Yeah apparently its full of can-gurus!
She's really eiducated.
I guess I'm suffering from 'stalk home' syndrome.
Boss: Hard drive?
Me: No, the commute was fine. It’s my laptop.
I’m a faux pa.
Edit: This took off a lot better than I expected.
I feel like a father figure now.
I couldn't put it down.
Aware Wolf.
Because it's see-food!
my 11 year old daughter ran in here while cooking greens and dropped that knowledge on us. I couldn't be more proud lol.
edit: just wanted to let those of you who have is awards that I appreciate it! I told my daughter about them and she asked if she can keep telling jokes for me to put on here lol. should get fairly interesting.
thanks all. I hope you had a great turkey gobble day
He gained all his knowledge through trials and error.
You could say he was the centaur for disease control
The treefrontal cortex.
Not having much knowledge of the animals, he asks the owner to show him around and tell him about different breeds. "Sure, let's go," says the owner, and brings him over to the paddocks.
"So a lot depends on what you want the animal for," he says, and gestures to a powerful stallion running laps. "Over there, you've got your Type A horse: strong, fast, and a little unpredictable, but great if you want to get somewhere in a hurry."
"I think that'd be a little much for me," the man says, and the owner nods, then brings him over to see a mare quietly chomping at some hay in the shade. "This is a Type B horse - tends to be quiet and they're good companions, but not much for doing work."
The man pauses to think about what he wants the animal for, then looks over at a nearby pond and sees a horse swimming and diving over and over again. "What the heck is that one doing?" he asks the owner. "Oh, him? That's a C horse."
In theory, there is no difference.
“Ribbit.”
She was an info maniac
It's always been my Achilles elbow
Those without knowledge are otherwise.
Me:
> I don't know how you find the time to listen to so many bands.
She replied:
> Yeah, I just have a lot of bandwidth.
Normally, I'm the one with the awful puns. I paused, saw her grin, and had to high five her.
Yep, he was the trivia knight.
I guess you could say it wasn't a very effective ice breaker.
It was a brie-ze
They had the inside scoop
It's ruminantary knowledge!
Father: "So, how does it feel being a dad?"
Son: "It feels good. I'm a bit scared of course, but so excited at the same time. How does it feel being a grandfather?"
Father: "It feels pretty great. You've always been a good son and I've been patiently waiting for this special moment. There's something now that I have to give you."
The son watches curiously as his father pulls a large tome out of his backpack with exquisite text on the cover: 'The Big Book of Dad Jokes'.
Father: " For generations these sacred texts have been passed down through the patriarchs of our family. My father gave it to me when you were born and now, as a new father yourself, I bestow it to you. With this book you will have all the knowledge needed to become a truly great Dad."
Son: " Wow, Dad, this is amazing! Truly! I'm... I'm honored."
The father smiles as he extends his arm out to shake his son's hand and says,
"Nice to meet you, Honored. I'm Dad."
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
... keep reading on reddit ➡TIL Schrodinger might have been the most prolific cat killer in history
Me: "I can tell a train just went through here" Wife and son: "How?" Me: "It left it's tracks" Wife goes back to reading book, son puts headphones back on.
I thought it was common knowledge that baggers can't be choosers.
it's Ryan's Secrets
The judge asks, “First offender?” The wife replies, “No, first a Gibson, then a Fender.”
...is my Achille’s knee.
The treefrontal cortex.
