Main Street Puns

It's a Pride Parade.

So a frog walks into a bank, and up to one of the tellers, a young woman by the name of Patricia Wakk. He says to her, he says, “Miss Wakk, my name is Kermit Jagger, son of Mick Jagger, and I’d like to take out a loan. I make porcelain elephants,” he says, pulling one out from his pocket, “and I’d like to open a store down on Main Street selling them. I just need a few thousand dollars to buy the shop. Can you help me out?”

Now, Patricia doesn’t normally deal in small business loans, so she’s unsure on the proper protocol involved, so she calls over her manager and explains the situation to him, explaining Kermit’s family ties and showing him the elephant, to which her manager replies,

“It’s a knick-nack, Patty Wakk, give the frog a loan! His old man’s a rolling stone.”

Because if they did, he'd be a main street boy.

Because it was too main Street.

A man is riding his horse through the desert, and, well, he starts to get thirsty. He sees a small town off in the distance, so he sets off in that direction to get some water for his horse and some whiskey for hisself.

Well, as he gets into that little town he starts to notice something peculiar. Not a soul is out. Sun's setting, but still plenty of light. Water in the horse troughs tells him it ain't a ghost town, but folks ain't comin' out for some reason.

Now, as soon as he turns onto the town's main street, he sees a soberin' sight; the sheriff, on a ladder, hammering the last nail into a brand new gallows. He sidles his horse on up to the sheriff and says, "Pardon me sheriff. I don't mean to pry, but pray tell, who're them gallows fer?"

The sheriff looks around, surprised to see someone out. He steps down, takes off his hat and scratches the back of his head thoughtfully, before replying, "Well, I reckon you must be a stranger in these parts. I reckon then that you ain't never heard of Brown Paper Bart. Anyway, we're lynchin' him come sunrise."

"Brown Paper Bart? I reckon not, sheriff. That's a mighty peculiar name, pray tell, whaddaya call him Brown Paper Bart fer?"

"Wayill, I reckon we call him Brown Paper Bart on account 'a the fact that everything he wears is made a' brown paper. His hat's made a' brown paper, his boots is made a' brown paper. His chaps is made a' brown paper, his neckerchief's made a brown paper. Heck dang shoot, even his lunch bag is made a' brown paper!"

The man looks at the sheriff a moment, perplexed, before replying, "Well, sheriff, I reckon that's a mighty peculiar thing for a man to do, but that don't explain these brand new gallows. Pray tell, what're you lynchin' Brown Paper Bart fer?"

[Insert a dad-length pause here.]

"...Rustlin'."