Traffic Planning Puns

He asks her out, and he needs to plan, so first, he needs his tuxedo.

So he goes to the tuxedo shop, and there's a huge line of people there, so he waits for 30 minutes, then an hour, and he finally gets his tuxedo.

Then, he needs to rent a limo, to look nice and formal and everything, so he walks into the limo rental shop, and again, there's a huge line, so he waits for 30 minutes and then an hour goes by, then 2, and he finally gets his limo.

On the night of the prom, he pulls up to her house with the limo, and she gets in, and on their way to the prom building, a huge traffic jam happens! So they wait, and then 30 minutes goes by, then an hour, and they finally arrive at the building!

So they walk in, take some pictures, and dance for a bit, and after a while, the girl asks, "hey can you get us some punch?"

So the boy walks over to the punch bowl and guess what?

There's no punchline.

My grandfather, in his younger days, retired from his NASCAR dreams to do construction so he could raise a family. Fast forward 45 years to 1994. I was around 15. My grandfather, grandmother, her mother, and I were on the return trip from the Costco and liquor store just inside the no sales tax state of Oregon. My grandfather was, as usual, driving. He raced for Lincoln and they sponsored him so they gave him a really good lifetime discount. He drove a brand new Continental his entire life. He always raced down to Oregon as fast as he could and then tried beating his time while driving back. Suddenly, at about 140mph, a Pheasant committed suicide on the front end. We could see feathers occasionally come loose. Grandpa already had a couple minutes to make up. Needless to say, despite my grandma's insistance, stopping to investigate wasn't in the plans. When we got home, he was cussing an ill timed traffic light with a bored motorcycle cop parked on the sidewalk waiting for his target. My grandma and great grandma nearly died when, without batting an eye, grandpa pulled the Pheasant off the car, grabbed his Gerber knife, and stripped, cleaned, and threw the bird on the BBQ. I was in dying from laughter at this point. Grandma and my great grandma were dying from embarrassment. He offered them some and grandma angrily refused for the 3 of us, calling it road kill. Without skipping a beat, he calmly replied "This isn't road kill, it's Continental Wild Pheasant, Twice-Grilled."