The Way You Are Puns

She said, “Yeah.”

I said, “I knew it!”

- "Shut up and swim."

They get into a huge fight about the best way to start the camp fire.

The two sit in silence for a few moments, cold and frustrated

The dad promptly reaches into his backpack, grabs a pair of scissors and tears into the wall of their canvas shelter.

The son yells, "What the heck are you doing, you maniac?!!?!?"

The dad turns to him, looks him dead in the eyes, and says, "Just trying to cut the tent-son."

He found his way to the men's department where a young lady offered to help him. "Quiero calcetines," said the man.

"I don't speak Spanish, but we have some very nice suits over here," said the salesgirl. "No, no quiero trajes. Quiero calcetines," said the man.

"Well, these shirts are on sale this week," declared the salesgirl. "No, no quiero camisas. Quiero calcetines," repeated the man.

"I still don't know what you're trying to say. We have some fine pants on this rack," offered the salesgirl. "No, no quiero pantalones. Quiero calcetines," insisted the man.

"These sweaters are top quality," the salesgirl probed. "No, no quiero sueter. Quiero calcetines," said the man.

"Our undershirts are over here," fumbled the salesgirl, beginning to lose patience. "No, no quiero camisetas. Quiero calcetines," the man repeated.

As they passed the underwear counter, the man spotted a display of socks and happily grabbed a pair. Holding them up he proclaimed, "¡Eso sí que es!"

"Why didn't you just spell it in the first place?!" yelled the salesgirl.

Six hasn't been the same since he left Vietnam. Every time he closes his eyes, he's sees Charlie hiding in the darkness of the forest. Not that you could ever see those bastards, mind you. They were fast and they knew their way around the jungle. He remembers the looks on the boy's faces when they walked into that village and... oh Jesus. He shouldn't think about that now. Sometimes he still hears Tex's slow southern drawl. He remembers the smell of Brooklyn's cigarettes. He always had a pack of Luckys. But the boys are gone now... he knows that. It's--it's just that he forgets sometimes. And sometimes the way that seven looks at him... it makes him think. Sets him on edge. And he feels like he's back there... In the jungle... In the darkness.

Seven has a hook for a hand as well, which is very scary. Six is afraid of Seven because he is a damn psychopath.

I did some yardwork yesterday and after doing so I sat down and had a cold beer. The day was really quite beautiful, and the drink facilitated some deep thinking. My wife walked by and asked me what I was doing, and I said, "Nothing." The reason I said "nothing" instead of saying "just thinking" is because she then would have asked, "About what?" At that point I would have had to explain that men are deep thinkers about various topics, which would lead to other questions. Finally I pondered an age old question: Is giving birth more painful than getting kicked in the nuts? Women always maintain that giving birth is way more painful than a guy getting kicked in the nuts, but how could they know? Well, after another beer, and some more heavy deductive thinking, I have come up with an answer to that question. Getting kicked in the nuts is more painful than having a baby, and even though I obviously couldn't really know, here is the reason for my conclusion: A year or so after giving birth, a woman will often say, "It might be nice to have another child." But you never hear a guy say, "You know, I think I would like another kick in the nuts." I rest my case. Time for another beer.

There was, for instance, the time he conducted a crew of new S.A.R.H. (Society for the Aesthetic Rearrangement of History -BJ) recruits – all from late twentieth-century Terra – on a training study of Carter’s World, a newly established agricultural colony attempting to support itself by the export of edible nuts. Barely into their second generation, and having yet to show a profit, the colonists were technologically backward. Nevertheless, they showed a surprising ingenuity in the use of their few advantages. It was this resourcefulness that Feghoot was demonstrating to his rookies.

“Look at the perfection with which these streets are graded”, exclaimed one student. “Earth-moving machinery on this scale is strictly high technology stuff. How can they do it?”

“A new alleyway is being constructed, nearby”, said Feghoot. “Let us walk that way while I explain.” As they strolled, he told his students that countless centuries before, the Carter’s World system had been inhabited by a now-vanished race of giants. This very planet had served them for a nursery, and among the many artifacts they had left were thousands of childrens blocks, immense and precision-cut. You simply jack one up onto logs, bring it where you want it, put collapsible jacks underneath, snake out the logs, spread soil more or less evenly beneath, and collapse the jacks.

