Unable to resist the temptation, Brian goes into the shop. "I am the world's leading expert on European wasps and the sounds that they make. I'd very much like to listen to the new LP you have advertised in the window."
"Certainly, Sir," says the young man behind the counter. "If you'd like to step into the booth and put on the headphones, I'll put the LP on for you."
Brian, the world's leading expert on European wasps, goes into the booth and puts on the earphones.
Ten minutes later, he comes out of the booth and announces, "I am the world's leading expert on European wasps and the sounds that they make and yet I recognized none of those."
"I'm sorry Sir," says the young assistant. "If you'd care to step into the booth, I can let you have another 10 minutes."
Brian, the world's leading expert on European wasps and the sounds they make, steps back into the booth and replaces the headphones. Ten minutes later, he comes out of the booth shaking his head. "I don't understand it," he says, "I am the worlds leading expert on European wasps and the sounds that they make, and yet I still can't recognise any of those!"
"I really am terribly sorry," says the young assistant, "I've just realised I was playing you the bee side!"
For many years he collected all kinds of them. Red snails, green snails, blue snails, snails with conical shells, snails with circular shells, whatever he could find.
There was one type he didn't like however: snails with bumpy shells. The bumps just looked incredibly ugly to him.
As the years went by, he became known in various collector communities for being the Snail-Man. That's how he met his wife.
Unfortunately, while she also loved snails, she loved the ones with bumpy shells.
Despite this, they got along swimmingly. They were happily married for 45 years.
Eventually, his wife was diagnosed with cancer and passed away. A local newspaper decided to interview Snail-Man about his experiences collecting snails with his wife over the years.
"You and your wife were world-renowned snail collectors. You must be taking this loss pretty hard." the interviewer said.
"To be honest" he responded "I'm pretty relaxed about the whole situation."
Surprised the interviewer asked "why"?
"She liked bumpy snails, but now that she's gone it's all smooth snailing from here."
His best friend, Roy, was known around town for having an adventurous streak that a small town just couldn't satisfy. Roy yearned to travel the world, to rub shoulders with the well-to-do, and to squeeze every drop of excitement he could out of life. While most young folk in town, my grandpa included, were resigned to their lot, Roy was driven by his dream. He worked incredibly hard, taking every hired-hand and handy-man job he could find. He would walk five miles each way to clean a gutter if there was a nickel to be made. His hometown was always spotless, because Roy would pick up every glass bottle he saw to get the deposit back, and every can he found would get turned in for recycling.
The years stretched on. Grandpa settled down with his high school sweetheart in a one-room cottage and had my dad, and not much else. Roy kept hurrying from one job to the next, never spending a dime on a date. Everyone would just roll their eyes and quietly gossip about how poor Roy's obsession was robbing him of a real life.
One day, Roy showed up at Grandpa's house, all decked out in a brand new khaki safari kit, complete with helmet, binoculars, and elephant gun, and announced that he had finally saved up enough for passage to Africa to go big game hunting. He was especially proud of the fine leather boots he was sporting. "Indestructable" he called them, totally impenetrable to water, wind, and snow. No trench-foot for him while he tracked rhinos on the savannah!
Grandpa congratulated Roy on his achievement and wished him bon voyage. Over the next three months, the town felt Roy's absence. Litter lay where it fell, gutters overflowed in heavy rain, small-time farmers rose that bit earlier and bedded that bit later to cover the work Roy used to help with. Of course, the gossipers just turned their chat from how Roy needed a dose of reality to how thoughtless it was of him to just up and leave. Most folks were convinced Roy was gone for good. After all, how could he come back from such a high-falutin' adventure to his tiny, no-account hometown?
But return Roy did, and everyone crowded around at the bar to hear his account of his safari. To their surprise, Roy told them that, for all the time he had been away, he only bagged one trophy that was currently on a slow boat back. It turned out, once Roy got a close-up look at the elephants, rhinos, giraffes, gazelles, and all the fine animals of the African savannah, he lost all heart for hunting. He just couldn't imagi
... keep reading on reddit β‘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 Trevorβs 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.
