Her: "You must have really good balance!"
He said, “Sorry. There is no Time.”
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 ➡
I told him to stop and that I would take him to the doctor for a more rofessional job. He told me he wanted to do it as he was working on his first aid merit badge for the boy scouts. So I said, "Suture self."
As a Boy Scout, we would camp a lot and go on hikes.
One night, we had to do a night hike, alone, for a merit badge. I had left the campsite about an hour earlier and a terrible storm rolled in. The sky opened up and the ground was quickly saturated. I tried to continue my hike for another few minutes, but it got cold and I was chilled and soaked to the bone, so I decided to try to head back to camp.
Lightning was starting to crackle above me, so I thought I should try to take a shortcut to make my hike back quicker. I pulled out my compass and found my direction, but the rain made it impossible to see more than five feet in front of me.
I was looking down at my compass, not paying any attention to where I was going, and suddenly felt weightless. The feeling didn't last long as I thumped down on slippery earth a second later.
I had fallen onto a ledge on the side of a rather steep cliff, the bottom of which was at least fifty feet down.
I sat there, contemplating on how to get back up this cliff as water rolled over the edge ten feet above me. There was nothing to grab onto to pull myself up. I was stuck there.
After a few minutes, I noticed the little ledge I was standing on was slowly getting smaller. The water was coming down so hard it was eroding the tiny bit of safety I had.
I dug through my pockets, thinking maybe I had something, anything, to help me out of my precarious situation. All I had was my compass, a cough drop, and a match. I was screwed.
So, I sat there, watching the edge of the ledge I was on get closer and closer to my feet, when suddenly I felt something pushing on my back.
I turned slightly and saw a wooden box sticking out of the cliff behind me. It was working its way out of the side, the rain surely helping it along. I tried to move away from it, but the ledge wasn't very wide and the box kept coming out, pushing me farther to the weak and failing edge.
As more of the box came out, to my horror, I realized it was a coffin! I had no idea how old it was, but it looked rather rotten. All I could think of was being pushed off this ledge, and the rotten coffin breaking and dropping a skeleton onto my broken and battered body at the bottom.
The coffin crept closer, my foot began to slip. I grabbed onto a root that was sticking out of the cliffside and dug in my pocket once more.
I hurriedly tore the wrapper off the cough drop and stuck it in my mouth. It stopped the coffin.
This joke has been told to me... keep reading on reddit ➡
Today, I'm sitting in the kitchen with my dad and I am telling him about this conversation I had with a coworker about different computer operating systems the day before.
Me: "I was telling him that Windows has its own merits and the dude says that he doesn't trust Windows at..."
Dad: "Why doesn't he trust windows, you can see right though them?"
(A bit of context first, but you can skip this paragraph if you want). An hour or so ago, I was playing a div 1 co-ed soccer game. Since our captain wasn't there, I was the one talking to the ref, signing the game sheet, providing the game ball, and all that. At some point during the game, one of our guys shot the ball and it rebounded off, giving us a corner. However, none of our guys were going to get the ball as if they thought it was the other team's ball. I yelled at my team "Guys, it's our corner!"
The ref turned to me and laughed, and said "They need to concentrate". I said "No kidding, huh?" He then turned to me with a pre-dadjoke smile and asked me "Why didn't the orange juice pass its exam? ... It couldn't concentrate."
It was in that moment that I knew this grey haired, bearded man was a father of at least one child. He didn't even look back for a reaction, he just turned with his dad smile, knowing full well that the joke has merit enough on its own regardless of a reaction.