Slip By Puns

It backfired.

It was a anti-climb antic.

One evening Jake stole Joke’s bag and hid it just at the edge of a forest nearby. Next morning he told him what he had done and to be careful not to go far into the forest since it’s riddled with bears once you go into the deep forest part and you are sure to get eaten.

Since Joke didn’t return for a long period of time, Jake went looking for him. However, he couldn’t find his friend. Jake, feeling remorse, called the police and told them what had happened.

Unfortunately, the police were no help and the case started to gain traction with the media. Reporters from all the nearby villages wanted to be the one to crack the case and find Joke.

Jake slowly spiraled into despair, not knowing what happened, thinking he killed his friend and all he wanted was some answers, buying all the local newspapers every day hoping to read something new and gain some answers.

Day after day the event slowly slipped out of his mind as time went by with no new information whatsoever. Until one day, Jake decided to put this whole thing behind him and found a therapist to help him move on.

The therapy was a huge success, he completed all but one meetings and he had just one more to go. He arrived on time as always, but the therapist’s office was locked this time. Jake checked his mobile phone and he saw a message from his therapist that he’s gonna be a few minutes late and that he should sit down in the waiting room, relax, and wait for him.

Jake, as any reasonable person, sat down in the waiting room and started waiting. It was at this moment that his phone battery ran out and he became bored, very bored, so he picked up a random newspaper from the table in front of him and then he saw it, the headline he was waiting for for so long:

Joke gone too far.

The kid kept screaming, screeching poorly-articulated profanities at the disinterested father. Over the screaming chaos, the father managed to order a water for himself, and an orange juice for his kid. The waitress came by with the drink, and within moments the kid smashed his cup onto the floor out of pure, unaimed toddler rage, spilling the drink all over the floor and the waitress.

The father apologized, but asked if the gremlin could still have a second orange juice, hoping the kid would miraculously calm down. The waitress conceded despite the terribly behaved toddler, and returned to the shrieking zone with a second orange juice. She had forgotten to clean up the puddle of orange juice however, and slipped. The cup of juice went straight into the kid's face, and like a fire extinguisher to a flame, the kid just went silent, as if a lesson had been learned. Everyone in the restaurant looked at the table in silence.

Juice twice had finally been served.

Hey guys. As I'm sure most of you know, it's currently Thanksgiving in Canada. This time of year for me has, in the past, caused a lot of issues in my life.

To give a little bit of background on me, I'm usually an extremely healthy and fit guy, as I play high-level sports and have a physically demanding job. However, for much of my life, my willpower began to crumble around this time of year.

I first started taking my diet seriously when I was about 12 years old. I had some kind of realization where like, I dunno, I started looking at how jacked these movie stars were and was all, "wow, I want to be that cool too." Judging by the bowl cut I had when I was 12, my perception of cool may have been a little skewed, but I digress.

Anyhow, it was my first Thanksgiving where everything started falling apart. One of my relative's families ended up no-showing for dinner, so we were left with a load of Thanksgiving leftovers. For the next week, every single meal or snack I had was Thanksgiving themed. Sandwich? Turkey sandwich. Breakfast? Let's dollop some cranberry sauce on that bad boy. By the next week, my BGC (blood gravy content) was probably at like 1.0%.

You'd think I'd be sick of holiday food after that. But no. I loved it.

The tradition of refrigerated Thanksgiving snacks continued throughout the rest of my teen years. Like clockwork, the numbers on the scale would significantly jump upwards in October, with Halloween candy adding an extra layer of calories on top. By the time I reached 17, my waist had begun noticeably ballooning, and I realized it was all due to Thanksgiving turkey. Sure, I had some at Christmas and sometimes at Easter, but never like that. My mother would encourage this habit, making more food each year to be stuffed into our packed refrigerator.

The movie star bod I wanted for so much at the age of 12 was slipping a way. I needed to put an end to this.

Flash forward to October 2015, age 18. I had made a vow: I never again would place such putrid poultry onto my tastebuds. And ever since that fateful week of 2014, my vow had held true.

Each Thanksgiving, I can feel that craving for chilled turkey knocking on the refrigerator door of my fragile ego. For three years, I've held strong. But when will the garrison fall? When will that soft, biting flesh of the big bird smash it's way back into my life.

But so far, I've quit cold turkey.

...we passed by a decorative stone speaker playing some music.

My three-year old: "What's that?"

Not wanting to let the moment slip I simply replied:

"Oh, that's just some rock music."

... on Friday night and parked in a zone that allowed 24 hour parking on weekends, but only 2 hour parking during the week. While he was there, a family member slipped something into his drink and sold him to a gang that traffics in frog legs. After the amputation he was taken to a hospital. He woke up to his mother telling him him the story you just read. He was a bit froggy from the sedatives, so he said "whaaaa?".

She replied: "I to'd you, toad, you got towed because you we're de-toed by de toad.

I was pushing our two year old along the street in her push chair and let an s-bomb slip by accident.

My wife says, "don't talk like that in front of our daughter!"