“I see”, said the student. “It’s not graded road at all; its a simple hammered-earth base.”

“That’s right,” Feghoot went on smoothly. “You just hit the road jack and don’t come back no mo.”

His students registered dismay and anguish.

“Isn’t that right, old-timer?,” Feghoot demanded of an ancient Carterian standing by the mouth of the newly completed alley they had just reached.

“Ahm afraid not, suh”, said the senior citizen, and the students giggled at Feghoots discomfiture. “Oh, we used to do it that way, but it was far too much trouble. It’s the soil heah. You see, the very same soil which produced our famous cashews is so high in clay content that a child could roll out a road of it. Then, we simply use a system of lenses to bake it into hardness. Ahve just completed this alley mahself, and ahm just a retired professor of Sports History, much too old and feeble to handle hydraulic jacks.

“So you see,” he finished, eyes twinkling, “Mah hammered alley is really cashews clay.”

Howls of agony rose from the students, but Feghoot never hesitated. “And he”, he said, turning to his students, “is clearly the gradi

This isn't a dad joke. This is a thank you to everyone on this subreddit. 6 weeks ago the love of my life broke things off with me due to factors attributed to my mental health (which i didn't tell her about because she is struggling with uni and i didn't want her to worry) and I've been having an extremely difficult time coming to terms with it. She's falling for another guy while I've been self destructing to the point where she never wants to talk to me again. But i found this subreddit today, the jokes are so stupid and funny that for the first time since before the breakup, I've laughed and it was genuine. Thank you so much for your stupid jokes. You've saved my life as far as I'm concerned. I still have a long way to to, but this subreddit is definitely going to get me through it. Thank you 💖

My dad worked in construction for most of his life, and because he worked with his hands, he sacrificed many watches. But if you don't have a watch, how are you to tell time? My dad has a great sense of humor and is always thinking of new ways to do things to make them more practical or thinking of ways to change things to make them work better for him. So after spending way too much money on a heavy duty watch that inevitably broke on him, he came up with a better solution.

He used the working part of a clock and stuck it on the inside rim of his hat, so if he wanted to know what the time was, he just had to look up. Simple. And the way his hat was, you couldn't see the clock when looking at him unless you were underneath him and looking up.

And then came the funny part. Every time he was asked what time it was, he would look up at the sun, scan the horizon, pretend to do a math equation in his head, and tell them the exact time down to the minute. I've witnessed him doing this a few times but never gave it away. The look of surprise and confusion this gave people was priceless.

My dad had done other funny things like this, but this was by far the funniest.

The teacher asks the class, “ there are five birds on a power line, and you shoot two of them, how many are left?”

Johnny replies, “ none the rest flew away when they heard the shot.”

The teacher says, “ no three are left but I like the way you think.”

So then Johnny says, “ let me ask you a question. There are three women eating ice cream, one licking it, one sucking it, and one biting it, which ones married?”

The teacher says, “ the one sucking?”

Johnny says, “ no the one with the wedding ring but I like the way you think.”

She said “what are you doing? What is that noise?” I said “I’ve been screwing around behind your back.” She whipped around in shock and saw me, screwdriver in hand, screwing in the outlet cover.

I found it way more entertaining then she did.

The poster reads:

"Must be able to type. Must be able to program. And must be bilingual. We are an equal opportunity employer."

The dog takes the poster in his mouth, and walks in. The manager spots the dog, and decides to humour it, pulling up a chair and a computer with a word processor. "Alright, if you want to work here, you need to first write a letter," and leaves the room.

30 minutes later, he comes back in, and the dog has typed out a completely error-free letter.

"Well, I'll be. This is a smart dog. But can he program?" he asks himself.

20 minutes pass, and the dog has made a perfectly running website for the store.

He looks, shocked, at the dog, and finally speaks. "Look, I know you have the qualifications, but, well... you're a dog."

The dog nudges the words "We are an equal opportunity employer." on the poster, and the manager sighs.

"There's no way you're bilingual."

The dog looks him in the eyes, and says, "Meow."

Dissatisfied with the style of life that he found there, The Monk decides to move into a suburban neighborhood and start up his own line of work. Being trained in the peaceful ways he gets on very well with his neighbours who eventually notice that he has a very strange profession. Despite being very strong and very philosophical The Monk elects to repeatedly visit places with broken fences and remove and replace them.

