Miss Nothing Puns

After re-checking it, I found out that little to nothing was missing.

It was ruled by a fair king who joyfully ruled his land. Unfortunately, the kingdom was also home to a wicked thief who loved nothing more than causing mayhem for all the inhabitants of the land.

However, the thief was not your ordinary thief. He only stole bells. Any kind of bell, whether a tiny bell from a kitten’s collar, all the way up to the bell from the king’s royal bell tower.

When the king awoke one morning, the bell tower’s bell was missing. The king, being brave and noble, decided to follow the thief back to his lair. He chose four of his most loyal soldiers, mounted his horse, and rode off into the snowy woods, following the footprints left behind on the ground.

Soon, he and his soldiers arrived to a clearing in the woods. In front of them was a large, bell-shaped building. They found the thief’s lair!Pointing to the recent tracks left in the snow by the thief, the king announced to the soldiers,

“Look! The Fresh Prints to Bell Lair!”

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

which was my 40th birthday. The BIG Four Oh! As in "Oh, you're 40 and not married? What's wrong with you?"

And my friends, as awesome as they are, kept setting me up on blind dates, but I never seemed to click with any of the women. Pretty women, short women, tall women, rough women, successful women, lazy women - I dated them all and more often than not, they just weren't interested in me.

I think I probably went on twenty or so dates that never resulted in a a single follow up date.

But two months before my birthday, I started dating two women and both fledgling relationships seemed like they were going somewhere as they were getting really, really serious. I couldn't choose one, but I didn't care. I just couldn't believe they were into me. Okay, maybe they weren't the best looking, but I was so desperate for a wife, and I'm definitely no prize myself.

With a few weeks to go before my birthday, I knew I had to act if I had any hope of being married. I bought two rings and proposed to them both (on separate nights, of course) and they both said no. In fact, though they never knew of each other, I went from two good things to both of them not returning my calls. I guess proposing in a mall food court (for Jenny) or down on my knees in front of the bathroom at a minor league baseball game (Susan) were not my best laid plans, doomed to fail. Or maybe I just reeked of desperation.

So the morning of my birthday, I was practically in tears, deep in depression as I knew I missed my deadline. But my friends came though, kind of. They took me out bar hopping and then we all went back to my place where they had a stripper waiting in my favorite chair. She got up, sat me down, and gave me a grinding lap dance. She said nothing, but after a minute, stopped, turned around, looked me in the eye and said "one." Then she started up again, stopped after a minute, turned around and said "two..."

This went on all night until she got to "forty."

It's been a few months now, and I'm not too sad. My friends really tried to get me married, and after two near mrs, I guess it was the thot that counts.

It was one of those rare days at college where my friend Gerald and I had gotten out of class and we had nothing to do.

We decided to hop on a college tour just for fun and see what happens. I attempted to ask questions that would help the tour, but Gerald was asking very weird obvious joke questions.

We get to the chapel and Gerald asks “yeah, does this chapel have the necessary alter I need to make my many sacrifices?”

And then this dad next to me, living his daddest life, without missing a beat, turns to me and says: “The tuition is the sacrifice, am I right?”

So in Canberra people are picking their own mushrooms; which would be fine except for the rather hazardous Death Caps that seem to be plentiful right now. A local radio station asked their listeners whether hey thought mushroom sales at stores or restaurants would go down, and what people thought of the whole issue. With a decade of experience in hospitality I thought I'd call and while waiting to go on air, the presenters joked about calling up the head 'mushroom guy' for Australia and asking their opinion.

I go on air and assure them that no restaurant worth their salt would risk their name and business by buying mushrooms that weren't from an official farm. But just before They bid me farewell I said; "I hope you do get to talk to the head mushroom person, I bet he's a real Fungi".

There was silence followed by barely audible raucous laughter from what sounded like either outside their booth or over the intercom, I'm not sure. The presenters denied me an on air groan or laugh and just pretended like I had said nothing. But someone laughed... Someone...

[Edit: Wow, unable to log in to reddit for a day and I miss getting nearly eight times more up votes than I have since joining Reddit last year. Thanks all! I knew having a 1 yr old would pay off.]

A cricket, and a tick.

He decides to start with the larger one, the cricket, and proceeds to put it under a microscope and carefully rip the dead insect apart writing down the results. Nothing unusual.

Moving on, he goes back to the delivery petri dish and notices the tick is missing.

He searches around for some time but the bugger is nowhere to be seen. Just before giving up he notices it crawling on his hand. Before the tick can bite him, he expertly grabs it and throws it under the microscope.

He turns it to the highest magnification and says to himself: "Let's see what makes you tick."

and said that he wanted to dress up as Ben 10. He reminded me however that Ben 10 is nothing without his watch and he must have that accessory.

