We Are The In Crowd Puns

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

She asked the pastor of a local church if he knew of any houses with rooms to rent that were close to town, but out in the country. The pastor kindly drove her out to see a house with a room to rent. She loved the house and decided to rent the room. Then, the lady returned to her home in England to make her final preparations to move to Switzerland.

When she arrived back home, the thought occurred to her that she had not seen a “W.C.” in the room or even down the hall. (A W.C. is short for “water closet” and is what the English call a toilet.) So she immediately emailed the pastor to ask him where the “W.C.” is located.

The Swiss pastor had never heard of a “W.C.,” and so he Googled the abbreviation and found an article titled “Wayside Chapels.” Thinking that the English lady was asking about a country church to attend near her new home, the pastor responded as follows:

Ms. Smith,

I look forward to your move. Regarding your question about the location of the W.C., the closest W.C. is situated only two miles from the room you have rented, in the center of a beautiful grove of pine trees. The W.C. has a maximum occupancy of 229 people, but not that many people usually go on weekdays. I suggest you plan to go on Thursday evenings when there is a sing-along. The acoustics are remarkable and the happy sounds of so many people echo throughout the W.C.

Sunday mornings are extremely crowded. The locals tend to arrive early and many bring their lunches to make a day of it. Those who arrive just in time can usually be squeezed into the W.C. before things start, but not always. Best to go early if you can!

It may interest you to know that my own daughter was married in the W.C. and it was there that she met her husband. I remember how everyone crowded in to sit close to the bride and groom. There were two people to a seat ordinarily occupied by one, but our friends and family were happy to share.  I will admit that my wife and I felt particularly relieved when it was over. We were truly wiped out.

Because of my responsibilities in town, I can’t go as often as I used to. In fact, I haven’t been in well over a year. I can tell you I really miss regularly going to the W.C. Let’s plan on going together for your first visit. I can reserve us seats where you will be seen by all.

Sincerely,

Pastor Kurt Meier

Being tired and weary, the lawyer-onion isn't sure whether to go, but decides he needs cheering up.

So he dresses smartly, puts on his favorite aftershave and heads over to his friend's.

He gets to the party to find it quite a packed affair and heads over to the bar - fighting through crowds of reveller-onions - to get a drink.

As he gets to the bar, he notices in one corner a slightly out-of-place female onion.

She looks a bit sad and being the compassionate onion that he is, he heads over to talk to her.

This is quickly affirmed as a good move, as they hit it off immediately; she was abandoned by her friends shortly after arriving and had been minding her own business ever since, but over a night of drinks and talking, they quickly fall into an infatuation and soon end up spending an oniony night of passion together.

When they awake in the morning, they don't find it awkward and a steady relationship between the two is struck.

This lasts a good while, having its ups and downs like any college relationship, but eventually the day comes when they both graduate.

The two couldn't be happier!

They both get jobs close to one another and move into an apartment together.

One day, the partner-onion is anxiously awaiting the lawyer-onion at home.

She's been ill all day and checking has confirmed her suspicions.

She tearfully - and joyfully - breaks the news to the lawyer-onion; they're going to have a tiny baby-onion together.

A shallot, if you will.

A few days later, this prompts the lawyer-onion to propose to his heretofore girlfriend-onion.

They are soon wed, having a fantastic wedding-day and husband and wife-onions are on top of the world.

The day comes of the birth and no complications - a tiny, healthy baby onion is born to two proud parents.

Seeing this little bundle of oniony love in their arms causes them to fall deeper in love than ever.

Over the next few years, husband-and-wife-onions' lives are fantastic.

He's prospering at work, she's really enjoying taking some time to raise the baby-onion and over time the baby-onion grows into a hale and hearty toddler-onion, who then becomes a child-onion.

One day, the idyll of the onions' lives is shattered when tragedy strikes.

The lawyer-onion (now a partner-onion in a prestigious law firm due to chance and hard work) is at work, and mother-onion is washing dishes and watching her child play in the yard.

She glances away to take another plate and turns her vision back to

(From Abbott and Costello’s radio show, December 30, 1943)
Lou Costello: Oh, Abbott, the worst thing just happened to me!
Bud Abbott: No!
Lou Costello: Yeah, Mrs. Niles gave me a dog for a Christmas present, and the dog just took a great big bite out of me!
Bud Abbott: Where did he bite you?
Lou Costello: Well, if I’d have been wearing a license plate, he’d have gotten the last three numbers.
Bud Abbott: Where did this happen?
Lou Costello: Well, let me see, where did this happen — in a crowded streetcar. It was the first time I ever gave my seat to a dog.
Bud Abbott: Well, never mind that. What kind of a dog did Mrs. Niles give you?
Lou Costello: Do you remember that famous dog, Strongheart?
Bud Abbott: Yes, I remember Strongheart.
Lou Costello: Well, this is his brother — Weak Stomach.
Bud Abbott: Listen, I’m not talking about that. What is the dog’s breed?
Lou Costello: What does he breed? He breeds through his nose, like you and me!
Bud Abbott: No, no, no, you dummy, what kind of dog is he? Spitz?
Lou Costello: No, but he drools a little.
Bud Abbott: Look, there are different types of dogs, such as Setters, and Pointers, …
Lou Costello: That’s it, Abbott! He’s a Setter-Pointer!
Bud Abbott: A Setter-Pointer?
Lou Costello: Yeah, he sets all day and points at the icebox! (Editor’s note: we now call an “icebox” a “refrigerator”)

Some of them were pretty strange: only he could understand them and explaining the 'pun' to somebody else would take like half an hour. Anyway-

He said, "So I'll go first?"