One day has neighbour approaches him and asks, "with the physical strength and mental capacity that you seem to have, are you not interested in a more physically or mentally challenging job?"

To which The Monk replies, "but everybody knows reposting gives you the most karma."

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

"Hey, barkeep!" he says, struggling to keep control of his quarry. "Any room for me and my friends?"

The bartender smiles and sets down some plastic cups. The man plops his friends inside, but the cups are too small.

"Um...barkeep?" the man says, pulling them out again. The bartender reaches for some larger mugs, but as he places them next to the cups, it becomes obvious that even these will be too small for the pigs.

Seeing the man struggle to continue holding them, the bartender runs to the kitchen for help.

A cook emerges, holding several large measuring cups. "Sorry, I just used these to make a batch of cheese dip, but they're all yours!"

The man carefully plops each pig into its respective gooey yellow cup.

Arms exhausted, breathing heavily, he drops into a stool at the end of the bar, between his tiny friends and a beautiful girl.

He glances her way, gasping coyly. "Hey...I'm...Tom."

She smiles, having watched the whole ordeal. "Hi Tom, I'm Liz. And if you don't mind me asking..." she laughs, looking over his shoulder, "what was that all about?"

He glances back at the bar. "Yeah...sorry," he pants. "I wanted...to impress you, but...it turned out to be...a pretty cheesy...pig-cup line."

1. Why was the fraction apprehensive about marrying the decimal? Because he would have to convert.

2. Why do plants hate math? It gives them square roots.

3. Why did the student get upset when his teacher called him average? It was a mean thing to say!

4. Why was the math book depressed? It had a lot of problems.

5. Why is the obtuse triangle always so frustrated? Because it is never right.

6. Why can you never trust a math teacher holding graphing paper? He must be plotting something.

7. Why was the equal sign so humble? Because she knew she wasn’t greater than or less than anyone else.

8. What do you call the number 7 and the number 3 when they go out on a date? The odd couple

9. What do you call a number that can’t stay in one place? A Roamin’ numeral.

10. Did you hear the one about the statistician? Probably.

11. What do you call dudes who love math? Algebros.

12. I’ll do algebra, I’ll do trig. I’ll even do statistics. But graphing is where I draw the line!

13. Why should you never talk to Pi? Because she’ll go on and on and on forever.

14. Why are parallel lines so tragic if they have so much in common? It’s a shame they’ll never meet.

15. Are monsters good at math? Not unless you Count Dracula.

16. What’s the best way to flirt with a math teacher? Use acute angle.

17. Did you hear about the mathematician who is afraid of negative numbers? They’d stop at nothing to avoid them.

18. How do you stay warm in any room? Just huddle in the corner, where it’s always 90 degrees.

19. Why is six afraid of seven? Because seven eight ("ate") nine!

20. Why DID seven eat nine? Because you’re supposed to eat 3 squared meals a day!

21. Why does nobody talk to circles? Because there is no point.

A high schooler wants to ask his best female friend to prom. Because they’ve been friends for so long, he really wants to make his “promposal” special. He talks to his friends, he talks to her friends, and spends days planning the perfect moment. Happily, she says yes!

Over the next couple of months, she sends him different styles and colors of ideas for her dress. He tells honestly that she’s always been beautiful to him, and privately to himself, he is now realizing he has strong feelings for her. He knows he needs to tell her.

The night of the prom, he’s extremely anxious. What if he says something stupid? What if she laughs at him or doesn’t return his feelings? What if she thinks he’s a terrible dancer? All of these thoughts are swirling around in his mind as both their parents fuss over them and make them pose for a million photos.

They get to the prom and he’s even more anxious. It’s dark, it’s loud, it’s crowded. They have to shout to be heard. But she grabs his hand, leads him to the dance floor, and they forget everything and everyone around them. A while later, as the songs have gotten slower, he can feel his heart pounding. He thinks it’s finally the right time. He leans down and whispers the truth in her ear, the truth about having loved her since they met in second grade. She starts to cry happy tears, saying she’s always loved him too, and they kiss. As the song ends and changes to something fast again, he asks her if she’d like to sit and have a drink. She says yes, could he please get her some punch?

He feels like he’s walking on clouds as he goes over to where the drinks and food are laid out. He wants to get back to her right away and hopes he doesn’t have to wait too long at the refreshments table.

