Thoroughly Puns

Today I'm putting a cockroach in the bathroom

J Cole

Just thought I would let you all know.

He called it the Dewey deci-mole system..

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

He was very per-tick-ular about it

He responded, “Aisle B, Back”

Edit: wow first silver!!!! Thank you 🙏🏾 anonymous Redditor!

Edit2: my wife doesn’t use reddit. She’s thoroughly enjoying the responses to the joke in the joke jar she created for me and the silver (“whatever those are”). Happy Father’s!

Edit3: https://imgur.com/gallery/5G25Flw wife got me a nice gift 🎁

There was an evil wizard who hated mathematics. One day he decided that he would end math once and for all, by capturing the 10 digits, and locking the away forever in his secret prison. So he cast his spell, and all the digits, from 0 to 9 were under his influence. He put them in his magic sack and rode off to the prison. When he reached the prison, he opened the sack. To his horror, there were not 10, but 9 digits there. After searching thoroughly he realized that...it was the 1 that got away.

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

This is the latest joke making its way around our house. My kids started it — I swear. And I’ve perpetuated it. Much to their dismay.

Typical exchange, usually around the table:

Kid: “I’m hungry.” Me: “I’m Dad. Nice to meet you, hungry.” Kid: “ARGH! I’m serious.” Me: “well, I’m still Dad, Serious.” Kid: (Thoroughly annoyed.) “Can I be excused.” Me: “Well, I’d prefer you stay Serious. If you’re not Hungry, though, you may leave the table.”

It can be understood through tough thorough thought though.

It was a thorough exhibition of the jean-ealogy.

As we were driving one day, I saw a fat guy on the sidwalk and said, "Wow, what a fatass. That's awful."

My dad responded, "That's not nice, son. You never know what someone's situation might be. I know that guy, and he happens to have Dunlap Syndrome."

"Dunlap Syndrome?" I ask, feeling thoroughly shitty.

"Yeah. His belly done lapped over his belt!"

Sis: "Ahhh what should I be for Halloween? Family? Any ideas? What should I go as?"
Dad: "Honey, haven't I told you already to always be yourself?"
This was followed by groans and facepalms at the dinner table, though my mom thoroughly enjoyed the joke. Wp dad, wp.

Ok so here's what you do.

Go onto Amazon or Ebay or whatever and purchase a small dog cage. Make SURE that is is made of either completely STEEL. Nothing else. Get advanced shipping or whatever gets it to your door as fast as humanly possible. Now wait patiently for your package to arrive. Once the delivery person knocks on your door to get you to sign for your package tell them to wait until you open the box. If they seem leery of you explain that you have had trouble in the past with your parcels and you just want to make sure that your order is correct. Open the box and remove the cage from the box. Inspect it thoroughly. Now LISTEN CAREFULLY! This is the part you can't mess up. Look up from the cage and stare into that poor delivery person's eyes. Like so deep you can see their ancestors. Say these exact words. "I knew it... I can't believe I ordered a nickel less cage."

I've got work experience at an vet eye specialist clinic, and I want to be thoroughly stacked up on bad puns. Any ideas fellow dads?

While driving the car, dad complained that his glasses were dirty. Mom did her best, but she had a heck of a time cleaning them, and it took almost 15 minutes before they were presentable. When she finally handed them back to my thoroughly amused dad, he put them on, blinked, lifted his finger to the front window and said, "Hey, look, a road."

I am still ashamed I laughed at that.

We're a thoroughly American family with German/Danish roots. For fun we went to a Greek culture festival as a different kind of Friday night. As soon as we're through the gate, he turns to my youngest brother and mutters:

"Everything seems so...foreign."

He was so pleased with himself that he repeated it to each one of us separately.

With a thoroughly disgusted and completely straight face he proclaimed: "They were NOT goodie." I groaned but have been giggling about it every few hours since.

(He got new underwear for Christmas)

Him: "Thanks for the underwear, but I can't dance in them."

Me: "Why's that, Pap?"

Him: "Because there's no ball-room."

Needless to say, my grandmother was not thrilled. I have to admit I thoroughly enjoyed it.