect it was a meringue-utang.

I was out driving the other day and I spotted two packets of cheese & onion crisps walking down the road. I said, “Do you want a lift”. “No thanks”, they replied, “We’re Walkers”.

I was in a cake shop the other day, they were all £5 apart from one that was £10. I asked why it was so expensive, the shop owner said “that’s maderia cake”.

Bought some cream, it said “store in a cool place”. So I left it in the Doctor Who studios.

Local ice cream man was found lying on the floor of his van covered with hundreds and thousands. Police say that he topped himself.

I used to love doughnuts, but I got bored of the whole thing.

A man says “I keep finding custard in one ear, and jelly in the other”. The doctor says “I’m afraid you are a trifle deaf”.

I bought a waffle iron the other day. Get really annoyed with wrinkled waffles.

How do you make an apple puff? Chase it around the garden

What do they call a man who abandoned his diet? DESSERTER.

Ice cream is exquisite… –what a pity it isn’t illegal.

The optimist sees the doughnut, the pessimist sees the hole, and the realist sees the calories.

Why did Eve bite the forbidden apple? Because it tasted better than Adam’s banana.

Why did the students eat their homework? Because the teacher said that it was a piece of cake.

Why do we put candles on top of a birthday cake? Because it’s too hard to put them on the bottom!

When is a birthday cake like a golf ball? When it’s been sliced.

What did the cake say to the fork? you want a piece of me?

Why was the birthday cake as hard as a rock? Because it was marble cake!

What happens when no one comes to your birthday party? You can have your cake and eat it too.

What do they serve at birthday parties in heaven? Angel food cake, of course!

A birthday greeting: For someone special as you, only ANGELFOOD would do. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Did you hear there are two suspects in Two Ton Charley’s death? BEN and JERRY.

Don’t eat too much fudge, or else you will have so much pudge you won’t be able to budge.

You know you’re a mom if… Popsicles have become a staple food.

Mexican candy makes my taste buds say “OLE!”

FORGET LOVE… I’

(This joke just deserved a more catchy title, sorry for the mess.)

Every Tuesday growing up, we had German sausages and sauerkraut for dinner - my dad's favorite. Since I can remember, my dad has told this joke and never misses a chance telling it till this day:

"You know kids, it's not the sausage that makes you fat, it's the sauce!"

Both my younger sister and l looked at eachother, rolled our eyes and thought - why is he telling this joke every single time.. it doesnt make sense! There is no sauce here! Only fried sausages, sauerkraut and potatoes. In fact, where is the goddamn sauce, we could need it. This dish is dry as shit! My poor mom shrugged her shoulders, seemingly just as confused.

When i was about 11-12, I caught up on my dad's hinting and eye contact after the punch line.. he wanted me to get the joke so bad at this point lol. I had a moment, as they say. Oh... OOHH. BOOM. Omg the "SAUCE"!! From the sausage.. makes some people fat.. as in pregnant.. Mind. Blown.

My sister, around 8 at that time, had a few hundred more sausage dinners to "ketchup" ;) I'm not doing so bad myself, 'ey?

Edit: For the slow people out there, this joke is about sausage=penis, sauce=sperm and getting fat=pregnant. Did you have your moment too?? Admittingly, the joke works better in my native language, but you get the idea.

(I know I just posted something a little while ago, but I just found this subreddit today and thought of another good dad story)

As a child I had an immense fear of bees. So, one day my dad and I were at the Museum of Science in Boston together checking out the exhibits. In one room there was a huge (actual) beehive encased in glass with hundreds of bees inside. Attached to the glass was a plastic speaker thing so you could put your ear against it and hear all the buzzing. So I mustered up some courage and gave it a go. As I was getting a good listen, my dad went "bzzzzZzzzzz" and tickled my ear with his finger. I freaked the fuck out, and swatted furiously all over the place. I cried, and was all mopey and pouty for the rest of the day.

In hindsight, I realize that that was an opportunity that just had to be seized.

I have written this book to sweep away all misunderstandings about the crafty art of punnery and to convince you that the pun is well worth celebrating.... After all, the pun is mightier than the sword, and these days you are much more likely to run into a pun than into a sword. [A pun is a witticism involving the playful use of a word in different senses, or of words which differ in meaning but sound alike.]

Scoffing at puns seems to be a conditioned reflex, and through the centuries a steady barrage of libel and slander has been aimed at the practice of punning. Nearly three hundred years ago John Dennis sneered, “A pun is the lowest form of wit,” a charge that has been butted and rebutted by a mighty line of pundits and punheads.

Henry Erskine, for example, has protested that if a pun is the lowest form of wit, “It is, therefore, the foundation of all wit.” Oscar Levant has added a tag line: “A pun is the lowest form of humor—when you don’t think of it first.” John Crosbie and Bob Davies have responded to Dennis with hot, cross puns: “...If someone complains that punning is the lowest form of humor you can tell them that poetry is verse.”

