Stop And Stare Puns

A monk sits at the peak of a hill that overlooks where the grassy Earth meets a river, the river flows with a breeze, and the breeze explores a mountain range, and the mountains neighbor the sky, and the sky conceals the entire universe, hiding the unknown in plain sight. The monk exhales "Ooooomm". He repeats this until a noise, very faint, breaks his chant.

"moo."

The monk stops for a moment but, without changing his position, dismisses it. "Ooooooommm." He begins again.

He's interrupted again, "moooo."

The monk turns to find a cow looking up at him from the bottom of the hill. "Kind cow," the monk says, "please do not interrupt my meditation."

The cow stares blankly back at the monk. The monk sighs and continues.

"Oooooommmm-"

Even louder, "Mmmooooooooo."

"Dear cow, I must reach enlightenment. Please, refrain from making your cow noises or find another hill."

The monk continues again, "Oooooooommmm-"

"MMMmmoooooooooooO!" The cow exclaims.

The monk stands up angrily, "Cow! Why must you interrupt my chanting?"

The cow replies, "Because you're saying it backwards!"

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

It was a brisk Saturday morning when Gerald arrived at “The Café,” a hip coffee shop right down the street. Wearing his large, burly black coat, he stared hesitantly at his watch. Thick glasses adorned his bright blue eyes, his gaze like starlight in a clear night sky. He was waiting, intently twiddling his thumbs. After a buzz of his phone, the message from Dad popped up: “Parking now, be there in 5.”

“Dad,” he whispered under his breath, swiping the message away to once again reveal the image on his lock-screen: a hazy picture of an ultrasound.

Gerald had not spoken to his father for three years. They had had a falling out, over which he did not remember. To him it was a competition of who could wait the longest without calling or sending a text. Who could wait the longest: him without a father, or his father without a son? The idea of friction in the relationship hurt like a thorn; piercing his soul more and more everyday. Until recently, out of the blue, “Dad” popped up on his phone. The rest is history. The rest leads to that Saturday morning, at The Café.

Bang! A car door rang out not too far from where Gerald stood. Gerald saw him. His father wore his tweed jacket like a coat of armor. His strut was now weaker than before they stopped talking; a weakness evident in his cane which supported every right step. His shortly trimmed white beard juxtaposed against his uncut, curly grey hair gave him the image of a wise wizard from a fairytale. He used to be that figure to Gerald, yet instead of a nice ancient being acting like a stone to keep him grounded, Gerald had felt as though his father was a rock pulling him deeper and deeper into a sea of monotony. Holding him back from his true potential. Maybe that was why he left? He still did not know.

“Hello, son,” came the withered voice Gerald had sook for so long, yet now that it had arrived wanted to avoid. “I can’t believe it’s been so long!”

“Yeah,” said Gerald, allowing a smile to grace his face. “Too long!”

Then they hugged, signifying a change in their relationship. Gerald had hoped something could happen to bring them closer together. He did not want to go on wondering what could have been. The regret and sadness weighed him down. Before starting a new family, Gerald wanted to be reacquainted with his own.

After finding their table and sitting down, the two began to discuss life. It was like old friends catching up after a long break. Although it took some time, Gerald began to warm u

A man is walking into an expensive restaurant when he is stopped by the Maitre'D, who tells him that he can't be admitted without a necktie. The man, late for his appointment, runs back out to his car and searches high and low. Finally, out of desperation, he grabs a set of jumper cables, ties them into a rough knot around his neck and runs back into the restaurant. The Maitre'D stares at him for a few seconds and finally says, "Alright, I'll let you in..." and then leans in and says in a low growl, "but you'd better not try to start anything."

While walking down the street a man found a hundred dollars on the ground. Ecstatic, he took the money and walked into a nearby store, thinking he would treat himself. Inside, he purchased a large chocolate cake and started walking home. Suddenly, a crazy old man popped out of an alley next to him and ran straight past him! As he went by, he dropped a mechanical eyeball straight into the middle of the cake. Dazed, the man stopped and stared at the eyeball when it suddenly started to belt out a tune!

Well, obviously the best part of this story was the finding of the 100 dollars - everything else is just eye sing on the cake.

There was a 3 legged dog. After a long journey,the dog walks into a small mining town in the desert. In the town, there's a saloon, the type with the swinging doors.The dog walks through and stands in the entrance, everyone stops what they are doing and the saloon goes quiet...

The dog stares down the place and says,

"I'm Looking for the man who shot my Paw."

Last night at supper, this interchange occurred (it helps if you know we're from Oklahoma and speak with an Oklahoma drawl): Wife: "Come on little bug, and get some supper." Daughter: "Did you just call me a bug." Me (quickly looking at my wife): "Who is Mia Bugg, and why do ya have her phone number?"

Both wife and daughter stopped and stared at me for about 10 seconds, then slowly shook their heads and walked past me.

Dad and I are leaving Home Depot and cross paths with a gentleman carrying some 2x4s over his shoulder through the crosswalk. He stops the car and turns to me with, "Looks like he's... walking the plank." Dad literally cant drive the car because he's doubled over the steering wheel crying. All I can do is meet the stares of fellow shoppers with the deadpan face of one who has just been dad-joked. I will become him one day.

