Perfect Gentleman Puns

The mortician asked the deceased’s wife how she would like the body dressed. He points out the man looks good in the black suit he’s already wearing. The widow however said she thought her husband always looked his best in blue, and she would really like him in a blue suit. She then hands the mortician a blank cheque and says “I don’t care how much it costs, but please have my husband in a blue suit for the viewing.” The woman returns the next day for the wake. To her delight she finds her husband dressed in a gorgeous blue suit with a subtle chalk stripe. Remarkably, the suit fit him perfectly. She says to the mortician, “whatever this costs I’m very satisfied, you did an excellent job and I’m incredibly grateful. How much did you spend?” To her astonishment the mortician presents her with her blank cheque, and he says “there’s no charge.” Shocked she replies “no really, I feel like i must compensate you for the cost of that exquisite blue suit.” “Honestly ma’am”, the mortician says, “it costs nothing, you see a diseased gentleman about your husbands size was brought in shortly after you left yesterday. He was wearing an attractive blue suit. So I asked his wife if she minded if her husband went to the grave wearing black. She had said it made no difference so long as he looked nice. So from that point on it was really just a matter of switching the heads.”

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

The bartender replies, "I'm sorry, but you're a rope. I can't serve you, and I'm not even sure how I could. Please leave."

A short time later, the rope comes back into the bar and asks for a beer.

The bartender, a bit annoyed at the situation, says, "Look, I told you I can't serve you. Just go away."

A few hours later, the rope comes back in again.

The bartender is getting mad now. "Look, I told you twice that I can't serve alcohol to a rope! Now get out and STAY OUT!"

Dejectedly, the rope leaves the bar and sits at the curb until a gentleman passes by. Suddenly, the piece of rope has an idea.

"Excuse me", says the rope, "but could you do me a favor?"

"Um... me?" says the puzzled gentleman. "Uh... I guess so..."

"Great! I just need you to tie a big ol' knot right in my middle."

"Well," says the gentleman. "I just so happens I was a former Eagle Scout. Here you go," and ties a perfect knot in the rope. "Will that be all?"

The rope pauses for a second and says, "Actually, could you pull apart my ends and unravel them for a bit?"

The gentleman obliges and goes on his merry way. The piece of rope, satisfied at its new appearance, heads back into the bar.

Furious, the bartender shouts, "HEY! Aren't you that same piece of rope I kicked out three times already?!?"

"No, I'm a frayed knot."

I was ripping ticket stubs for an opera performance at my college last night when an older gentleman handed me his ticket and said, "I'm a colonel. Is that still okay?" His wife and I were a bit confused, but I said yes, that was perfectly fine.

"Well this ticket says 'General Admission,' but I'm only a colonel."

His wife groaned and I laughed. Highlight of my night.

.. and he's wearing an expensive, expertly tailored black suit. The mortician asks the deceased's wife how she would like the body dressed, pointing out that the man does look good in the black suit he is already wearing. The widow, however, says that she always thought her husband looked his best in blue, and that she wants him in a blue suit. She gives the mortician a blank check and says, 'I don't care what it costs, but please have my husband in a blue suit for the viewing.' The woman returns the next day and to her delight, she finds her husband dressed in a gorgeous blue suit with a subtle chalk stripe; the suit fits him perfectly. She says to the mortician, 'Whatever this cost, I'm very satisfied.. You did an excellent job and I'm very grateful. How much did you spend?' To her astonishment, the mortician presents her with the blank check, 'There's no charge.' 'No, really, I must compensate you for the cost of that exquisite blue suit,' she says. 'Honestly, ma'am,' the mortician says, 'it cost nothing. You see, a deceased gentleman of about your husband's size was brought in shortly after you left yesterday, and he was wearing an attractive blue suit. I asked his wife if she minded him going to his grave wearing a black suit instead, and she said it made no difference as long as he looked nice.' 'So I just switched the heads.'