Samuel Johnson, the eighteenth century self-appointed custodian of the English language, once thundered, “To trifle with the vocabulary which is the vehicle of social intercourse is to tamper with the currency of human intelligence. He who would violate the sanctities of his mother tongue would invade the recesses of the national till without remorse... ”

Joseph Addison pronounced that the seeds of punning are in the minds of all men, and tho’ they may be subdued by reason, reflection, and good sense, they will be very apt to shoot up in the greatest genius, that which is not broken and cultivated by the rules of art.

Far from being invertebrate, the inveterate punster is a brave entertainer. He or she loves to create a three-ring circus of words: words clowning, words teetering on tightropes, words swinging from tent tops, words thrusting their head into the mouths of lions. Punnery can be highly entertaining, but it is always a risky business. The humor can fall on its face, it can lose its balance and plunge into the sawdust, or it can be decapitated by the snapping shut of jaws. While circus performers often receive laughter or applause for their efforts, punsters often draw an obligatory groan for theirs. But the fact that most people groan at, rather than laugh at, puns doesn’t mean that the punnery isn’t fu

"They have sold over a billion of cans of this stuff. You could say it has made the company A LOT of dough."

Quote from Rick Harrison of Pawn Stars. I find it hard to believe that he is not the face of Dad Jokes. There are at least 5 per episode. I can only assume in real life it is more like 20 hundred bajillion per day.

I was registering a vehicle to my name that I bought off a guy who had a lean out on it. The credit union who was holding the title took forever and a day to send it my way. Well in California, you need to transfer the vehicle in under five days of the purchase. Unknowingly, I waltz into the joint expecting a boom bam thank you ma'am process. Low and behold the clerk says I owe a hundred and some odd bucks for being late, but I explained her the situation and since it was not my fault she flopped the form to waive this fee.

I saw my opportunity and I pounced...

"So this is the....Tidal Wave?"

I get a blank stare for a solid ten seconds and she slaps down another form saying that I owe 500 dollars in taxes. Good ol' California DMV.

From the Wee Free Men, page 5:

"But sometimes her father insisted that there had been Achings (or Akins, or Archens, or Akens, or Akenns - spelling had been optional) mentioned in old documents about the area for hundreds and hundreds of years. They had these hills in their bones, he said, and they'd always been shepherds. Tiffany felt quite proud of this, in an odd way, because it might also be nice to be proud of the fact that your ancestors moved around a bit, too, or occasionally tried new things. But you've got to be proud of something. And for as long as she could remember she'd heard her father, an otherwise quiet, slow man, make the Joke, the one that must have been handed down from Aching to Aching for hundreds of years. He'd say, 'Another day of work and I'm still Aching', or 'I get up Aching and I go to bed Aching', or even 'I'm Aching all over'. They weren't particularly funny after about the third time, but she'd miss it if he didn't say at least one of them every week. They didn't have to be funny, they were father jokes. Anyway, however they were spelled, all her ancestors had been Aching to stay, not Aching to leave."

After a few days of doing this, he realizes he is simply not fit for this type of job. On his final day of trying to chop down trees, he notices an old scrawny man chopping down trees as if he was a woodpecker, the amount of hits he made grew more and more each swing. The first swing was one hit, the next, ten hits, the next one, a hundred hits, and the next one after that, a thousand. He kept swinging until the tree he was swinging at was chopped down. Amazed, the young man walks over to the old man and asks, "Sir, what is your secret, how do you chop them down so quickly?"

The old man turns and says, "It's all about the rhythm." Puzzled by the old man's answer, the young man returned home pondering what he said.

The next morning, he was motivated to keep trying to be a lumberjack. "If an old scrawny man can do it, so can I!" he thought.

So he went back to the forest, and tried to use his advice. Trying to time each swing, he realizes this simply doesn't work. Later in the day, he sees the old man again, comes up to him, and asks, "I tried to time my swings, but it does no more than just chopping normally. How do you do it?"

"You can't just make up any old rhythm and follow it, you have to find a very specific one," he says, "you have to find the Logger-rhythm."

Every able lad within a few hundred miles wanted to play football for Central Catholic Fighting Knights.

Those who were familiar with the program, knew that the true heart and soul of the Knights football program was Sister Mary Margaret, an aged nun who would, in full habit, get out on the practice field and work on routes with the receivers, give pointers to the quarterbacks on their stances and releases, but most of all, love them like the second mother that she became to all of the boys in that program.

One year, on the eve of the state championship game, some evil malefactors broke into the convent and kidnapped Sister Mary Margaret. Everyone was stunned by the news, but none more so than the Knights of Central Catholic. They were devastated at the loss of their mentor.

As you might guess, the state championship game didn't go very well. For the first time in the history of the football program, the Knights were shut out. The Spartans beat them 42-0.

The next day, the headline on the local sports section read:

No Offense, Nun Taken

Doing a crossword with my father in law and mother in law. He told me that he completed The Times crossword (which is apparently one of the hardest crosswords) the other day all except one clue. Mother in law says "go on then darling tell me the clue I bet I'll work it out" He says the clue is "heavily laden postman" She says "how many letters" He says "hundreds and hundreds I should think" Dead