Without missing a beat, I asked him, "Why, is he Ben-nine without it?"

I laughed way harder at this than he did. Still worth it.

The sun shone into my office through the lowered blinds all clumsy like, fumbling through the gaps between the venetian slats like a drunk fishing for loose change in his pockets; trying to see if he has money enough for one last drink or maybe the bus ride home.

The dame looked me up and down, clearly disappointed by what sat in front of her. I didn’t blame her. Three days of salt and pepper stubble clung to my my crude boxer’s jaw and the bags under my eyes were so big half the bums downtown could sleep in there and not even know anyone else was with 'em. That was ok. This broad wasn’t hiring me for my looks and I wasn’t looking to her for approval. We both knew what brought her in here, it was the name on the door.

Max Dad P.I. - that’s me. Private Investigator’s sure not the profession my mother would have picked out for me, but it keeps me in whisky and it keeps a roof over my head and that’ll do for now. The dame parted those cherry red lips of hers as she took another pull on that just-lit cigarette and nervously stubbed it out in the ashtray. My eyebrows knit together slightly. I hate seeing things go to waste.

“So as I was saying, Mr Dad,” she began.

“Please, call me Max”

“Alright, Max… well, as I was saying, my bag is missing. Stolen, I think. I urgently need it back. Shall I describe it to you?”

“No that’s alright miss. You got nothing to worry about,” I replied, sliding a bottle out of the desk drawer and pouring a big slug of scotch into to my morning coffee, “I’m sure it’ll be a brief case.”

Being a good son, I quickly obliged him and returned from the kitchen with tall, cold glass. Aspiring to reach his level of dad joke mastery, when he thanked me, I replied,

"Nothing but the dairy best for you, dad."

Without missing a beat he looked me dead in the eye and replied,

"Don't do dairy puns. They're cheesy."

God damn it.

He would always say, "When I retire, the University is going to give me a gold watch with nothing inside it."

"why, dad?"

"Because they've been givin me the works for years!"

I miss him.

The steaks were high so she stole them.

She said it was a mis-steak but they were in her bag!

It was a steak to the employee's heart when the lady said, "My kids have nothing to eat....."

When the employee caught the thief, her manager said, "Well done!" to which the employee replied, "No, they're still raw."

A lady tried stealing steaks from a dollar tree where I live. I guess she had a lot of missed steaks.

Note: Quality Very Varying (I see what I did there) and sometimes subject to specialist knowledge. So I apologise in advance. Shame me with your better puns.

While I was languishing in the Language Centre, doing some semantics antics and considering how all the other linguistics students despised and derided me, I was accosted by a stout man with large glasses who made me a preposition. It was that I should collect terrible puns, to do with linguistics, in order to ingratiate myself yet further with the other linguistics students (including even the phonetics fanatics).

I'm struggling to think of a pun to do with grammaticality that both makes sense and "Is grandma tickly?" correct. I'm also stuck on 'morphologician'. (I'm not actually sure that's a particularly logical word for the subject, though I guess that's more for, er, more for a logician to worry about.)

The problem I have with writing about phonological variation is that one is constantly forced to choose between being fun or logical - very Asian!I always get in trouble with electricians, they think I'm calling them a 'dialectician' whereas in fact I'm just saying "Die, electrician."

I like pscycholinguistics – the only department of linguistics where it’s acceptable to wear a cycle helmet. My Australian accent is terrible but I like to think my Sath Efrican one is predicate. My favourite accent is Received Pronunciation, because it is the accent chiefly used by invisible Japanese people who are ordered online. When the first recipient of an invisible Japanese person got the parcel, they wrote a complaint saying "Received but can't see Asian" and the name stuck.

Why did the speakers whose native languages weren't English, but whose only shared language was English, but they weren't very good at it and kept on having to stop to think about it, stop talking to one another? They came to an agreement. (Get it? If not, write your answer on a pastecard and paste it to the below address.)

What did the 'a' say to the 'the'? "You definitely are ticklish, 'the'!"

Why was the small man eaten by the large bear, which was proportionately bigger than him? It had, er, relative claws.

I think the reason there are so many speakers of Russian is because they all partake in an activity called "copulae shun". (Ok, ok, I know, that was Pushkin it.)

I know a man called Hillary who can, might, should, did, must, shall and will ride an ox. We call him "Ox Hillary".

I always think the verb 'to be' in the senten

Happened during a reading of an extensive legal clause, containing several 'or this ..., or that ...' statements. The entire department is listening intently, ensuring nothing is missed.

When the speaker quietly chuckles about the 'or' multitude after finally reaching the end of the clause, the director speaks up: "Wow, that sentence should be mined!"

Groans around the room.