J Pop Puns

They crept in. It was pitch black and stone quiet. They were suddenly starting to regret this dare. Stupidly, only one brought a flash light. The aggressive darkness and inky black yielded with grudging compliance but always seeming to push back. They moved cautiously onward amid the dust and cobwebs. The floor creaked. They breathed in tight, quick breaths. You could hear a pin drop.

Suddenly, there was a deep moan. "OOOOOOOOUUUUU". It seemed from below them. The house had been abandoned for years. Who or what could make such a sound? The boys looked at each other, but continued on, hearts pounding in their chests.

As they proceeded into the kitchen they encountered a swarm of flies. Buzzing and beating their necks and faces, they rushed and stumbled to the door, not stopping to see what they were truly feasting on. They slammed the door behind them. Maybe a body? But no way were they going back to find out. And again came the sound, "ooooOOOOOooooOOUUU" but louder this time, and closer.

They proceeded through the dark into the dining room. They saw a fully set dining table covered in cob webs. Dust-covered regal-looking glasses, goblets and silverware adorned the table. Spiders climbed on ivory plates. Clearly a house of privilege and set for a grand feast which never happened.

Or, perhaps, met a fatal end?

They pushed on. But again that unearthly howl.

"oooooOOOOOOOOOOOUuuuuUUUUuuUUOOOOooo".

They found the basement staircase, and from below, the sounds seemed to be emanating. Could they proceed? Would they? Did they dare? Two of the boys looked at each other, faces filled with worry.

But the third said, confidently, "We're going down there." Not wanting to seem the weaker, the other two boys steeled themselves and nodded.

The stairs creaked and groaned evily under their feet. The rickety banister shook in angry defiance. Insects and vermin scattered underneath them with every step. They were descending into hell, they knew, but none would turn back.

And the sound: "oOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUuuuuUUOOOO". Now loud enough to fill not only their heads but seeming to claw at their very souls!

Now at the basement door! The antique, crying squeak of the hinges eeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEee made the boys wince and almost cover their ears. But they had to know. WHAT is making that horrible, terrible sound?

"ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUoooooUUUUUUUOOOOOOO"

In the center of the basement lay an unholy coffin! A twisted artistic expression of murder, decay and

were the first form of pop-up notifications

Snap crackle pop

He scored a home run every single at bat, and always the exact same way. Way over right field, too high for anyone to reach, and it always landed in exactly the 17th row of the stands, give or take a couple feet.

He earned the nickname “the machine” for how consistently he hit the exact same spot every time. Right field, 17th row, every single time. He did this for 20 years before he retired. Tickets to the 2-3 seats that the ball always landed on sold for over $2k a pop by the time he retired because you were guaranteed at least a couple home run balls.

And the day he retired a reporter asked him “How does it feel to be retiring as the greatest hitter of all time?”

Hugh just looked at the reporter puzzled. “What do you mean?” He said.

The reporter clarified “literally over 5,000 times you went to the plate and hit a home run to right field, 17th row of the stands!”

Hugh looked dejected and disappointed “yeah, my greatest failure...”

“What do you mean?” Said the reporter incredulously.

Hugh let’s out a long sigh, and looked down at the ground quietly for a moment before finally speaking.

“I’ve been aiming left this whole time”

....and not pop quiz.

A man named Dave comes home very drunk late at night...

So this guy has been drinking with his buddies all night and he's as drunk as a skunk, gets home, falls up the stairs, undresses and goes to bed next to his wife. He falls asleep and next thing he knows, bang, he dies and finds himself waiting at the pearly gates.

The guy refuses to believe this is happening, he says to St. Peter: "This can't be possible, I'm a healthy man! This is not the way I die. You have to let me return down there!"
The guy can see St. Peter looks like he's feeling sorry for him, but he tells him that unfortunately, there's no policy for allowing people back on Earth. The guy insists: "But come on, there's got to be something you can do! I'll put up with anything, really, as long as you let me go back down."
So St. Peters tells him: "Well really, there's just this one possibility: you can go back, but only as a hen. That's the only thing we can allow." The guy guesses that this really is his only chance, so he agrees reluctantly.
So he's back on Earth in this beautiful chicken coop, the sun is shining, there's green grass everywhere, this is hen paradise. The other hens greet him with delight and he tells them his story, everything goes nicely. But then he feels kind of unwell, there's something wrong with his stomach. He asks this old hen: "Tell me, I've got this weird feeling in my belly, I'm not too well. What is happening to me?"

The old hen: "Well dearie, we hens lay eggs, you know. I bet you've never laid a nice egg before... You need to push it out now, and you'll feel much better after!"
So the guy pushes and pushes, and wham, out pops his first egg. The old hen congratulates him and he feels much better. But not 5 minutes later, his pain comes back. He returns to the old hen for advice.

