A list of puns related to "The Progressive"
Viscosity, because they’re resistant to Flo
It's Flo Rida
That's Snow Joke
We were better than The Cure
In fact, the key reason is to make it much easier for an omnibus to pass !
He said: No, we haven't even got any leads.
And don't forget constitution.
I’m worried about my cousin. He’s 28 with a good job. Has a lot in common with me (nerdy habits: board games, gaming conventions, anime etc). Unfortunately I have recently learned that he is one of those poor souls obsessed with Belle Delphine. Apparently it started out innocently enough. My cousin is into cosplay. He’s into girls. Ooh, there’s cosplay girls on the internet? What began as a YouTube channel subscription and a few dozen likes on Instagram has progressed into something much more serious. This man is spending money. My cousin’s social media accounts have recently featured pictures of him with his Belle Delphine merch. T-shirts, body pillows, there’s even some kind of bed spread/comforter with her googly-eyed tongue-outy face on it. Did you know that Belle Delphine briefly partnered with Tom’s shoes for a limited edition series of footwear? I knew that, because my cousin won’t shut up about how he bought them all. He’s got at least three jars of dirty bath water and a gaming keyboard with her face on it. It’s really sad. I think the isolation of the pandemic really exacerbated his behavior. He says that he and Belle are destined to be together. For my part, I’m telling him that this isn’t healthy behavior, and I’m encouraging him to seek counseling. I’m convinced he has a mental health issue like Obsessive Love Disorder or Erotomania. Afterall, he does have all of the Simp Toms.
The student responded: 'thank you for asking, i'm doing excellent.'
Of course it does. Software needs to get better over a number of years and you can’t rush the progress.
Chrome wasn’t built in a day!
Authorities are saying it's race-related.
I'm quite the music history buff- always have been. My first inkling as a college student was to explore turning this into a career. So I found a music museum, wrote an impassioned essay, and somehow landed the 12-week internship.
When I got there, I met the curator, a woman named Rhonda. Like me, she had grown up enjoying music and always wanting to know more. Thanks to grants and donors' generosity, she had helped continue the museum's legacy of showcasing what might otherwise be lost to history.
The tradition of the museum had always been to let the interns work in the orchestral wing. My assignment in particular was the string section.
Now I didn't know a whole lot about the string family, but I saw some really fine specimens and decided we could perhaps tell a broader story about the progression of the instruments. And so I began studying.
After about a week of studying, I went to Rhonda and asked if we could do something different here. She was very receptive to the idea and introduced me to her assistant, Dr. Will. His PhD was in history, natch, but he still relished having everyone call him Doctor. It was funny.
Dr. Will helped me learn so much about how the family of instruments developed over time, their overall cultural footprint, etc.
Did you know a fiddle and a violin are the same thing? Did you know the viola family dates back to the 16th C.? Vivaldi wrote 25 cello concertos!
I dazzled visitors with tales of the Stradivarius, Amati and Guarneri families. I noted the increase in neck length over time. I reassured them that despite the name catgut, no cat intestines were used in the creation of these instruments—but it sure might be sheep or goat.
Sadly, 12 weeks goes by quickly when you're having fun, and I got enthusiastic letters of recommendation from Rhonda and Dr. Will, and I do miss them. Hello, you two.
I figured I could waltz (sorry) right in to more museum jobs later, but boy, was I mistaken.
I kept interviewing for the job, but after about the 10th cold shoulder, I had to find out what I was doing wrong. I had done such a good job, after all, right??????
So I fucking called the museum
got the guy who interviewed me on the line—and he wasn't thrilled to even talk to me. But I asked him, sir, why didn't I even get a call back? Weren't my qualifications good?
He said, yes, BUT.......
"...we simply can't hire someone who has exhibited a history of violins."
(do I really need to spell this one out?)
They did Nazi that coming.
A sea captain hunted for his white whale for decades. When he finally came upon it, a storm roared to life and began to toss his ship to and fro. A cannon came loose and crushed his leg.
He got the whale, and left behind a legacy.