He makes his way through the crowd, and is able to get their drinks and return to his waiting love within just a couple of minutes. Because, would you believe it?

There was no punch line.

Daughter: Dad, are you smart?

Me: Yes.

Daughter: Spell it.

Me: S-M-A-R-T

Daughter: You said you’re smart but you can’t even spell the word “it.”

She got me good.

—

Edit: My first front page post! I’d like to say thanks to all the wonderful people that upvoted this and made awesome comments. And screw you to the weirdos who went out or their way to say mean things. And thanks to my daughter. She is the real MVP in all this.

Scene- Me, at dentist, having teeth removed. She was having a bit of trouble with some of them and this was while she had instruments in my mouth. There's some pain after maximum amount of anesthetic she can give me. Asks me how I'm doing.

Me- There is some pain in the teeth after numbing but it isn't anything I can handle.

Dentist- Last time you were here we didn't have a problem but this time your teeth are being a major pain in the butt.

Me- My teeth are a pain in the butt? No wonder people say I talk out of my ass way too much.

She had to stop for a bit to finish laughing.

They have to yell “Donald, Duck!”

Edit: whoever gave me the gold award, thank you so much. I would repay you in a way, but I don’t know who you are.

On the way, after passing a graveyard, my dad asked,

“Did you know that’s a popular cemetery?”

“No, why?” I responded.

“People are just dying to get in there!” he replied.

After I groaned, he continued, in all seriousness,

“But really, did you know I can’t be buried there?”

“Why not, Dad?” I asked, surprised.

“Because I’m not dead yet!”

Ok, so this one needs a bit of buildup.

At the time (a week or so ago) I was making a homebrew item for DnD (for the uninformed, Homebrew are custom made items/classes/spells to use in a DnD game at the discretion of the DM (Dungeon Master)).

I had shown this item (shameless plug) to my friend (who is also the DM of the campaign I'm in now) in the hopes of using it in the campaign. He had pointed out that the item was a bit OP for it's cost and that the homebrew page I had made for it was too long. We were discussing ways to improve both the item and the page, and then got on the topic of magic items in general.

It went something along the lines of this:

DM: ... you can't really destroy a magic item before removing the magic from it. Like, you could try to melt down a magic sword for example, but all that would really do is make it too hot to hold. You could even bend it, but not outright destroy it.

Me: That's gotta be one pissed off magic sword.

DM: I mean, yeah, if it's sentient.

Me: Maybe it got so angry at being bent, that it gains sentience just spite you or something.

DM: Well, yeah maybe.

And this, people of reddit, is when the PUN, popped into my head.

Me: *leans in* you could say that the sword gained sentience cuz it got... bent out of shape.

A second or two of silence, and I see the pun register in his head, and I fucking lost it.

I then laugh for a straight minute. After about ten secunds of me busting a gut, he said "Aight, Imma head out"

We're cool now, but he really didn't want to talk to me the next day.

So if thats true then depending on where you are you would be of an average race, have average hair, etc.

And going down from that, alot of people have the same name, making certain names normal or "average".

What im saying is, thats a really complicated way to find the average Joe.

A hearse is driving up a very steep street and once it gets near the top, the back door opens up and the coffin comes shooting out of the hearse and rolls down the street.

People are diving out of the way, cars are swerving, it’s chaos! By the time it reaches the bottom of the hill it has picked up a lot of speed and crashes into a wall surrounded by people.

The door pops open, the body sits up and says “Do you have anything to stop this coughin?”

In my opinion we should beat the shit out of constipated people because:

1. 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.

2. 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.

3. 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.

When he got to old man Johnson’s house the old man said “My yard doesn’t need any work, but my porch is in need of a coat of paint. I’ll pay you 50 bucks, and if you finish by sundown I’ll throw in a 50 dollar bonus”.

With a confused look on his face little Johnny accepted the offer and got to work.

Less than an hour later little Johnny knocked on old man Johnson’s door to collect his hundred dollars.

“All finished, that’ll be one hundred dollars”!

Noticing there wasn’t a single drop of paint on the porch the old man started quizzing little Johnnys integrity.

“Now little Johnny, are you absolutely positively one hundred percent sure you finished painting my porch”?

