A list of puns related to "Skip Stop"
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
... keep reading on reddit ➡Guy (being bugged by his kids in the background) replies, “Yeah, can I put 9 and 12 year olds in your recycle containers?” I replied, without skipping a beat, “Oh, no. I’m so sorry, We JUST stopped accepting those ages. We are currently taking 8 and 10 year olds.”
My grandfather, in his younger days, retired from his NASCAR dreams to do construction so he could raise a family. Fast forward 45 years to 1994. I was around 15. My grandfather, grandmother, her mother, and I were on the return trip from the Costco and liquor store just inside the no sales tax state of Oregon. My grandfather was, as usual, driving. He raced for Lincoln and they sponsored him so they gave him a really good lifetime discount. He drove a brand new Continental his entire life. He always raced down to Oregon as fast as he could and then tried beating his time while driving back. Suddenly, at about 140mph, a Pheasant committed suicide on the front end. We could see feathers occasionally come loose. Grandpa already had a couple minutes to make up. Needless to say, despite my grandma's insistance, stopping to investigate wasn't in the plans. When we got home, he was cussing an ill timed traffic light with a bored motorcycle cop parked on the sidewalk waiting for his target. My grandma and great grandma nearly died when, without batting an eye, grandpa pulled the Pheasant off the car, grabbed his Gerber knife, and stripped, cleaned, and threw the bird on the BBQ. I was in dying from laughter at this point. Grandma and my great grandma were dying from embarrassment. He offered them some and grandma angrily refused for the 3 of us, calling it road kill. Without skipping a beat, he calmly replied "This isn't road kill, it's Continental Wild Pheasant, Twice-Grilled."
Years ago I used to use a LexisNexis database of companies that would give corporate information like name, address, and general business description. While most of them were pretty bland, there were a bunch of them with some really cheesy puns, and over a few years I built quite a collection.
Today I share with you "NEXIS IS RIDICULOUS.txt":
So, my dad could be considered a regular jokester. He had his dad jokes, his dirty jokes, clean but provocative joke, setup jokes, everything. He never missed a chance to turn something into a joke for hinself, even, and perpahs especially, if it only amused himself. I found out at an young age that no situation is too serious for him.
I was around 9 years old and I was in the cub scouts, and it was box car derby season. I was in the dining room, carving away at my block of wood when the blade in my right hand skipped the wood and carved my left thumb. It fucking hurt and bled like a sonofabitch. I immediately starting screaming and my dad raced into the room and found me covered in blood, my left hand now with two thumbs. We get it wrapped and he drives me to the emergency room. By the time we got there the bleeding had stopped and I have stopped crying. As we pull up, my dad looks st me, shakes his head and says "We can't go in there like this, we'll end up waiting forever to see a doctor. You need to cry once we're in there and that'll help" I said ok, and he said as we were walking up, "I'll give you a signal to start crying." How will i know, i asked him snd he just said i'll know. We go inside and walk up to the admittance desk. I'm short, so at the time my head just cleared the desk. My dad tells the nurse that we have a cut, and need to see a doctor right away. The nurse pushes paperwork at him and he tells her again, this time that its a real bad cut. The nurse finally looks at me for the first time and she frowns, because im relatively normal looking, even though im hurting and nervous, waiting for my dads signal. My dad pulls me back a bit and her eyes widen really big when she sees all the dried blood caked on the lower left side of my body. She starts getting excited and says "Ohmygoshohmygosh" over and over and this point im starting to get scared when my Dad, in a serious voice says "Its even worse than it looks! You're going to have to take the whole hand!"
Then I start crying.
I should preface this by saying this was on of the best dates I've ever been on, but the relationship also subsequently fell apart because of it.
Anyway, a few years ago, my girlfriend and I had been going out for a few months, and things were great. I met her through a mutual friend of mine at the hospital, weirdly enough. Our friend had gotten in a very bad accident and had to get a glass eye. He would always dab it with cotton to stop the bleeding at the beginning. Anyway, this is all relevant because my girlfriend (not girlfriend at the time) bonded over how disgusting our friends eye was. This got us to talking, and before you know it, we started going out. Things got pretty serious months and months down the line, and I was just laid off from my job. This meant that in general, we would go on cheaper dates. Nothing too drastic. Just like a movie and dinner instead of say the Opera and a fancy five star restaurant.
So, about a year and a half into the relationship, Joe, the mutual friend of ours, suggests a double date with us and his girlfriend. He knew the situation I was in and offered to pay for the whole thing. Great right? Well... no. I was actually planning on proposing to my girlfriend. Except Joe suggested the plans in front of my girlfriend too, so she accepted for both of us. I didn't want to propose to her on a double date, so I pulled her aside and told her to just skip the date and come over instead. Joe had bought us all tickets to a baseball game, and believe it or not, my girlfriend chose the baseball game instead of me. I stayed home alone as she went out with Joe and his girlfriend. Moral of the story is, if it hadn't been for Cotton Eyed Joe, I'd been married a long time ago.
She came over to my house for a bit tonight and were getting kinda frisky. Her glasses fell off the top of her head and got tangled in her hair and we had to stop to get them out. When she finally did, she said "Sorry my hairs a little knotty." Without skipping a beat i said "I love it when you're 'knotty'." Que the end of frisky times. Worth it.
Back when I were a young whippersnapper, we had a woodworking project to create something that would let us display a small object.
After a few minutes of the teacher asking us what we would display, and a large number of frankly stupid responses, he told us to stop shouting out. Then someone suggested they display some scissors. He asked "Why would you want to display some scissors?!"
Without skipping a beat I yelled out "To display the cutting edge of technology!"
I can still see him staring at me now!
We were on vacation this week and went for a walk on a walking path in front of our condo. We walk for maybe a mile or so and stop because we are going to turn around and go back. My wife says "I wonder how far we walked." Without skipping a beat I say "We've walked half way."
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