((Work in progress. Just came to me during a conversation over a game of cards. Feedback welcome.))
Daughter: "Dad, maybe you don't update our progress every mile?"
Me: "Actually, I'm updating our progress every .1 of a mile. Does that make you tenth?"
Earned me the coveted groan with double eye roll...
In my opinion we should beat the shit out of constipated people because:
Laxatives are an unhealthy way of dealing with feces. On the other hand, beating the shit out of someone is a good way to practice sports activities like, running, grip strength, punching techniques etc.
Other methods of dealing with feces take alot of money. Laxatives aren't cheap in our flawed healthcare system! On the other hand, there are people that are willing to pay you to beat the shit out of you. By using this method you can become richer and deal with your shitty problems.
Constipation requires being in the bathroom for a long time. This can be very lonely for the people involved. However, beating the shit out of others can be done in any place. Your home, the local park, or even the shady street corner! Not only that it's a very social activity, requiring a minimum of at least 2 people, but usually done in groups of 2-5 people.
Although some people might say, that beating the shit out of each other is violent, most of them have never been to a public toilet and hence are unable to realize how much more painful and violent the alternative is.
In summery, beating the shit out of people is a good, legitimate, and affordable alternative to laxatives and is a better, more progressive way, to deal with constipation.
As they sat at their table, taking photos of their food for social media, one of the photographers realized he hadn't been given water. He approached the bar and asked for a glassful, with which the bartender obliged. Rather than immediately leaving, he stood there and stared at the bartender for a moment before returning to his seat.
Soon enough, he found himself thirsty again, and took another trip to the bar, and once again stared at the bartender. This happened again and again throughout the night, with the bartender becoming progressively more frustrated by the photographers persistent requests for glasses of water and uncomfortable stares. Finally, on the photographers fifteenth trip, the bartender loses his cool and yells, "Take a pitcher, it'll last longer!"
The vampire, being hundreds of years old, had decided to conduct an experiment to see which career path was the most rewarding. He had every degree and certification you could imagine, but he settled on a surprising choice: cleaning mirrors.
When questioned, he said, "There's something about cleaning a mirror that just speaks to me. Not only can you see your progress as you go, I just know I'm helping someone see their true selves, for better or worse. I'm as surprised as you are, it's not a job I could ever see myself doing."
I'm here today to tell you all a horrible story, so that none of you have to go through the same experience as my friend.
My friend, Hugh, is a very religious man, who is also involved in our community. 2 weeks ago, our local church burned down and Hugh believed it was his Christian duty to help them get back on their feet. Hugh allowed the friars of the church to set up a cart in his mall to sell their flowers. Every day, the friars came in at 7:00 in the morning with a bushel of beautiful flowers and began to work diligently to arrange them into bouquets. All was going well, the mall was generating more revenue and the church was making more money than they were by selling the flowers in front of the church on Sunday. Everyone was happy; until that first weekend.
Our town is kinda tourist-y, so we get some out-of-towners on the weekends. A gay couple came to the mall the first weekend that the friars had taken up shop (Typically, our town is pretty progressive, but the friars tended to be uber-conservative). The couple came over to the cart and admired the flowers; they tried to purchase a bouquet, but the friars refused to sell to them. The couple was outraged and went to see Hugh directly. They complained to him that the friars were being discriminatory, so Hugh promised to have a talk with the friars. When Hugh confronted the friars, they refused to sell to the couple on the grounds that “they were committing an atrocity in the eyes of the lord.” The couple stormed off and promised to boycott the cart.
This past weekend, the couple came back with a large group and a letter from the mayor, saying that the friars had to sell to them, regardless of sexual preference. The friars stood firm and refused to sell to them, so the group started a protest. They brought in signs and started chanting around the cart. The friars continued to sell their flowers and Hugh allowed them to remain, so eventually the protest began to boycott the mall, rather than just the cart.