"Well dearie, it's quite special but it happens that you need to lay TWO eggs, so go back there and keep pushing!"
So he goes back to his nest and pushes, and nothing comes, and he pushes harder, and wham, out comes his second egg! He feels much better, but not 2 minutes later, you guessed it, he's back in terrible pain and goes to see the old hen.

"What's this bullshit here, and don't tell me I've got a third egg to lay!" The old hen can't make head or tail of it and just tells him that when in doubt, he should be pushing. So the guy goes back to work and then, wham, his wife wakes him up with this smashing slap in the face and yells: "*Dave! Dave wake up you’re

The Pillsbury Doughboy, remembered best as "Pop N Serve", and/or "Pop N Fresh", died yesterday of a severe yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71.

Doughboy will be buried in this lightly greased coffin.

Dozens of celebrities will turn out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch.

The grave site is expected to be piled high with flours.

Aunt Jemima will deliver the eulogy and lovingly describe Doughboy as "a man who never knew how much he was kneaded".

Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers.. He was considered a very smart cookie, but wasted much of his dough on half-baked schemes.

Despite being a little flaky at times, he still was a crusty old man and was considered a positive roll model for millions.

Doughboy is survived by his wife, Play dough, three children: John Dough, Jane Dough and Dosey Dough, plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father, Pop tart.

The funeral will be held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.

Pop music.

His act is a-maize-ing

It really pops

How many likes does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?

Crushing pop cans is soda pressing

All offenses aside, I’m originally from Britain and we make fun of the Irish ALL the time.

So an Irishman stumbles upon a genie’s lamp and says to himself “ooh laddy what have we found here? I tink I’ll give it a rub to see if a genie appears!”

So he does, and lo, a puff of blue smoke comes pouring out of the spout, billows into the air and the genie’s form becomes solid. It speaks, “Oh master of the lamp, I am your genie and I grant you three wishes.”

The Irishman’s eyes are wide open with glee, his cheeks and nose red with fire, he shouts “tree wishes?! That’s just brilliant!” For me first wish, I’ll have a bottle of whiskey that never runs dry.”

The genie, eyes rolling, clicks his fingers and POOF a nice big bottle of whiskey appears before the Irishman. “Well I tink we’ll have to put this to the test!” He snatches up the bottle, takes a long healthy swig, glug glug glug, and the bottle pops as he releases it from his lips, “Ahhhhhhhh!!!” And to his amazement as soon as the liquid in the bottle settled, it gave a large burping “bulp!”, released a large bubble, and when the bubble popped the bottle was full again. “WELL I’LL BE! THAT’S THE MOST INCREDIBLE TING!”

The genie, steadfastly unimpressed, reminded the Irishman “Master, I will bring you fortune, splendor, reputation, treasures beyond any imagination. You have two wishes remaining. What would master want for a wish?”

The Irishman looks to the genie and says “oh tat’s easy! I’ll have two more of these!”

I was playing with our toddler when for whatever reason Humpty Dumpty popped in my head. I started trying to think of a funny rhyme about Dumpty cracking open and being unable to pay for US medical care and thus now lives a pain-addled, poor life. Yeah, idk.

Anyway, I couldn’t think of the original second half of the rhyme and so I asked my wife. She told me the rhyme and I said thanks. After a short silence goes by she goes,

“What are you doing, trying to think of another lame dad yolk?”

I didn’t know my son had two dads but I know now

Edit: typos

Pop

“Pop.” Goes the weasel.

It was a brisk Saturday morning when Gerald arrived at “The Café,” a hip coffee shop right down the street. Wearing his large, burly black coat, he stared hesitantly at his watch. Thick glasses adorned his bright blue eyes, his gaze like starlight in a clear night sky. He was waiting, intently twiddling his thumbs. After a buzz of his phone, the message from Dad popped up: “Parking now, be there in 5.”

“Dad,” he whispered under his breath, swiping the message away to once again reveal the image on his lock-screen: a hazy picture of an ultrasound.

Gerald had not spoken to his father for three years. They had had a falling out, over which he did not remember. To him it was a competition of who could wait the longest without calling or sending a text. Who could wait the longest: him without a father, or his father without a son? The idea of friction in the relationship hurt like a thorn; piercing his soul more and more everyday. Until recently, out of the blue, “Dad” popped up on his phone. The rest is history. The rest leads to that Saturday morning, at The Café.