“I sure am! Oh and by the way that’s not a porch, it’s a Ferrari”!

[and posted a picture of him and his bike on a rest day.] (https://i.imgur.com/IapqomG.png)

Edit: Whoa this is getting popular. I live on the other side of the world, and am about to go to bed, but I am just going to put his [donation page] (http://ccf.convio.net/site/TR?px=3433802&fr_id=1580&pg=personal) at the top of the post if anyone is interested. It is no big deal, but if someone is looking, I thought I'd put it at the top. Either way, you all are going to make his day when I show him how many people appreciated his joke. I just hope this doesn't mean that I have to laugh at all of them from now on...

The work of Steven Wright, he's the famous Erudite (comic) scientist who once said: "I woke up one morning, and all of my stuff had been stolen and replaced by exact duplicates."

1   - I'd kill for a Nobel Peace Prize.

2   - Borrow money from pessimists -- they don't expect it back.

3   - Half the people you know are below average.

4   - 99% of lawyers give the rest a bad name.

6   - A conscience is what hurts when all your other parts feel so good.

7   - A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.

8   - If you want the rainbow, you have got to put up with the rain.

9   - All those who believe in psychokinesis, raise my hand.

10 - The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.

11 - I almost had a psychic girlfriend, ...... But she left me before we met.

12 - OK, so what's the speed of dark?

13 - How do you tell when you're out of invisible ink?

14 - If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.

15 - Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.

16 - When everything is coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.

17 - Ambition is a poor excuse for not having enough sense to be lazy.

18 - Hard work pays off in the future; laziness pays off now.

19 - I intend to live forever... So far, so good.

21 - Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.

22 - What happens if you get scared half to death twice?

23 - My mechanic told me, "I couldn't repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder."

24 - Why do psychics have to ask you for your name.

25 - If at first, you don't succeed, destroy all evidence that you tried.

26 - A conclusion is a place where you got tired of thinking.

27 - Experience is something you don't get until just after you need it.

28 - The hardness of the butter is proportional to the softness of the bread.

29 - To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism; to steal from many is research.

30 - The problem with the gene pool is that there is no lifeguard.

31 - The sooner you fall behind, the more time you'll have to catch up.

32 - The colder the x-ray table, the more of your body is required to be on it.

33 - Everyone has a photographic memory; some just don't have film.

34 - If at first, you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you.

35 - If your car could travel at the speed of light, would your headlights work?

I am requesting the shittiest, most terrible, most horrible dad level puns you can throw my way. Puns that would make others projectile vomit with their horribleness. Puns so aweful and sad, that it'd make me want to hug you and ask you....are you okay?

so send them my way. or there will be a severe....PUNishment...

"Greetings, comrade." says the spy, but before he could finish his sentence, the Russian says, "I think you are American spy."

The spy is alarmed, but being a skilled, trained, spy, he says, "That is not true! I am the proudest Soviet there is! I can sing the anthem more beautifully than any other man in the country!"

He then proceeds to sing the Soviet anthem, so melodically and beautifully, that everybody in the bar cheers.

"Very good, very good!" says the politician. "But I still think you are spy."

The man continues to keep his cool.

"I am a historian! I can tell you everything about this glorious country!"

He then spends about two hours recounting the Revolution, the Great Patriotic War, about how superior to the Russia is in terms of technology compared to America and makes a great argument about how communism is beneficial to society.

"Amazing! You are skilled!" says the politician.

The spy smirks.

"But I still think you American spy."

The spy is getting frustrated, but still unfazed.

He replies, "I am good drinker, a true Russian! Let us drink, and see who can come out top!"

The bar turns its attention to the politician and the spy, who are now in a drinking contest.

The bartender serves drink after drink of vodka.

After about an hour of drinking, the politician nearly passes out, unable to hold as much liquor as the spy, to a resounding cheer amongst the bar.

In the midst of the cheering, the Russian politician gets up, smiling, and in a slurred speech, repeats, "You are good, you are good... but I still think you are spy."

The American spy, piss drunk, loses his skill and gives up.

"Okay, you got me. I am an American. But what made you think that way, after all this time?"

The Russian politician replies, "There aren't many black people in Russia."

[from NPR-- this sub doesn't allow link posts]

The annual turkey pardon is a silly tradition, and President Obama knows it. On Wednesday, before pardoning turkeys named Tater and Tot, Obama summed up his feelings about this particular duty.