By today, the mall had lost 50% of its normal weekend revenue. The group sent a letter to Hugh saying that they could forgive him if he shut down the flower cart within the week. Hugh was pretty broken up, but he had no choice. To maintain his livelihood, he would have to kick the friars out of his store. He talked with the friars this morning and revoked their previous agreement. The friars had their cart packed and left by 7:30, to huge cheers from the community. The mall has been pretty norm
... keep reading on reddit ➡My lady and I workout together during the week. Yesterday was chest day and we usually start with incline DB press. She pumps out her second set very well: controlled reps, full range of motion. I was proud to see her progress. She said the weight felt easy, to which I replied, "you could increase the weight... if you were so inclined." She muttered "oh my goodness..." and walked away.
A Call to Arms A Plead to the Limbless
The Armless are a stump among society and could easily achieve more. It’s bothersome that somebody with great potential could allow themselves to lose grip of what they aspire for. The radius of support and development that surrounds these people is astounding. Yet they bite the hand that feeds and throw away opportunities. With each passing day they are crippled by the errors in their ways. Not only are they not properly handling the situation, they are doing a disservice to society. Most will say to refrain from pointing fingers, but it is pertinent that we show them their faults.
All aside we should most certainly not try to elbow my way into their lives. However, if they were to branch off into their own progressive groups it would be most beneficial. And severance is a good thing between them and the public. This doesn't mean a complete amputation of them from society. Perhaps selective assistance will help these people find a well fitted sleeve within their communities. This process is difficult and lending a helping hand can make the difference.
On the other hand, we have those who don’t try to succeed. Their negligence is worthy of more than a mere slap on the wrist. When somebody refuses to apply themselves, they are holding back progress. By giving themselves mental limitation they are creating a prosthetic disability they must abide by. The majority of working to achieve goals is believing you can reach out and grab them. But, somebody who gives up is cutting themselves short of success Seeing somebody give up is the furthest thing from being humerus. Urging these people is a necessity, otherwise they will never try their hardest, encourage them to use some elbow grease and put forth full effort. Any small contribution is better than being a detriment, community service, obtaining greater education, enlisting in the armed forces, these all benefit society. Drastic changes of this scale are sure to cause discontent, grab a tissue if need be, but never give up. For all those that are currently wasting away without contribution, it's time to limb’er up and take charge.
A man gets a new job at the zoo.
On his first day, he still doesn't really understand what exactly he's meant to do, just that it involves the Gorillas. He goes and checks in and the manager sits him down to explain.
"Now look," says the manager, "We've been having some troubles lately with our gorilla. He was acting up, getting really agitated with the environment, so we had to send him away. We told the people that enclosure's being repaired, but we're actually looking for a new gorilla - can you do it for us?"
The man is unsure, but he needs the money, so he agrees, puts on a gorilla suit and goes out there. At first he's a bit mopey, so he sits around a lot.
After a couple of days he begins to warp up and eats a couple of bananas and wanders around a little.
Over the course of the next few weeks he becomes progressively more outgoing, moving around, playing in the jungle gym, hollering around and beating his chest. He's a big hit and everything's going really well for him, until one day he's on his monkey bars and getting really into it, but he slips and flies through the air, over the pit, clears the fence and lands in a pile of bushes in the next enclosure.
He is just beginning to pick himself up, when out of the corner of his eye, he sees something in the foliage.
A pair of eyes lock with his.
It moves closer.
He knows this is it.
He begins to pray.
Suddenly the creature leaps and tackles him - the biggest, ugliest lion he's ever seen!
It leans in close.
He can see every gleaming tooth in it's mouth
He can smell the lion's breath
It opens it's mouth
And from inside the lion he hears a whisper.
"Make this good or we'll both lose our jobs."
Dad: The time is the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.
I'm currently running my players through a D&D adventure titled "Curse of Strahd".
Last session, my players found a journal revealing details about the main villain, Count Strahd Von Zarovich. When they acquired it, I passed the adventure book over--opened up to an illustration depicting the journal's pages--and one of the players proceeded to read. After struggling for a bit, he said, "I'm having a tough time reading this cause it's so cursive."
Yes," I responded. "It's the cursive Strahd."
I had that one chambered and ready for weeks, just waiting for the right moment.