Had the 3 kids in the back of the car while we were on the freeway in the carpool lane. As we entered a tunnel I started screaming and as we exited the tunnel I stopped. The kids all stared at me and I very calmly explained that I had carpool tunnel syndrome. Lots of rolling eyes after that.

I was walking in Glasgow waiting to meet my girl and a charity worker stopped me to talk, I read his shirt and it said something about deaf people. So when he started talking and wanted a respsonse I just said "Sorry I couldn't hear you". I was expecting a giggle atleast. Nope, cold stare.

The family and I stopped in at local store to buy some things. Driving home from store I hear an "oh no!" from the back seat. My daughter was holding a new bottle of bleach on her lap and I guess the lid wasn't on tight and it spilled a little on her skirt. We get home and she and my wife are working diligently on trying to prevent any stains from forming on her black skirt.

Me: "I hope you understand if I say I hope things don't turn out all white"

Wife: disgusted and odd stare in my direction.

Daughter: "What?"

They continued to ignore me the rest of the evening. I guess I failed; or maybe succeeded.

...And one of the player's name is "Miskin" (Polish setter for Jasztrebski-Wegiel, a very well known club in Poland and Europe). Us being Indonesian, the word "miskin" means "poor" as in not having money.

So during the whole game my dad would say stuff like:

• "How come does he play in a prestigious club and still end up being poor?"

• "Maybe if he gets his paycheck they will finally write "Rich" ("Kaya" in Indonesian) on his jersey."

And other phrases I managed to forget.

When he says them, my mom who isn't watching, would stop whatever she was doing to raise her head to stare into the emptiness and shake her head.

I work at a "field house" before home football games, serving beer n' what not, and a large chunk of what I make is off of tips that come in envelopes. As I pick my envelope of tips up I hear a jingle of coins inside of the envelope. Dramatically I stop and stare at my boss,

"Everything okay?" - boss

"Yeah everything is fine, I just didn't expect this much change in my life."

The surrounding co-workers groaned at the joke, but as I am leaving a lone drunkard walks up to me, gives me a high five, and congratulates me on fatherhood.

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!

The CIA had changed its recruiting practices, what with all the recent leaks and other problems. So Mr. Johnson was more than a little surprised to see a pine tree, which was dressed in a rather nice suit, waiting outside his office when he arrived at 9 am. He asked his secretary, "Gladys, who is this?"

"Mr. Johnson, this is Mr. Cone, our newest hire. He wanted to talk with you about the Honduras assignment."

Mr. Johnson spoke to Mr. Cone in his office. His new pine tree colleague was very knowledgeable and well-spoken, but there was something about him that threw Mr. Johnson off. He tried to dismiss his concerns as imaginary, but it gnawed at him all through the morning. He barely touched his lunch, as some of the things Mr. Cone had said were still swirling around and around in his mind. He was sure something was wrong, so he went in to see the head of their office branch, Mr. Smith.

"Johnson! Come right in, come right in," said Mr. Smith, puffing on a cigar. Mr. Johnson poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and sipped at it nervously.

"You're being rather quiet today, Johnson. Tell me, what's troubling you?"

"It's just this new guy, Mr. Cone," Mr. Johnson said carefully, staring at the bottom of his whiskey glass. "Are we sure we know him as well as we think we do?"

Mr. Smith took only a small puff from his cigar before letting his hand rest back on his desk. "Now really, Johnson," he sighed, "you're a good agent. Your caution has served you well in the past, but paranoia doesn't look so good on you. Mr. Cone has the most impressive resumé I've seen come across my desk in the last fifteen years. I've personally had him vetted by the best men in the business. He's going to be an asset to this office."

That was the response Mr. Johnson had been afraid of getting, but he continued to press his cause. "I understand that, sir. It's just that I'm getting the strangest feeling from this Cone fellow. Don't you think he's a little too perfect? A little too well-qualified?"

Mr. Smith stopped smoking his cigar altogether. A distant look came into his eyes as he mulled over the possibilities. "You don't suppose--"

"Yes," said Mr. Johnson, "I think he's a plant."

Note: I'm a mom, not a dad, but I'm pretty sure I only thought of this because my father-in-law tortures me with these kinds of stories almost constantly.

My wife and I were at the supermarket, when she looks at the list and announces "Oh, we need some juice concentrate."

I of course respond instantly by staring intently in the distance and stop walking.

She walks a few paces then looks at me confused. "Why did you stop walking?"

"You said we need concentrate."

"I know but..." then there's a long pause as she finally gets the joke. She responds by glaring at me and slapping the crap out of my shoulder.

Baby thought it was funny at least.

Me: (stopped and stared for a second then) "Is that new?"

Co-worker: "Yes it is, trying to get healthy... what do you think?!"

Me: "That's out-standing!"

Dad and I walk into minor hockey league stadium. He sees the Chuck-A-Puck booth, stops me and say "if we move up to the big leagues they'll change the name to Charles-A-Puck".

My brain couldn't decide if I should laugh or just roll my eyes so I did neither and just stared blankly. It did not phase him.