I said sure.

I think he took "pun-a-thon" a bit too literally - he took out a marker and drew a point, and then he kept drawing this straight line (he's good at drawing straight lines) while taking how many ever steps back. I for one was concerned, because first off I didn't know how long I'd have to stick around for this, and second of all, I didn't know if I could clean the mess he'd inevitably leave behind.

He kept drawing this line! We stepped out of my living room, then my apartment which was on ground-level, and he kept drawing it. He drew his line all the way through the corridor, up until the entrance to the building, and when I kept asking him if he's done yet, he didn't say a word. I had to keep subtly reassuring security and everyone who was staring at my friend hunched over like that robot from Wall-E.

He stepped out of the building and kept on drawing his line. At this point I was trying to guess what the hell is the outcome. I kept screaming punchlines at him like "is this where you draw the line?", "are you going to punch me after this so this is a punchline?" and shit like that. There were people following us and two were taking videos and it was really fucking uncomfortable.

Right after he was outside the building and the premises, he started to draw this stunning drawing of the building right on the pavement. It was almost magical, as if he had been commissioned to make an ad for my place but for a million bucks. At this point the people who were following us didn't even get pissed off because they were so engrossed in his drawing. I was surprised the marker kept going on.

After about 20 minutes - he was a real quick draw (no pun intended) - he stood up and a crowd of two dozen clapped and cheered for him.

I told him, "Dude that looks fucking amazing, but I thought we were in a pun-a-thon. Why such a long set-up?"

He replied, "Yeah it was pretty drawn out."

(for more drawn-out jokes like this, visit r/feghoot!)

I was sitting at a moderately crowded bar last night enjoying dinner when an older couple came up and sat next to me. We exchanged hellos and I continued eating my jambalaya. After a bit, the husband finally knew what he wanted to drink.

Husband: "Do you have (so and so) beer?"

Bartender: "Hang on a sec, I'll check."

As the bartender walked away, the husband held both of his arms in the air, closing his hands into fists right above his head, a la Steve Holt. After about 30 seconds, and you could tell she really didn't want to, the wife asks what he's doing.

Wife: "Honey, why are your arms in the air?"

Husband: "I'm hanging on."

The wife rolls her eyes and I laugh inappropriately loudly. He grins.

So at this point, the joke has been made. It's over. But no! He's in it for the long haul. He kept his arms in the air for a solid 3 more minutes, just so the bartender could get in on the joke. She returns with his bottle of beer.

Husband: "Can I stop hanging on now?"

Bartender groans.

Wife: "Yes, please."

I admire his dedication. And his taste in beer.

...we passed by a cemetery.

My wife says: "Look at all the gravestones! That cemetery is so crowded!"

Me: "Yeah, well people are just dying to get in there!"

I was focused on the road, but I could hear her eyes roll.

A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a trip
to Rome with her husband..

She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded: " Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded and dirty.
You're crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?"

"We're taking Continental," was the reply. "We got a great rate!"

"Continental?" exclaimed the hairdresser. "That's a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late.
So, where are you staying in Rome?"

"We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome's Tiber River called Teste."

"Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks it's going to be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump."

"We're going to go to see the Vatican and maybe get to see the Pope."

"That's rich," laughed the hairdresser. "You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it."

A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo.
The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.

"It was wonderful," explained the woman, "not only were we on time in one of Continental's brand new planes, but it was overbooked, and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful,
and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot..
And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million remodeling job, and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city.
They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at no extra charge!"

"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but I know you didn't get to see the Pope."

"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me.
Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."

"Oh, really! What'd he say?"

scroll down.....

He said: "Who fucked up your hair?"

So my boss and I are painting a large room and we tend to talk aimlessly about random stuff when working.

We start talking about what the best way to die would be and the topic comes up about beheading and the different methods throughout the ages.

Me: "Guillotine is kinda cool because your head gets sheared off and your still alive and they hold your head toward the cheering crowds and apparently you can still see them, and even move your eyes.

Him: what about by axe?

me: Beheading by Axe would be painful because not only do you not die right away, but sometimes it takes multiple swings to take your head off. It even gets stuck sometimes.

Him: So the Executioner would be having to pry the Axe back and forth like its stuck in a log?

Me: yeah.

Him: What a pain in the neck.

I heartily bellowed in laughter , guffawed even, and gave him props for it.

We are on a ski trip in Colorado for his birthday and Christmas. We have to wake up early so we can get a good parking space and beat the crowds. Today is his birthday and our alarm clock this morning was the theme song to Hawaii 5-O. He turned 50 today. Hahaha.