"It is my great privilege — well, it's my privilege — actually, let's just say it's my job to grant them clemency this afternoon," Obama said.

Not in attendance for the president's final turkey pardoning ceremony were first daughters Sasha and Malia Obama, who gamely laughed alongside their father last year. So instead, the president's nephews Austin and Aaron Robinson stood by for what Obama called his "corny-copia of dad jokes about turkeys."

And thus began a pun-fest for the ages. Here's a list of President Obama's groaners from this year's pardoning ceremony:

"Actually [Sasha and Malia] just couldn't take my jokes anymore. They were fed up."

"What I haven't told them yet is we are going to do this every year from now on. No cameras, just us, every year. No way I'm cutting this habit cold turkey."

"Tater is here in a backup role just in case Tot can't fulfill his duties. So he's sort of like the vice turkey. We're working on getting him a pair of aviator glasses."

"I want to take a moment to recognize the brave turkeys who weren't so lucky. Who didn't get to ride the gravy train to freedom. Who met their fate with courage and sacrifice and proved that they weren't chicken."

[After touting positive economic indicators and the low uninsured rate] "That's worth gobbling about."

"We should also make sure everyone has something to eat on Thanksgiving. Of course, except the turkeys, because they're already stuffed."

"When somebody at your table tells you that you've been hogging all of the side dishes, you can't have any more, I hope that you respond with a creed that sums up the spirit of a hungry people: 'Yes, we cran.' "

"Look, I know there are some bad ones in here, but this is the last time I'm doing this, so we're not leaving any room for leftovers."

"And now from the Rose Garden, Tater and Tot will go to their new home at Virginia Tech, which is admittedly a bit hokey." (The Hokies are the Virginia Tech mascot.)

"And so let's get on with the pardoning. Because it's Wednesday afternoon and everyone knows that Thanksgiving traffic can put people in a foul mood."

[from NPR -- http://www.npr.org/2016/11/23/503178220/president-obamas-2016-turkey-pardon-dad-jokes-the-definitive-list?utm_source=facebook.com

On the way home from daycare, my 5 year old (Freddie), my 2.5 year old (Timmy) and I had a short conversation. Timmy really likes it when everyone is happy, so he asks a lot.

Timmy: Are you happy daddy?

Me: Yeah, I'm happy.

Freddie: I'm happy Timmy!

Timmy: No! <Laughing> I'm happy Timmy! You're happy Freddie!

The problem, however, is that there isn't enough light for the immigrants to find their way back to Mexico. Because of this, the Don institutes his "Early Light" plan in order to give the immigrants a way to see. One immigrant, Jose, is partially blind, so they are wondering if the "Early Light" program will still allow him to see. The ask him: Jose can you see by the Don's "Early Light."

We are trying to come up with a name for it. My father, who we assumed was asleep on the couch in the other room, yells out "name it 'Cakes by Edith.' That way you can have your cake and Edith too." God dammit dad.

Once upon a time there were three little pigs, Pork Chop, Hambone, and Bacon.

The boys lived at home with their mother. One day their mother said, “I no longer have enough food to feed you boys, you need to go out on your own and find your fortunes.”

Not wanting to upset their mother they left the house together to seek their fortunes.

Several miles into their journey Bacon, the little pig everyone liked best, said, “Let’s build our houses here! This seems like a great place to start making our fortunes.”

Pork Chop and Hambone agreed. So they all began building their houses.

Pork Chop, the laziest of the bunch, decided to build his house out of straw, which he apparently stole from a nearby field. It was not a very sturdy building material, but Pork Chop didn’t care. All he wanted to do was play all day, and he didn’t want to spend too much time building.

Hambone was willing to work a bit harder and he decided to build his house out of sticks which he procured by de-limbing every tree within a 300 meter radius of their homestead.

Hambone and Pork Chop were happy. Now all they had to do was to play and sleep the rest of the day.

Now Bacon was a hard worker. He knew that his brothers had used bad materials and shoddy construction methods and he wanted to build the best house he could. He found several tons of bricks stacked in neatly ordered pallets in the forest which he decided to use for his building material. It took him several days, but when he was done Bacon had the best house on the homestead.

