Plate Glass Puns

It sounded paneful.

I had to tell him to call a Spode a Spode.

They crept in. It was pitch black and stone quiet. They were suddenly starting to regret this dare. Stupidly, only one brought a flash light. The aggressive darkness and inky black yielded with grudging compliance but always seeming to push back. They moved cautiously onward amid the dust and cobwebs. The floor creaked. They breathed in tight, quick breaths. You could hear a pin drop.

Suddenly, there was a deep moan. "OOOOOOOOUUUUU". It seemed from below them. The house had been abandoned for years. Who or what could make such a sound? The boys looked at each other, but continued on, hearts pounding in their chests.

As they proceeded into the kitchen they encountered a swarm of flies. Buzzing and beating their necks and faces, they rushed and stumbled to the door, not stopping to see what they were truly feasting on. They slammed the door behind them. Maybe a body? But no way were they going back to find out. And again came the sound, "ooooOOOOOooooOOUUU" but louder this time, and closer.

They proceeded through the dark into the dining room. They saw a fully set dining table covered in cob webs. Dust-covered regal-looking glasses, goblets and silverware adorned the table. Spiders climbed on ivory plates. Clearly a house of privilege and set for a grand feast which never happened.

Or, perhaps, met a fatal end?

They pushed on. But again that unearthly howl.

"oooooOOOOOOOOOOOUuuuuUUUUuuUUOOOOooo".

They found the basement staircase, and from below, the sounds seemed to be emanating. Could they proceed? Would they? Did they dare? Two of the boys looked at each other, faces filled with worry.

But the third said, confidently, "We're going down there." Not wanting to seem the weaker, the other two boys steeled themselves and nodded.

The stairs creaked and groaned evily under their feet. The rickety banister shook in angry defiance. Insects and vermin scattered underneath them with every step. They were descending into hell, they knew, but none would turn back.

And the sound: "oOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUuuuuUUOOOO". Now loud enough to fill not only their heads but seeming to claw at their very souls!

Now at the basement door! The antique, crying squeak of the hinges eeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEee made the boys wince and almost cover their ears. But they had to know. WHAT is making that horrible, terrible sound?

"ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUoooooUUUUUUUOOOOOOO"

In the center of the basement lay an unholy coffin! A twisted artistic expression of murder, decay and

A passenger in a taxi tapped the driver on the shoulder to hand him the money.

The driver screamed, lost control of the cab, nearly hit a bus, drove up over the curb and stopped just inches from a large plate glass window.

For a few moments everything was silent in the cab, then the driver said,

"Please, don't ever do that again. You scared the daylights out of me."

The passenger, who was also frightened, apologized and said he didn't realize that a tap on the shoulder could frighten him so much,to which the driver replied, "I'm sorry, it's really not your fault at all.

Today is my first day driving a cab. I have been driving a hearse for the last 25 year

As they sit down, the husband offers to go get their dinner. First he waits in line for the roast beef. Then he waits in the line for the potatoes. He he waits in the vegetable line, the bread line, the salad line, and even the gravy line.

He finally returns to the table with two heaping plates of food. “What would you like to drink?” he asks.

“A glass of punch would be nice,” she says. So off he goes to get it. He finds a line for wine, a line for beer, a line for soda, a line for milk, even a line for water. After considering all of his options he gives up and returns to the table empty-handed.

Sometimes there is no punch line.

Picture this.

A fancy Christmas dinner party at his new wife's opulent, sandstone estate house. Plates are being cleared from the lengthy, mahogony table that seats the fourteen well-to-do guests, the main course having just finished. All have feasted gloriously on our Christmas fare.

My Dad, playing the good host, picks up two bottles of wine, one white and one red, and proceeds to do a round of the table, chatting amiably with everyone as he circles. Those whose glasses are less than 90% full, he proceeds to top-up. I am sitting in the very centre of the long table, seated directly opposite a very well off lady in her early sixties, by the name of Margaret. My dad, having just topped off my glass, is now standing directly behind me.

This older woman, full of grace and charm, looks to my Dad and says, "Thank you so much for this glorious meal, John. It's been simply divine."

My Dad, "Not at all, Margaret, not at all. Could I charge your glass?"

Margaret, "Oh, no no, thank you. I've got the bottle in front of me!"

My Dad, quick of wit, and with a sneaky - yet charming - grin on his face, responds, "Ah, well, better that than a frontal lobotomy!"

I've never been more proud of him.