Traumatize Puns

A coping saw!

But I will recover.

I think I have TPSD.

To this day, I still can't taco 'bout it

I've heard it was a jarring experience.

I'm still reeling from it.

...do you think she has hot flashbacks?

They have shock absorbers.

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

... died peacefully at age 83. The most traumatic part both for his family and the funeral home was getting him into the coffin. They put his left leg in... And then the trouble started.

Now I've got post traumatic stress

I’ve now got post traumatic stress

Hello, welcome to the mental health hotline.

If you have obsessive compulsive disorder, press 1 repeatedly.

If you are codependent, please ask someone to press 2 for you.

If you have multiple personality syndrome, press 3, 4, 5, and 6.

If you suffer from paranoid schizophrenia, we know who you are and what you want. Stay on the line so we can trace your call.

If you are delusional, press 7 and your call will be transferred to the mothership.

If you are hearing voices, listen carefully and a small voice will tell you which number to press.

If you are manic depressive, it doesn't matter which button you press. No one will answer anyway.

If you are dyslexic, press 96969696969696.

If you have a nervous disorder, please fidget with the pound button until a representative comes on the line.

If you have amnesia, press 8 and state your name, address, phone number, date of birth, social security number, and your mother's and grandmother's maiden names.

If you have post traumatic stress disorder, slowly and carefully press 911.

If you have bi-polar disorder, please leave a message after the beep. Or before the beep. Or after the beep. Please wait for the beep.

If you have short term memory loss, please try you call again in a few minutes.

If you have low self esteem, please hang up. All our representatives are busy.

Post-Traumatic Stress Dishorder.

I have Post-traumatic-stress-disorder.

Poor thing is so traumatized, I don't think she'll be walking on them for months.

I really should speak to a therapist about my post-traumatic stress disorder.

We were reviewing different forms of traumatic injuries in my EMT class such as traffic collisions, gun shot wounds, and resulting effects and treatments for the injuries when my teacher pulls this one on us:

Teacher: "So what would come after falls then?"

Student: "Spinal immobilization?"

Teacher: "Winters."

Edit: some words

As toddlers/youngins whenever we'd fall down and start to cry, my dad would be like "OHMYGOSH HOLYCRAP oh NOOO!! The floor!!!? Did you hurt the floor???" And we'd be shocked into forgetting we'd just fallen (and gotten scared-hurt)

It was hilarious seeing younger siblings do this- to go from traumatized and in desperate pain to stunned in about half a second... guppy faces and wide eyes like- 'oh no! I'm not the victim here at all, am I?' Maybe you'd have to see it to understand. Surprisingly, it really did make everything stop hurting.

I've recovering from a bad road bike crash where I fractured my hip and was in the hospital a few days after surgery (about 4 weeks ago). I was knocked unconscious in the crash, but my helmet probably saved my life and I was diagnosed with post-traumatic amnesia.

A few days later I was talking to a friend and he was asking about the crash and I said, "The doctor told me a name for the type of amnesia it is, but I don't remember it..."

He replied with a laugh, "Did you mean to make that joke?"

I didn't. It's hilarious.

We left without buying anything. Later at dinner: Friend to Bride: "Do you want to go over any dress in particular so they don't all mush together? Kind of a like a debrief?" Me: "Yeah, you don't want to get post-traumatic dress disorder!"

Groans.

On Thursdays the cafeteria serves pizza and/or chicken wings. My friend does not purchase lunch from the cafeteria often, but this Thursday he decided to "wing it". Being his friend, I decided (since ordering lunch is such a traumatic experience) to be his "wingman" in case he should be too "chicken" to order himself.

But I think I will recover