Trevorsβs 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 Trevorβs 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 wasnβt 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.
βWellβ said Jeff, βAs Iβm sure you know the convention comes to town laterβ.
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.
βYes of courseβ replied Trevor
... keep reading on reddit β‘So once upon a time, there was a planet shaped like a cheerio. A small moon made of milk or tied the planet, going through the center of the donut shaped world. On this planet, lived an interesting species. They acted and lived similarly to us humans? But looked just like large Cheerios (with footings hands and feet like miis) Within this society there were levels of Cheerios: original, honey nut, and finally frosted. The originals were the backbone of the economy, doing the herd labor while the honey nuts ran the businesses and the frosted Cheerios (the top of the top) led the world. Our story today focuses on a single Cheerio. Born into an original Cheerio family, this lad learned the hard way how to work. From a young age, he was forced to get a job in the local milk refinery, where his dad worked. He grew up, and soon had a family of his own. His wife, son, and daughter all worked hard, but were happy. One day walking home from school, the kids found a runaway honey nut Cheerio pup, and decided to keep him. It wasnβt much, but it inspired our little Cheerio friend here. One day, he got fed up with taking orders, and demanded a raise. His entire family has worked in this one factory for three generations, and he wanted to move up in the world, not just for him but also his kids. His old boss however, did not have the power to promote this Cheerio, and he was forced to make a life changing decision: he would go to the refinery company and use every penny in the family savings account (under the bed) to try and get a higher position. After waiting on line for over a week, his appoint was finally here. After bickering and bargaining for hours, the refinery company boss saw a spark in this ladβs eye. He agreed to give this Cheerio a promotion to the honored honey nut glaze in exchange for everything this man owned, including the familyβs prized honey nut dog. Was it worth it? Well pretty soon he owned his own milk refinery and was able to breed his own honey nut dogs, so yes, yes it was. Owning and operating the refinery went smoothly. Milk was transported from the moon to the planet using space busses, and the milk itself was funneled down to the refineries using large straws. After the milk was ready to drink, it was shipped off to be sold. He was happy working here, but eventually he realized it wasnβt enough. This Cheerio, once a simple original Cheerio wanted to follow the βAmerican dreamβ and do the best he could. He wanted to become a frosted Ch
... keep reading on reddit β‘I am not a dad at the moment, but I've learned the art of pretty clever puns in college. Some are mine, some are spins on inspirations, others are more on the joke side of dad.
What does a radioactive cat have?
18 half-lives
Ventriloquists are like psychiatrists, they both talk through things.
What is my vision?
To make the world 10% better?
No, it's about 20/20...
The invention of the shovel was truly a groundbreaking discovery.
Dad: I invested in some uranium, but I lost money.
Friend: What happened?
Dad: The Profit decayed.
We have received a report of a hole being discovered in the ground, our investigative team is looking into it.
There was an explosion at a local film manufacturing company, the story is still developing as we speak.
A local theater put together an act about jokes.
It was a play on words
SΓΈ, I hΓͺΓ‘rd yΓΆΕ« lΓ¬kΓ« fΓΆrΓ©igΓ± aΓ§ΔΔΕtΕ‘
As an airline mechanic would say, the job has lots of ups and downs.
My New Years resolution will probably be 25 megapixels, or 4K, not sure yet...
There was a river in Egypt no one believed existed, it was known locally as De-Nile.
Dad-Epitaph:
I thought I'd never live to see this day come.
There are two things that are guaranteed to open doors in life.
Push and Pull!
(How to keep an idiot in suspense)
What do you get when you cross a joke with a rhetorical question?
A man builds robotic snakes for a living, I guess you could say he was a... python programmer!
A researcher's obsession with mixing stone, sand, lime, and water has yielded concrete results.
A madman once attacked a rider on his horse.
The rider had to goto hospital, the horse remains in stable condition.
A man bought a paper shop, it blew away in the wind last night.
Science is all about learning the rules, setting off an absurd amount of explosives, and then writing down what happened.
It has recently been discovered that scientific research causes cancer in rats.
