Immensely Puns

We’re taking steps to alleviate his fears.

Apparently, it turned out to not be his strong suit!

Brocco Lee

He was always going on about those damn tree-huggers.

After a particularly hot and busy shift one night I walked into the break room where several other staff members were hanging out either on their break or done for the evening. One of them, noticing how sweaty I'd gotten in the heat, asked if I was okay. With a glint in my eye and a devious grin I turned to them and replied:

"just call me mayonnaise..." *confused looks on everyone's faces* "...because I'm egg-sauce-ted"

Having been the only dad in a room full of young folk I'd seen an opportunity I couldn't resist and taken it. I was greeted by a chorus of pained groans as everyone tried to un-hear my god-awful play on words only to discover that it was indelibly etched in their minds, permanently taking up a small piece of otherwise-useful brain space.

Needless to say, it was immensely satisfying. They may not have laughed but I laughed harder than I have in a good while.

A humble bee

They told me that recently they had come into ownership of a small ball of string. At first, they thought nothing of it. One day, they walked into their house and the ball of string was on the table, when they had specifically left it in a closet. They put it away again, but the next day when they came home from work, the ball was on the table again. It kept happening, and eventually it became a sort of game for my friend. They'd leave it somewhere they thought it could never come back from, and return to find it on their table.

Then it began to appear in other places.

It appeared in the middle of a company meeting. One moment, the table was empty, the next, it had a ball of string in the middle. While driving, they spotted it in the back of their car. They saw it inside of a vending machine. But at the end of every day it would return to their table.

Eventually, my friend decided enough was enough. They took the string, and threw it off a bridge into a river. As they were driving home, a car swerved and hit them, wrecking both cars. My friend staggered to check on the other driver, and all he found was a small pile of soggy string on the seat.

After that, he never saw the string again.

So after he told me this tale, I turned to him, and said, "Wow... that was quite a yarn."

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

It's because of their immensely powerful hind legs, and the fact that office buildings cannot jump.

I named him Mrsa Major.

My son is okay. He doesn't have MRSA. But humor helps me (mom) immensely when I am - or my family is - in crisis. I have way better dad jokes than my son's dad.

As a Boy Scout, we would camp a lot and go on hikes.

One night, we had to do a night hike, alone, for a merit badge. I had left the campsite about an hour earlier and a terrible storm rolled in. The sky opened up and the ground was quickly saturated. I tried to continue my hike for another few minutes, but it got cold and I was chilled and soaked to the bone, so I decided to try to head back to camp.

Lightning was starting to crackle above me, so I thought I should try to take a shortcut to make my hike back quicker. I pulled out my compass and found my direction, but the rain made it impossible to see more than five feet in front of me.

I was looking down at my compass, not paying any attention to where I was going, and suddenly felt weightless. The feeling didn't last long as I thumped down on slippery earth a second later.

I had fallen onto a ledge on the side of a rather steep cliff, the bottom of which was at least fifty feet down.

I sat there, contemplating on how to get back up this cliff as water rolled over the edge ten feet above me. There was nothing to grab onto to pull myself up. I was stuck there.

After a few minutes, I noticed the little ledge I was standing on was slowly getting smaller. The water was coming down so hard it was eroding the tiny bit of safety I had.

I dug through my pockets, thinking maybe I had something, anything, to help me out of my precarious situation. All I had was my compass, a cough drop, and a match. I was screwed.

So, I sat there, watching the edge of the ledge I was on get closer and closer to my feet, when suddenly I felt something pushing on my back.

I turned slightly and saw a wooden box sticking out of the cliff behind me. It was working its way out of the side, the rain surely helping it along. I tried to move away from it, but the ledge wasn't very wide and the box kept coming out, pushing me farther to the weak and failing edge.

As more of the box came out, to my horror, I realized it was a coffin! I had no idea how old it was, but it looked rather rotten. All I could think of was being pushed off this ledge, and the rotten coffin breaking and dropping a skeleton onto my broken and battered body at the bottom.

The coffin crept closer, my foot began to slip. I grabbed onto a root that was sticking out of the cliffside and dug in my pocket once more.

I hurriedly tore the wrapper off the cough drop and stuck it in my mouth. It stopped the coffin.

This joke has been told to me

John the Baptist of Biblical fame used to walk through the desert in his bare feet. This left his feet tough, which is understandable- the hot sand and rough terrain would leave anyone's feet tough. He was known to receive signs from God and occasionally perform mystical feats. He subsisted on a diet of locusts and honey. Without access to dental hygiene at the time, this left him with somewhat bad breath. It also left him frail, as the diet wasn't varied and would have required an immense intake of food to be remotely sustained.

I guess that you could say that he was a super-callused fragile mystic plagued with halitosis.

(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.

So this thing flew into my wife's ear last night. After a trip to the emergency room to get it out and take care of the excruciating pain caused by the bug moving around in her ear canal I started up on the dad jokes.

'Huh, looks like you caught a bug'

'I guess that was bugging you'

'You were acting kind of buggy with that in your ear'

'Did we just see a bug's life?'

I enjoyed them immensely. My wife just rolled her eyes at me.