Missing Summer Puns

It cuts like a knife.

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

Recently, we had a hostile power takeover. A new mod got power hungry and went on a nice little editing spree.

Pics of carnage: Here

He/she has been banned from the subreddit, and submissions are back to normal.

I somehow ended up as the lackey here, and I've never been a subreddit mod before, so bear with me. I've put things back to their defaults, so submissions can resume normally.

##Tl;dr guy goes on power trip, he's gone, things back to normal, I have no clue what I'm doing.

Summer Yellow

Summer missing

My roommate, another friend of ours, and myself were hanging out and having casual conversation when the other friend brings up how his hair is getting rather long in the back. Since he plans to keep growing it out over the summer, he just remarked that it was in "the awkward stage" and figured it'd look better as the front caught up with the back, so to speak.

Without missing a beat, my roommate quips "yeah, don't worry, just give your hair some time to mullet over!"

My dad said this last summer. We were in Mexico, and there was huge flocks of birds swarming above us that day. My stepmom was out on our little porch, reading fifty shades of grey. Suddenly she storms in all huffy and goes up to my dad who was in the kitchen.

Dad: What's up with you?

Stepmom: A fucking bird SHAT on my book! Look! (Sure enough, there was.)

My dad, without missing a beat: Well why are you complaining? Now you got an extra shade of grey!

At dinner tonight I was talking about trying out the crafts for the summer camp I work for. Without missing a beat my dad says, "Oh, so you're a craft-test dummy?" Despite the fact we all groaned he still beamed proudly and pumped his fists in the air.