Bang! A car door rang out not too far from where Gerald stood. Gerald saw him. His father wore his tweed jacket like a coat of armor. His strut was now weaker than before they stopped talking; a weakness evident in his cane which supported every right step. His shortly trimmed white beard juxtaposed against his uncut, curly grey hair gave him the image of a wise wizard from a fairytale. He used to be that figure to Gerald, yet instead of a nice ancient being acting like a stone to keep him grounded, Gerald had felt as though his father was a rock pulling him deeper and deeper into a sea of monotony. Holding him back from his true potential. Maybe that was why he left? He still did not know.

“Hello, son,” came the withered voice Gerald had sook for so long, yet now that it had arrived wanted to avoid. “I can’t believe it’s been so long!”

“Yeah,” said Gerald, allowing a smile to grace his face. “Too long!”

Then they hugged, signifying a change in their relationship. Gerald had hoped something could happen to bring them closer together. He did not want to go on wondering what could have been. The regret and sadness weighed him down. Before starting a new family, Gerald wanted to be reacquainted with his own.

After finding their table and sitting down, the two began to discuss life. It was like old friends catching up after a long break. Although it took some time, Gerald began to warm u

Looked at me and said "Pop!..." I assumed he was prompting me to sing, so I finished "goes the weasel!" Instead, he looked at me, smiled, and whispered. "No. Pop goes the waffle."

He got his bedtime toaster waffle snack that night.

To which I responded: a British pop singer

Then came the eye roll

My fish first pop out to say hello, but then quickly retreat to cover. Then they'll tease like they're coming out again, but then they'll shy away.

What makes them act so coy!?

Where's pop corn ?

They are a big part of pop culture

Google: Ok... But you’re not gonna like it...

“Howya bean pop?”

More like POP quiz amiright fellas

My dad thought K-pop was slang for okay dad.

He doesn't have a Reddit account old enough to post this one!

In his words:

Not sure if I've heard this one before somewhere, but it made me laugh when it popped in my head when I was waking up. The kids, however, thought it was lame! Here goes:

Why did the baker feel crap?...

Because he kneaded one.

I have to question the pop before I pop the question.

a B. yell T.

Surely it’s been done before, but it just popped into my head and it made me feel silly.

Make 'em eat Pop-Corn

So, a comedian walks onto the stage and says to his assistant: “Do you want to hear a joke about ghosts?” The assistant responds with: “Sure” The comedian says: That’s the spirit!

The Audience goes silent. A ghost pops out of the wall and goes: boo. The Audience begins to boo.

A hearse is driving up a very steep street and once it gets near the top, the back door opens up and the coffin comes shooting out of the hearse and rolls down the street.

People are diving out of the way, cars are swerving, it’s chaos! By the time it reaches the bottom of the hill it has picked up a lot of speed and crashes into a wall surrounded by people.

The door pops open, the body sits up and says “Do you have anything to stop this coughin?”

But no. I was charged $30 a pop.

Ok, so this one needs a bit of buildup.

At the time (a week or so ago) I was making a homebrew item for DnD (for the uninformed, Homebrew are custom made items/classes/spells to use in a DnD game at the discretion of the DM (Dungeon Master)).

I had shown this item (shameless plug) to my friend (who is also the DM of the campaign I'm in now) in the hopes of using it in the campaign. He had pointed out that the item was a bit OP for it's cost and that the homebrew page I had made for it was too long. We were discussing ways to improve both the item and the page, and then got on the topic of magic items in general.

It went something along the lines of this:

DM: ... you can't really destroy a magic item before removing the magic from it. Like, you could try to melt down a magic sword for example, but all that would really do is make it too hot to hold. You could even bend it, but not outright destroy it.

Me: That's gotta be one pissed off magic sword.

DM: I mean, yeah, if it's sentient.

Me: Maybe it got so angry at being bent, that it gains sentience just spite you or something.

DM: Well, yeah maybe.

And this, people of reddit, is when the PUN, popped into my head.

Me: *leans in* you could say that the sword gained sentience cuz it got... bent out of shape.

A second or two of silence, and I see the pun register in his head, and I fucking lost it.

I then laugh for a straight minute. After about ten secunds of me busting a gut, he said "Aight, Imma head out"

We're cool now, but he really didn't want to talk to me the next day.

A butt load.

From my pops. He’s very proud.

Pop!

^Also ^this ^is ^my ^first ^joke, ^so ^sorry ^if ^someone ^has ^made ^it ^before ^but ^I ^haven't ^seen ^it ^(yet)

So he went upstairs and he popped.

sadly this is the 3rd case this week of a pop pop crop-top crop top pop hop

"Pop." goes the weasel.

and not a pop quiz?

Where's pop corn?

Pop music

" "Pop," goes the weasel.

Where’s my pop corn?

"Pop" Goes the weasel

"Pop", goes the weasel.

Where’s pop corn?

" "Pop," goes the weasel.

Pop music!