The next day a wolf, Scott Howard, happened upon the pig brothers and their new homestead. He spied the straw house and smelled Pork Chop inside and began to think to himself that Pork Chop would make a mighty fine meal, so Scott went and knocked on the door.

Scott said, “Little Pig! Little Pig! Let me in!”

Pork Chop replied, “No way José! Not by the hairs on my chinny chin chin!”

Scott, undeterred by the reply says, “Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your crappy straw house to the ground!”

Scott began to huff and puff. He was evidently having some sort of asthma attack, but after a few tugs from his handy dandy rescue inhaler, he was able to muster enough wind to blow Pork Chops straw house to the ground.

Pork Chop narrowly escaped Scott’s massive jaws. Scared, and now homeless, Pork Chop ran for the nearest shelter he could see. Hambone’s house.

Scott, undeterred, chased Pork Chop to his new hiding place. Scott was very pleas

Scene: Dinner for my mom's birthday at a very nice (expensive) restaurant.

Waitress: Your steak comes with a choice of the vegetable of the day or a twice baked potato.

Me: Are twice baked potatoes and refried beans prepared similar ways or is that just a naming coincidence?

W: Laughing Oh my God. Our bartender and I were just talking about funny "dad jokes" on reddit! I didn't expect to hear one in person. Do you use reddit?

M: Umm... Yeah... I actually follow r/dadjokes but I'm not a dad and

W: You should post that joke there!

I have no idea if she will see this but my wife said I had to let everyone know about a redditor interaction. I hope she does because the food was awesome and she was a fantastic waitress beyond being a fellow redditor.

I still have no idea if twice baked potatoes and refried beans have any link...

Scene- Frito lay guy unloading truck at the local grocery store.

Dad- walks up to the frito guy, puts his hand on his shoulder and says to him, "they only call you when the chips are down"

Frito guy- laughs all the way back to the truck

Me: While I was in the shower the water pressure wasn’t right, and I noticed the tubing on the handheld shower head is bent out of shape.

Wife: OK. Are you going to fix it?

Me: Eventually. But I have to confess something. I went ahead and used it this morning the way it is. Are you upset?

Wife: Upset? No. Why?

Me: Well, I think most wives would be pretty mad if they heard their husband had been taking a shower with some kinky hose.

So once upon a time, there was a planet shaped like a cheerio. A small moon made of milk or tied the planet, going through the center of the donut shaped world. On this planet, lived an interesting species. They acted and lived similarly to us humans? But looked just like large Cheerios (with footings hands and feet like miis) Within this society there were levels of Cheerios: original, honey nut, and finally frosted. The originals were the backbone of the economy, doing the herd labor while the honey nuts ran the businesses and the frosted Cheerios (the top of the top) led the world. Our story today focuses on a single Cheerio. Born into an original Cheerio family, this lad learned the hard way how to work. From a young age, he was forced to get a job in the local milk refinery, where his dad worked. He grew up, and soon had a family of his own. His wife, son, and daughter all worked hard, but were happy. One day walking home from school, the kids found a runaway honey nut Cheerio pup, and decided to keep him. It wasn’t much, but it inspired our little Cheerio friend here. One day, he got fed up with taking orders, and demanded a raise. His entire family has worked in this one factory for three generations, and he wanted to move up in the world, not just for him but also his kids. His old boss however, did not have the power to promote this Cheerio, and he was forced to make a life changing decision: he would go to the refinery company and use every penny in the family savings account (under the bed) to try and get a higher position. After waiting on line for over a week, his appoint was finally here. After bickering and bargaining for hours, the refinery company boss saw a spark in this lad’s eye. He agreed to give this Cheerio a promotion to the honored honey nut glaze in exchange for everything this man owned, including the family’s prized honey nut dog. Was it worth it? Well pretty soon he owned his own milk refinery and was able to breed his own honey nut dogs, so yes, yes it was. Owning and operating the refinery went smoothly. Milk was transported from the moon to the planet using space busses, and the milk itself was funneled down to the refineries using large straws. After the milk was ready to drink, it was shipped off to be sold. He was happy working here, but eventually he realized it wasn’t enough. This Cheerio, once a simple original Cheerio wanted to follow the “American dream” and do the best he could. He wanted to become a frosted Ch

It was over 30 years ago and they were both in the army.

Dad: "So, where are you from?"

Mom: "I'm from Maine."