"It's fine, I'm walking behind her."

when there was a terrible accident. The fire in his forge had gone out of control and set fire to the shop. The blacksmith nearly lost his life. He was bedridden for many months and relied on the help of his children and grandchildren to feed him, bathe him, and take care of all of his needs. Eventually he was able to get back on his feet, though his outlook on life had turned quite grim. He was now able to take care of himself, but he had lost much of his strength and dexterity from the injuries he sustained and he was unable to practice his trade. He fell into a deep depression and he spent most of his days sitting at home in front of the fireplace gazing into the flames, longing for the days when his strong hands could grasp a hammer and strike a hot piece of iron, slowly forging it into a beautiful piece of work.

One evening when the old man was sitting in front of the fire, he heard a knock at the door. It was his granddaughter, whom he hadn't seen in many months. She had overheard her father talking to her mother about how her grandfather was slowly slipping away into depression and hopelessness and she wanted to help. To the old man's surprise, she had brought him a puppy. "I thought that since you're always here all by yourself that you might want someone you keep you company," the granddaughter said. The old man's eyes welled up with tears and the little puppy instantly jumped into his arms and began licking the tears from his face. The old man and his granddaughter spent the next several hours sitting on the floor of his house watching the puppy chase around a rubber ball, bouncing, jumping, panting, and licking. In that short time, the old man had made complete turnaround from being sad, lonely, and hopeless, to smiling from ear to ear, full of joy with his new-found companion. As the hours grew late and the puppy grew tired, the granddaughter said "Well Opa, I'm glad you like your puppy, but it's late and I should be heading home. By the way, what are you going to call him?" "Life," said the old man, "because he has given me a new meaning and joy to mine." The granddaughter kissed her grandfather on the cheek, wished him goodnight, and she left.

Many years passed and all the while, the old man and his little dog were inseparable. Everywhere the old man went, Life was always with him whether it was the post office, the grocery store, and even when the old man went to the barber shop, the little dog would sit patiently until the last hair on

Last summer, my girlfriend and I went camping. One of the days, we were having lunch by a river (a kind of a picnic sort of thing). Now, I talk a lot when I eat, so she finished eating waaaaay before I did. Once she was finished, she took to the water to cool off while I continued munching away.

Now, I guess she must have slipped or something, because all of a sudden I heard a cry and she was just gone. Washed away. I saw her head bob above the surface probably 20 yards downstream, and moving fast towards some rapids (probably 100-150 yards away). So I'm pretty panicked at this point, but she manages to grab onto a low-hanging branch (just like in a movie or something). She's coughing and sputtering and hollering for help, trying to keep a grip on the branch.

So, I set down my avocado I'd been snacking on and walked out into the water. "hurry! I can't hold on much longer," she's yelling. I kept walking towards her, but the bottom of the river was so muddy that it was probably pretty slow. She started to get angry with me "SWIM over here! Why are you walking? Please hurry!" She yelled, with great urgency. All in all, it took me probably 8 minutes to cover the 80 yards or so to get to her. After I rescued her, she was super mad for some reason. She was all "I almost died, why were you going so slow? Who does that? What's wrong with you?"

"Well," I said. "Good things are worth wading for."

There used to be two great punners. We were the best at what we did. And what we did was pun. There was me, a simple lad from a tiny backwater town and then there was him. A swarthy fellow from the land of the Armada, the Inquisition and the Conquistadors. A Spaniard he was, by both birth and spirit. We duelled relentlessly, always gaining ground only to see it slip away, a pun-of-war as it were. A seemingly eternal struggle for dominion. This endless struggle took its toll on both him and I, until I realized that it was time to stop. I chose to cede the mantle to him. And I will never go back to that life.

And so...

There will only be Juan.

Jim was working hard sawing wood. It was hot, his hands slippery with sweat and the saw slipped from his fingers and cut off all of his toes. No ambulences were available so he called a toe truck, but he got there too late. His toes could no longer be reattached. He could not walk right, so he could not work. He got workers comp but it wasn't enough. Worst of all, his wife was lack toes intolerant. She filed for separation. He looked online for solutions to his problems and found a post telling him where he may find an answer. It said "Go to the forest late at night and wait in the glade. There you will find the Great Toed. He is wise in these matters." Having nothing to lose he followed the instructions and reached the glade spoken of. There was a line drawn that said "wait here." And wait he did for over an hour, and just as he was about to leave, a many toed toad toed the other side of the line with a bag in tow. "Ask your question," it said in a raspy voice. So Jim related his tale of toe woes. After listening the many toed toad replied "Have you tried the supermarket?" Jim wondered how a supermarket would help but decided to give it a try. He went the next morning and walked down aisle after aisle and then he found it: The supermarket was giving away free toes. Elated, he grabbed as many bags of them as he could and checked each one. He found enough that fit, but needed to attach them. He went back to the glade for help getting the new toes attached, and the toad was happy to help. He helped attach the new toes and jim ran off (little did Jim know that the toad croaked soon after) He was able to walk normal again, his wife came back, he got his job back and everyone lived happily ever after.

Oh the punch line? It's over there by the table.

Today I was at a friends place. Somehow my friend slipped and fell in the kitchen and hit his head on the table. He obviously started cursing and yelling aloud, blood was flowing as well. Then his dad comes storming into the kitchen having been alarmed by the commotion, seeing spots of blood on the table, he then yells. "DON'T BREAK THE BLOODY TABLE!"