Outsider Art Puns

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

My dad has this habit of pretending he didn't hear what you said, and then "repeating" it. Like if I said I was going to see an art show, he'll say, "You're going to a FART show? I had no idea you'd have any interest in that!" Lots of jokes along those lines, amongst others.

When I was younger I would laugh because he was kinda funny, and also to make him happy, but as I've gotten older I laugh not JUST because he's funny (in a corny way) but because the fact he still makes these jokes makes me so happy and really warms my heart. My mom is physically disabled, my dad has a bunch of health issues, we've all suffered terribly at times because of all this illness. And no matter how bad it gets, my dad is always there trying his hardest to put a smile on other people's faces and to lighten the mood a bit with his jokes. I've always been the type of girl to mope and be depressed when things are hard, but as I've gotten older I've tried to be more like my old man because I think it's something really special and admirable and selfless about stepping outside of your own negativity to give others something to laugh at or smile about. My dad is such a fuckin hero, I love him so much, and I can't imagine how unbearable this world would seem at times without him trying to make us all laugh.

So to all you dads telling your corny dad jokes, don't ever stop. Your kids and wife might groan or roll their eyes, but inside they love their corny old man and appreciate the goofy puns and fart jokes you tell!

My parents visited me last weekend. Short on ideas, we decided to hit up a widely-respected art museum. They had some new exhibitions, some of which were a little outside our personal tastes and expectations.

We walked into a photography exhibit and saw, along one wall, a sheet of green. This sheet of green was a little higher and taller than the average door, and stretched all the way down that bit of wall plus a few feet onto the floor.

"Oh," I said, "a green screen. That's kind of a neat little thing to have here. Sort of an homage to that style of film, I guess?"

Little did I know. In hindsight, I don't know why I expected anything different.

My father and I approached the plaque beside it. There we learned the truth: This was not a green screen. No. No, this was a specially printed photograph.

A photograph... of a green screen.

There we stood, astonished at the audacity of the thing before us. "My God," I said aloud, "This, right here, this is something else. This is just plain genius. Can you imagine getting money for something like this? Why didn't we come up with this? This is gold!"

To which my dad simply responded, "No, son...

... it's green."