Dad: Did you pick up your room?
Kid: No, I tried but it's too heavy.
As I'm sure many of you can remember (or not), senior prom was one of the most exciting events of our pre-real world existence. However, in order to get to the actual event, there were three significant steps that needed to be taken care of:
- Sober up enough before actually getting to the venue
- Find a date who wasn't even weirder than you were
- Rent a tuxedo This last part posed quite a bit of a problem to me, mostly because tuxedos can be very expensive to come by. Luckily enough for me, a local formalwear shop had a great deal going on; they would give you massive discounts and even hefty prizes for referring as many of your friends as possible to their business. Eager as I was to save a few bucks, I proceeded to text everyone in my phone's contact list. Almost every one of them neglected to respond to my pitiful pleas of financial assistance, not wanting to get caught up in this scam that I myself had meandered into. Finally, my token black friend, Malik, unwillingly took my bait. He tentatively responded, asking more about what he could get out of the deal for himself. After much persistence on my part, he finally declined, trying his best to let me down gently. As my poor little heart finally broke completely in two, I decided to alleviate the social tension, replying to him, "Alright man, well, suit yourself."
When I was a wee lad, about 5 or 6 , my dad and I went to the beach on a vacation. I, having never seen the ocean, learned many new things, like how tides work, and how there's seemingly billions of white flying rats that the world calls Seagulls.
Fast forward a few weeks to us being back home in Kansas City, MO where no beaches or seagulls are to be found. My dad and I were running errands and found ourselves at the local Target, where in the parking lot I spotted dozens of white birds that looked eerily similar to the Seagulls I had learned about weeks before.
"Dad, what're those?" I inquired
"Oh, son those are called Parkinglotgulls. Yeah they're close cousins of the seagull!"
And that's how I came to call those white birds that flock around parking lots worldwide "Parkinglotgulls" even to this day.
One day a farmer's mare birthed two foals. One was named Hobbin, and the other Noggin. The two horses grew up and loved to race each other. One day the farmer noticed the two racing each other around the pasture and thought to himself, "Wow! These horses are quick!" So the next day he entered them into a local derby. As the race was about to start, the horses were rearing and snorting to get let out of the gate. As soon as the gates swung open, both horses immediately bolted to the front of the race as the announcer was going wild, "It's Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, Hobbin-Noggin, and Hobbin wins by a nose!" Excited by the win, the farmer then enters them into the Kentucky Derby. Once again, as soon as the gates open, both horses fly to the front of the race and it's Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin and again, Hobbin wins by a nose. This continues in every race until Hobbin has won the Triple Crown. By this point the farmer is beginning to realize just how fast these horses are, so he decides to enter them into a NASCAR race and again, it's Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin and again, Hobbin wins by a nose. This pattern continues until Hobbin wins the Sprint Cup. Still believing that he can push these horses further, he enters them both into an F1 Grand Prix. Unbelievably, against some of most well-engineered machines on Earth, as soon as the race started it was Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin and again, Hobbin wins by a nose. Hobbin won so often that he was named the World Drivers' Champion. After that the farmer decided that the horses had done it, they'd won the most prestigious races in the world; they had earned their retirement. Five years later, as the two horses were grazing in their pasture, Noggin walked up to Hobbin and said, "Hey, you know, you won all of those races we were in. Do you think that we could race around the pasture, and you could just let me win one race?" "Okay, I'll do that for you" Hobbin replied. So, just like the olden days, the two horses were off, and ever the same, it was Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, Hobbin-Noggin, Noggin-Hobbin, and again, Hobbin beats Noggin by a nose. The old farm dog, watching from the farmhouse's front porch, walks over and asks Hobbin, "Hey, why'd you do that? You said you'd let him win, the race was just for fun; it meant nothing." To which Hobbin responded, "WOW. Would you look at that? A t
... keep reading on reddit β‘Me: Donating to 3rd world countries does not always have good effects. It can hurt the local economy. Like if a local guy sells shoes and you donate shoes your hurting him.
Dad: Are you saying people should do some sole searching before donating?
