Swing Over Puns

A shop keeper asks him what he is doing and he replies "Taking a look around."

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

After a few days of doing this, he realizes he is simply not fit for this type of job. On his final day of trying to chop down trees, he notices an old scrawny man chopping down trees as if he was a woodpecker, the amount of hits he made grew more and more each swing. The first swing was one hit, the next, ten hits, the next one, a hundred hits, and the next one after that, a thousand. He kept swinging until the tree he was swinging at was chopped down. Amazed, the young man walks over to the old man and asks, "Sir, what is your secret, how do you chop them down so quickly?"

The old man turns and says, "It's all about the rhythm." Puzzled by the old man's answer, the young man returned home pondering what he said.

The next morning, he was motivated to keep trying to be a lumberjack. "If an old scrawny man can do it, so can I!" he thought.

So he went back to the forest, and tried to use his advice. Trying to time each swing, he realizes this simply doesn't work. Later in the day, he sees the old man again, comes up to him, and asks, "I tried to time my swings, but it does no more than just chopping normally. How do you do it?"

"You can't just make up any old rhythm and follow it, you have to find a very specific one," he says, "you have to find the Logger-rhythm."

He slams the door and returns to bed.

"Who was that?" asked his wife.

"Just some drunk guy asking for a push." he answers.

"Did you help him?" she asks.

"No, I did not! It's three in the morning and it's pouring out!"

"Well, you have a short memory." says his wife. "Can't you remember about three months ago when we broke down and those two guys helped us? I think you should help him and you should be ashamed of yourself!"

The man does as he is told, gets dressed, and goes out into the pounding rain.

He calls out into the dark, "Hello, are you still there?"

"Yes." comes back the answer.

"Do you still need a push?" calls out the husband.

"Yes, please!" comes the reply from the dark.

"Where are you?" asks the husband.

"Over here, on the swing."

My mom was in surgery about a half hour away, and my dad was with her. Once her surgery was over, my dad texted me and told me that she was alright. I said I was going to swing by to see her. He said the drugs were still hitting her pretty hard, and that no matter what she asked for, she was only allowed to have clear liquids. Naturally, I asked him if this means vodka is a go. His response: Absolutly.

My youngest daughter hates wearing shoes to the point where I hardly ever see them on her. As a result she often loses them. A few weekends ago my girlfriend dropped me and the kids off at the local outdoor pool so we could get some energy out before a long drive to see family. As expected my youngest barely made it out of the parking lot with her shoes on, and as soon as we hit the grass by the pool she kicked them off and we all ran into the water to play and stuff.

I looked up at that big incomprehensible clock they have at swimming pools and saw that we were running late for that long drive, so we fled the pool rushed around getting dressed, only to discover one ... one of her shoes was missing. I was like ... how the hell do you lose one shoe? So we looked all around, then we went to the lost and found. Strangely there were several other single shoes in the lost and found but not hers. We went back and I called her mom to see if we could swing by and grab a spare pair of shoes.

Some kid next to us overheard me on the phone and said, "Hey did you lose a shoe?" I said, " ... yeah ...?" He said, "Yeah I found it over here -- " pointing like 10 feet away -- " so I took it to the cashier's office." (not the lost and found). My oldest daughter, always helpful, ran to the cashier's office and got the shoe, and all was well! We were only about 20 minutes late. Afterwards I was pondering what I could have done to avoid all that and then it hit me. I just needed to make sure that after my kids take off their shoes they are all in one place.

In other words I had just failed to put shoe and shoe together.

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

I was walking through the store and nearly bumped into him so I apologized. His response follows:

"That reminds of the guy that went to Wal-Mart with his dog. He walks inside and starts swinging the dog around over his head. The manager run over screaming, 'Hey buddy what are you doing with that dog? Cut it out!' And the guy says back 'Oh you don't understand. This is my seeing eye dog. I was just taking a look around!'"

Then he walked away cackling to himself.

After a few days of doing this, he realizes he is simply not fit for this type of job. On his final day of trying to chop down trees, he notices an old scrawny man chopping down trees as if he was a woodpecker, the amount of hits he made grew more and more each swing. The first swing was one hit, the next, ten hits, the next one, a hundred hits, and the next one after that, a thousand. He kept swinging until the tree he was swinging at was chopped down. Amazed, the young man walks over to the old man and asks, "Sir, what is your secret, how do you chop them down so quickly?"

The old man turns and says, "It's all about the rhythm." Puzzled by the old man's answer, the young man returned home pondering what he said.

The next morning, he was motivated to keep trying to be a lumberjack. "If an old scrawny man can do it, so can I!" he thought.

So he went back to the forest, and tried to use his advice. Trying to time each swing, he realizes this simply doesn't work. Later in the day, he sees the old man again, comes up to him, and asks, "I tried to time my swings, but it does no more than just chopping normally. How do you do it?"

"You can't just make up any old rhythm and follow it, you have to find a very specific one," he says, "you have to find the Logger-rhythm."

...and he starts swinging his guide dog around over his head.

“What on earth are you doing?!” the bartender asks.

“I’m just having a look around,” explains the blind man.

The man gets up and goes to the door, where a drunken stranger, standing in the pouring rain, is asking for a push.

"Not a chance!" says the husband. "It's three o'clock in the morning!"

He slams the door and returns to bed.

"Who was that?" asked his wife.

"Just some drunk guy asking for a push." he answers.

"Did you help him?" she asks.

"No, I did not! It's three in the morning and it's pouring out!"

"Well, you have a short memory." says his wife. "Can't you remember about three months ago when we broke down and those two guys helped us? I think you should help him and you should be ashamed of yourself!"

The man does as he is told, gets dressed, and goes out into the pounding rain.

He calls out into the dark, "Hello, are you still there?"

"Yes." comes back the answer.

"Do you still need a push?" calls out the husband.

"Yes, please!" comes the reply from the dark.

"Where are you?" asks the husband.

"Over here, on the swing."

A man and his wife are awakened at 3 o'clock in the morning by a loud pounding on the door. The man gets up and goes to the door where a drunken stranger stands in the pouring down rain.

"Can you give me a push?" he asks while hanging onto the door frame.

"Not a chance" says the husband -- "It's 3 o'clock in the morning!". He slams the door and returns to bed.

"Who was it?" asks his wife.

"Just some drunk wanting a push" he answers.

"Did you help him?" she asks.

"No, I didn't -- it's three in the morning and raining like crazy out."

"Well, you have a short memory" says his wife. "Can't you remember about three months ago when we broke down on vacation and those two strangers helped us? I think you should help him."

The man does as he is told and gets dressed and goes out into the pounding rain and calls out into the dark, "Hello, are you still there?"

"Yes," comes the answer.

"Do you still want a push?" calls out the husband.

"Yes, please!" comes the reply from the dark.

"Where are you?" asks the husband.

"Over here on the swing!" the drunk replies.