Kitchen Knife Puns

They just didn't give a fork...

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

Mom found it and she yelled from the kitchen: "Why is there a knife in the fridge?"

My dad, without missing a beat, replied: "Because revenge is a dish best served cold!"

God damn, dad.

So tonight for dinner, I made a glazed ham. I've been a cook for a few years, so time at home with the wife and kids to cook a good meal is rare.

Well, my wife comes in the kitchen and asks me if I'm going to score the ham (For those unaware, it means to cut lines in it, in order for the glaze to get into the ham and keep it moist while cooking.)

I nodded, picked up my knife, stood over the ham, and as I'm about to cut into it, I yell, "7.5, too much water." Then set the knife down and grinned.

She groaned something fierce, but still loved the dinner.

So I walk into the kitchen and see my Dad grab a big knife to cut some vegetables. "Whoa Dad, thought you just drew a knife on me." He proceeds to grab a sharpie and draw a knife on my forearm, then continues his vegetable chopping.

Just cutting up some chicken in the kitchen, when this conversation popped up:

Me: Hey dad, I wonder how good this knife would be for cutting hearts?

Dad: Why?

Me: Because, then it would be a superior vena carver

Dad: Well, aorta get one.