Piece Of Land Puns

With a frown, she says "I don't want a lot for Christmas".

I told her that sounded like a lot.

My family was having a burger night and I improvised some groaners:

Q - How does it sound when your cousin drives an ambulance?
A - Neeeenaaaaa-neeeeenaaaaa! (There is a cousin called Nina)
Q - How do you know when your cousin is coming to visit?
A - they ring the Issa-belle! (Yip, you guessed it there is a cousin called Issabelle)

Q - What does a dinosaur say to offer you a hot drink?
A - Would you like some tea, Rex? (Hate to over explain and ruin the joke but just in case - Rex )

Then during bathtime:

Q - When a crab goes to jail where do they lock him up?
A - A jail shell. (there was a decorative jar of shells there which I used as a muse for this piece)

Q - How does a daddy cow clean himself at night?
A - In a bub-bull bath. (Just came to me)

Q - What does an astronaut use in the bath?
A - A space cloth. (this one didn't really land but I stand by it)

Q - What do you use to wash your hair in the toilet?
A - Sham-poo (low hanging fruit but this one absolutely killed)

Back a few decades, I was working in a program with a local college in the Middle East.

The name of the program for ExPats has the clever acronym of "IDEA" (hey, I said it was clever); which stands for "Inter-Departmental Educational Adjunct". It's interdepartmental because my particular specialty not only covers field geology but also paleontology and a bit of archeology thrown in for good measure. Everyone hopes to have a good IDEA...

ahem...

Well, we saddle up and head for the Dune Sea out in the west of the country, where the Precambrian, Cambrian, Silurian, Cretaceous, Pliocene, Pleistocene, and Holocene crop out and access is relatively easy and non-injurious.

Well, we caravan out, some 30 Land Cruisers, Nissan patrol, and the odd Mitsubishi Galloper strong. We all get our maps, compasses and split up into 5 or 6 special interest groups ("SIG's"); where each IDEA has his own GPS and LIDAR laser ranging apparatus. Reason being, that there are very few benchmarks out in the desert, and even those are constantly at the mercy of the shifting and ever-blowing sands.

Since we're split into groups and at any one time, ranging up to and including some 50 km2, when a real find is located, a device called the "DIME" (Digital-Interface Monitor Encoder) is attached and programmed into the GPS for location later; it is a digital sort of low-frequency transponder, developed from technology used by offshore drillers and jacket setters where benchmarks are even more transitory.

The way it works is rather simple. When something is to be marked for later retrieval, a series of wooden posts are pounded in a triangular manner around the find and the DIME is set, programmed with the GPS and attached to one or more of the posts.

That's the theory, at least.

Everything works well, especially all the hardened electronics and computer gizmos, but attaching the DIME to the stakes is the real problem. It can't be nailed, screwed or fastened with any sort of metal contrivance as that farkles the magnetic field and causes all sorts of goofy spurious signals. Zip ties don't last long in the heat and duct tape is right out. Many sites have been lost to the shifting sands this way.

Velcro doesn't work too well, as the sand fills the hooks of the receiving piece of velcro and soon renders it useless. String or fishing line work, but that's temporary (they melt). Glue or mastic are out as these are supposed to be temporary. Even plastic sleeves don't work due to the heat out

Having nothing much else to do to pass the time, they engaged in frequent conversation with each other about whatever tickled their fancy.

Well, one year, a sapling took root between the two trees and having not much else to talk about, they argued about the sapling for years.

"It's a son of a beech," the beech would say.

"No, it's a son of a birch," the birch would say.

And back and forth they would go.

Well one year, when the sapling was starting to get big and tall, a woodpecker happened to fly along and land on the beech.

The beech, seeing an opportunity to settle this argument once and for all, said, "Hey, woodpecker. I need a favor. I want you to fly over to that young tree there, and tell me whether that tree is a son of a beech or the son of a birch."

Well, the woodpecker not having much else to do said, "Sure thing!" and flew over to the young tree and gave it six good taps.

-tap tap tap-

-tap tap tap-

And flew back.

"Well?" the birch said.

"Well?" the beech said.

"Is it a son of a beech, or the son of a birch?"

The woodpecker said, "Neither."

"Neither!?"

"That, my friends," the woodpecker said, "is the best piece of ash I've ever put my pecker in."

