With a chinsaw.
The home owner comes out and says “That’s all white.”
All I can find are base models.
It's not because I think it's beneath me.
It's not because I wouldn't stoop that low.
It's because I consider it to be a waste of my talons.
He liked making crop circles.
At this point, I'm not even sure Finland makes nails!
But now I just can’t cut it
It was a real prick job
I guess you could say she got a peticure.
A man like him is hard to find.
The old one just didn’t cut it anymore
http://i.imgur.com/bAuV8Nh.png
A fawn mower
"...hare today, gone tomorrow."
Prepare to have your blinds mowed.
He asked for a "to-go tea."
"she's just practicing catupuncture!"
He just didn’t cut it.
A clipptomaniac!
In other words, a pedi-file.
She looked surprised!
I wasn’t sure about how It looked but it grew on me!
That was a releaf.
...”MOM! DAD CALLED ME A LITTLE MORON!!”
I'm going to be their branch manager
But I fell and now am in a very sticky situation...
I know this will resin-ate with many of you out there.
All he does is trim my wife’s bush and leaves.
It was a brisk Saturday morning when Gerald arrived at “The Café,” a hip coffee shop right down the street. Wearing his large, burly black coat, he stared hesitantly at his watch. Thick glasses adorned his bright blue eyes, his gaze like starlight in a clear night sky. He was waiting, intently twiddling his thumbs. After a buzz of his phone, the message from Dad popped up: “Parking now, be there in 5.”
“Dad,” he whispered under his breath, swiping the message away to once again reveal the image on his lock-screen: a hazy picture of an ultrasound.
Gerald had not spoken to his father for three years. They had had a falling out, over which he did not remember. To him it was a competition of who could wait the longest without calling or sending a text. Who could wait the longest: him without a father, or his father without a son? The idea of friction in the relationship hurt like a thorn; piercing his soul more and more everyday. Until recently, out of the blue, “Dad” popped up on his phone. The rest is history. The rest leads to that Saturday morning, at The Café.
Bang! A car door rang out not too far from where Gerald stood. Gerald saw him. His father wore his tweed jacket like a coat of armor. His strut was now weaker than before they stopped talking; a weakness evident in his cane which supported every right step. His shortly trimmed white beard juxtaposed against his uncut, curly grey hair gave him the image of a wise wizard from a fairytale. He used to be that figure to Gerald, yet instead of a nice ancient being acting like a stone to keep him grounded, Gerald had felt as though his father was a rock pulling him deeper and deeper into a sea of monotony. Holding him back from his true potential. Maybe that was why he left? He still did not know.
“Hello, son,” came the withered voice Gerald had sook for so long, yet now that it had arrived wanted to avoid. “I can’t believe it’s been so long!”
“Yeah,” said Gerald, allowing a smile to grace his face. “Too long!”
Then they hugged, signifying a change in their relationship. Gerald had hoped something could happen to bring them closer together. He did not want to go on wondering what could have been. The regret and sadness weighed him down. Before starting a new family, Gerald wanted to be reacquainted with his own.
After finding their table and sitting down, the two began to discuss life. It was like old friends catching up after a long break. Although it took some time, Gerald began to warm u
... keep reading on reddit ➡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
... keep reading on reddit ➡You must take it sheariously.
..he was all bloody and scratched up. I yelled "dad you look awful!" to which he responded
"If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy! He lost several limbs!"
But I can’t put my finger on it!
He came out one wire short
It's my secret 'stache.
Just keep trimming~
Due to social distancing and other issues I am not going to cut my hair or trim my beard for a time. How long? Furlough time.
but lost my job because of workforce TRIMMING and CUTS.
Told the wife, "Yea, I got him a PETicure".
This morning my father was trimming the hedge in the front yard as I mowed the lawns. He called me over, it sounded important.
Dad: "If I were to pay someone to practice hegemony* on this hedge, because I don't want to do it myself, where would they put the funds?" Me: "Hedge fund. Good one."
- I don't think he actually knows what that word means.
Just not in the right order.
All the trimmings
(Merry Christmas everyone!)
I had so many things to do today a trim wasn't my mane concern.
The barber doesn’t just trim the hair around your ears anymore.
Said to my father, "It's hot out there."
He said, "The sun must be out."
I said, "The son is out, trimming trees with the mom!"
Eyes rolled.
A good friend told me a story once. When she was a kid her family would often go to zoos and museums while on vacation. They were in the aviary on one of those visits looking at birds. My friend saw a crow asked the zookeeper a question. "What's the difference between a raven and a crow?" The zookeeper looked at her, smiled and started to answer. "Have you ever heard of a pinion feather?" he said. "Pinions are the the feathers at the tip of a bird's wing that allows it to fly. They are also the ones that people will trim to prevent birds from flying away. Crows have 5 pinion feathers while ravens have 6. So, if you think about it, it's really just a matter of a pinion."
To this day, my friend and her family don't know the real answer to "What's the difference between a crow and a raven?" They are wonderful and intelligent people, but they subscribe to a particular brand of ignorance where a good pun is better than actual knowledge. They call it punorance.
My parents were over last night, and I was in the process of curing some duck breasts for Christmas. I was trimming the skin when my dad walked over.
"What are you doing there, son?"
"Curing this duck."
"I don't know if you can cure it. It looks dead to me."
Dammit, dad! Flawless execution.
I can give you a quick demo.
... and there was a gorgeous redhead sitting at the next table. He had been checking her out since he sat down, but lacked the nerve to talk with her.
Suddenly she sneezed, and her glass eye came flying out of its socket towards the man. He reflexively reached out, grabbed it out of the air, and handed it back.
'Oh my, I am so sorry,' the woman said, as she popped her eye back in place. 'Let me buy your dinner to make it up to you.'
They enjoyed a wonderful dinner together, and afterwards they went to the theater followed by drinks. They talked, they laughed, she shared her deepest dreams and he shared his. She listened to him with interest.
After paying for everything, she asked him if he would like to come to her place for a nightcap and stay for breakfast. They had a wonderful, wonderful time.
The next morning, she cooked a gourmet meal with all the trimmings. The guy was amazed. Everything had been so incredible!
'You know,' he said, 'you are the perfect woman. Are you this nice to every guy you meet?'
'No,' she replies. 'You just happened to catch my eye.'
