This story is about a man called Trevor, and his obsession with tractors.

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 Trevorโ€™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.

Trevorsโ€™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 Trevorโ€™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 wasnโ€™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.

โ€œWellโ€ said Jeff, โ€œAs Iโ€™m sure you know the convention comes to town laterโ€.

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.

โ€œYes of courseโ€ replied Trevor

... keep reading on reddit โžก

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๐Ÿ‘ค︎ u/ShredderSte
๐Ÿ“…︎ Aug 07 2020
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Couldn't pass up the opportunity for a pun at work tonight.

I'm a manager at a hotel and I got stuck covering the desk for an employee tonight. A 50ish-year-old couple came in with their teenage son and said, "reservation for Knight..."

"Yeah, here we go...A room with 2 queen beds for one night..." I replied, "well...for three knights, I guess..." and I gestured toward them.

The teenager immediately rolled his eyes, the dad BUSTED out laughing and the mom chuckled and said, "normally, he makes those jokes!"

The husband then says, "Yeah I had one all ready to go!"

I was proud that I beat them to the punch. It was a good day.

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๐Ÿ‘ค︎ u/dougan25
๐Ÿ“…︎ Mar 26 2017
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Back in pioneer days...

...a wagon train was heading out west. Inside one of the wagons, a man lay on his deathbed with friends and family gathered 'round. He gestured to his best friend, who leaned down to hear what the dying man had to say.

"My friend," he whispered, "I'm not gonna make it, but I wanna be remembered. When you get to where you're going, I want you to name a town after me."

"You betcha," his friend says. "Anything for you, Al."

Then the man gestures to his best friend's son, who likewise leans down to hear the dying man's last words.

"Boy, make sure your old man keeps his promise to name a town after me."

The boy answers, "Yes, Sir, Mr. Buquerque."

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๐Ÿ‘ค︎ u/startrektoheck
๐Ÿ“…︎ May 27 2018
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Got my buddy over pool

Even though we've been out of college for years, my fraternity pledge son and I still get together every week to play some pool. This week, we were discussing werewolves and where they fit in the mythical creature hierarchy.

"Werewolves are obviously the best," he says.

"That makes sense you'd like them," I reply. "You're like halfway one already."

"Oh, is it because of this?" he asks, gesturing toward his hair, his beard, his hairy chest.

"No, cause you're a human when the moon's not full."

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๐Ÿ‘ค︎ u/xuol
๐Ÿ“…︎ May 31 2015
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