This one was about two years ago, but it was one of my favorite memories of work due to the reaction it got. There's a little bit of a setup/backstory for this.

I landed a job at the local Sam's Club before it opened, so I, along with the other associates, was to attend a credit training event at a very nice bank in town.

There were probably 30 or 40 in the class and most of us knew each other pretty well because we had spent the past few weeks 'blitzing,' or selling Sam's Club memberships at Walmarts in the area.

Anyway, the credit guy (his name fails me) was giving a powerpoint presentation on the ins and outs of the Sam's credit accounts. At one point, he said that for pre-approved members, a piece of paper called a 'chit' will print out. There were a few chuckles and he smiled and said "yeah, I know," and carried on.

Then I raised my hand.

He called on me, and I began: "So if a church with a business membership is pre-approved, who's responsible for applying? A church accountant or one of the clergy or something?"

"Yes, whoever owns the account itself."

"Would that be considered a 'holy chit?'"

The class erupted in laughter and one associate even left the room because she was laughing so hard. I saw one of the managers in class with us had his head buried in his arms laughing to the point of tears.

Probably my finest moment.

Back in April, me and the young men &a women of my family helped move my grandparents out their house, a house they had lived in for almost 45 years, into a small, 1-bedroom add-on to my uncles land.

Now, my grandpa had been a Baptist pastor for 47 years (now retired) and he was always quick on wit.

Well, as we were moving out the garage. My brother noticed something glued to the ground by some kind of resin. A piece of paper, looked almost 30 years old. We found out it was a sermon that my grandpa had preached way, way back in the day. And someone had spilled some kind of oil and that had gotten stuck to it and preserved it over the years. We brought my very frail grandpa out into the garage and told him what it was. He stared at it for about 5 seconds and said "Well, I guess that's one of my sermons that stuck!"

Paul has a shitty life, his wife constantly berates him, his job sucks, his boss is a bully, his car is a shitty 85 ford pinto with a cracked windshield and is in bad need of a new transmission and to top it all off he's chubby, balding, and he has a small penis.

The only thing good in Paul's life is his friend Artie. Artie isn't the brightest bulb in the world, but he's always been there for Paul in the tough times. On October 5, 1953 Artie stood up for Paul against his bully in 7th grade. Artie got his ass handed to him at that time, but so did Paul. That incident resulted in a life long friendship. Paul and Artie went to the same High School together. They traveled around Europe that one summer in college. Artie was Paul's best man at his wedding. Everyone thought speech Artie gave was terrible, But Paul loved it Artie was his best friend.

Artie's life wasn't much better either, he never had the smarts for that great Job. In fact he was stuck in a dead end job as a construction labourer. Artie's car was pretty shitty too. Artie never married, but he was happy in the knowledge that at least he didn't end up with Paul's shitty wife.

For Paul's 46th birthday Artie was pretty broke, so all he could get his friend was a single lottery ticket. Artie being the sentimental guy that he was picked the date of the start of their friendship, and their respective ages (46, 45). Paul loved the present, and thought that the two of them should go to the Legion that friday to split a round of beers and listen to them call out the numbers.

On Friday they are both sitting there at the Legion having a laugh over a couple of beers when the cute lottery girl comes on the t.v. to read out the numbers. Paul pulls out the ticket and spreads it out on the beer stained table in front of them. The lottery girl starts reading out the numbers, 45, 10, 05. Both of Paul and Artie's hearts start beating, thats 200$ already. 53, Holy crap thats like a 10, 000 ticket. They both start losing their shit. 46....... Paul feints. He just won the jackpot. 37million dollars.

Two minutes later Artie finally revives Paul. Paul and Artie celebrate the night away, buy round after round for the people at the Legion and get absolutely shittered. They close out the bar and as the ugly lights come on they stumble blitzed, singing, onto the street arm in arm with the winning lottery ticket in hand and start the long walk back to Paul's place.

Halfway home, Paul comes to two drunken

Him: Harrison Ford injured in crash landing of a piece of junk. Wondering if special modifications were contributing factor. Inquired about Chewbacca's condition. Nancy assured me this was a solo flight.

Me: you're the devil.

So we were playing cards against humanity having beers and eating pizza when a piece of uneaten pizza crust flys across the room and lands in one of my lady friends lap.

So then her friend said to her "hey you might want to clean out your crotch, it's getting a little crusty."