What my players don't know is that I'm also going to include a few other bits of flavor for my them to find as they progress through the game:
A group of us were walking by a building expansion that's been under construction for a while when one of my coworkers said, "Look! They're installing the large glass windows on the front!"
I couldn't help but say, "I guess that's a pretty clear indicator they're making progress!"
There may or may not have been a face palm afterwards.
So I had a great chain of old jokes today in my morning meeting.
I started with "I bought a violin from a one armed seller yesterday. He said he played it by ear".
As the meeting progressed, I realized I could chain additional jokes together. 10 minutes later I followed up with it, "That one armed violin seller... he has a sister named Katrina. She's missing a leg so she likes to call herself I-Lean". The room laughed and there were many people who said "that's kinda wrong".
Then I followed up with, "Well she's not as bad off as her dad. The dad's missing two legs. When he goes in the swimming pool, they call him Bob."
And then I finished with, "But he still likes to water ski. When he does, they call him Skip".
It's funny because it all chains together.
My 2.5-year-old son was singing Old MacDonald in the car and decided to be a little silly by having each verse be a progressive number of mittens on his farm.
When he got to five mittens, I asked him, "Why would he need so many mittens? How many hands does he have?"
While my son was thinking it over, my wife replied, "They are for all of his farmhands."
I picked up a head cold from my toddler and was worried about it progressing to something worse. Texted my doc, and he said to come in ASAP. That afternoon, he prescribed for me some cough meds, and a nasal steroid to help with the blockage.
I get home, and after putting the still-snotty kiddo to bed, my wife and I retreated to the boudoir to talk and relax. She wanted to know what Doc prescribed. She gave me the perfect setup for a dad joke.
Me: Oh, some pearls and codeine for the cough, and a steroid spray for my nose.
Wife: Where is it?
Me: (pointing at nose) It's right here in the middle of my face.
She laughed. Good thing we were far enough away we didn't wake up the kid.
I'm not sure if this qualifies as a dad joke, but... Whenever I missed school in my childhood or had to have something signed, like a progress report, I would usually have my mom sign it. The few times I forgot where she had already left for work, I would have my dad sign it. I would never look at it and just rush off to the bus. I would get to school and hand it into my teacher and she would look at me like I was an idiot and hand me the paper back:
"To whomever it may concern, Robrak was ill yesterday, please excuse his absence.
Abraham Lincoln"
My son is 14 but he still picks his nose. A lot. He also eats it after. A lot. Grosses me out to the extreme, so I rib him about it hoping he'll stop, even using bribery, but no progress yet.
A couple of nights ago I saw him doing it again out of the corner of my eye, then he suddenly got up and ran into the kitchen for a napkin. Yup, bloody nose, no surprise there.
"Find what you were digging for?" I asked him.
"No," he says. "I was digging for gold but struck oil."
[Discussing my plans to progressively steal more & more of my old Lego from my parents place]
Me: So this stuff I took was mostly technic pieces coz my nephew is way to young to understand how it all works
Her: But it's still harsh to be taking it - what about when he does become old enough for it?
Me: This is my plan for the future & the Lego which will go to our own children eventually... Call it... my legocy!!
[Wife makes one of the loudest dad joke groans I've ever heard]
My girlfriend was having trouble updating the soundcard driver on her computer, and no matter how long she waited the update made no progress.
GF: I'm so frustrated with this driver.
Me: Did he not signal?
My wife has been keeping me updated on her progress and told me, "It's 12 weeks today and my uterus moved!"
I asked, "Did you get the security deposit?"
Me, trailing from a conversion in progress: "... Sounds like the holocaust"(Said Hole-ih-cost in my accent)
Her: "Holy-caust?"
Me: "Holy-cost. How much does being holy cost?"
Her: "Six million Jews."
Congress.
is progress the opposite of congress?
Then the opposite of “progress” is “Congress”
(Dads can be woke too)
it must mean Congress is the opposite of progress?!
Is Congress the opposite of progress?
... what is the opposite of progress?
I know. Mind = Blown.
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