Dad: "I'm from Maine, too!"

Mom: "No way! Which part?"

Dad: "Main part of Texas."

She always jokes that she should have walked away at that moment. :-)

... he was single and treated himself to a nice evening. Next to his table sat this gorgeus woman. Red hairs, curvy body, green eyes and the most beautiful smile he has ever seen.

He thought about how he could approach her, but just couldn't figure out a good way. Suddenly she sneezed and her glass eye came flying out straight at him. He jumped up and caught it before it hit the ground. They started to talk, one thing lead to the next and they ended up at her place.

A night of sexytime followed, and the next morning he woke up to the smell of fresh toast, eggs and coffee. She awaited him in the kitchen with a great big breakfast.

"No woman has ever treated me so nice.", he said, "You are just perfect. Do you do this for every man you meet?"

"No.", she replied....

"but you just happened to catch my eye."

Back a few decades, I was working in a program with a local college in the Middle East.

The name of the program for ExPats has the clever acronym of "IDEA" (hey, I said it was clever); which stands for "Inter-Departmental Educational Adjunct". It's interdepartmental because my particular specialty not only covers field geology but also paleontology and a bit of archeology thrown in for good measure. Everyone hopes to have a good IDEA...

ahem...

Well, we saddle up and head for the Dune Sea out in the west of the country, where the Precambrian, Cambrian, Silurian, Cretaceous, Pliocene, Pleistocene, and Holocene crop out and access is relatively easy and non-injurious.

Well, we caravan out, some 30 Land Cruisers, Nissan patrol, and the odd Mitsubishi Galloper strong. We all get our maps, compasses and split up into 5 or 6 special interest groups ("SIG's"); where each IDEA has his own GPS and LIDAR laser ranging apparatus. Reason being, that there are very few benchmarks out in the desert, and even those are constantly at the mercy of the shifting and ever-blowing sands.

Since we're split into groups and at any one time, ranging up to and including some 50 km2, when a real find is located, a device called the "DIME" (Digital-Interface Monitor Encoder) is attached and programmed into the GPS for location later; it is a digital sort of low-frequency transponder, developed from technology used by offshore drillers and jacket setters where benchmarks are even more transitory.

The way it works is rather simple. When something is to be marked for later retrieval, a series of wooden posts are pounded in a triangular manner around the find and the DIME is set, programmed with the GPS and attached to one or more of the posts.

That's the theory, at least.

Everything works well, especially all the hardened electronics and computer gizmos, but attaching the DIME to the stakes is the real problem. It can't be nailed, screwed or fastened with any sort of metal contrivance as that farkles the magnetic field and causes all sorts of goofy spurious signals. Zip ties don't last long in the heat and duct tape is right out. Many sites have been lost to the shifting sands this way.

Velcro doesn't work too well, as the sand fills the hooks of the receiving piece of velcro and soon renders it useless. String or fishing line work, but that's temporary (they melt). Glue or mastic are out as these are supposed to be temporary. Even plastic sleeves don't work due to the heat out

On his way to the bartender he hears someone say “Nice shoes” he looks around and cant see anyone... He continues walking and hears “Nice Shirt” again he looks around and there is no one in sight.

He finally makes his way to the bartender and says “Mate I have to tell you this bar is extremely nice, but am I hearing voices? I keep hearing someone saying nice shoes, nice shirt but there is no one around?”

The bartender said “oh dont worry about that, its just the peanuts, they are complimentary”

There are now over a million subs for this silly, corny, beautiful feed of dad jokes.

Link to PROOF: http://imgur.com/ksprvA1

A million subs is a big number.

If we put a million subs end to end, we'd be able to reach a very small part of the way around the Earth... Double that if they were foot long subs, and we'd make it all the way around and more if they were the kind of subs that go under water.

That's why I'm amazed.

Well done everyone on being amazing dads with amazing dad jokes. No matter what kind of dad you are - inside or outside expected dad norms - keep the world laughing and shaking their head.

(I'll keep this stickied for a short period of communal celebration and then go back to the shadows as normal. Keep doing you, dads.)

He was given 50 quid for the job. The boss on the way home catches Paddy going the wrong way, "what are ye at Paddy, I have you 50 quid to bring them to the zoo"

Paddy says "I know ye but I had change left over so I'm bringing them to the movies now"