January 1, 0001
HumourList Package #30 - Puns Galore
I survived the weekend unscathed, and hey - no more speeding tickets! So that you are aware, HumourList probably won’t be sending any Packages or admin notices next week because I am on holidays… doing some camping with my buddy Jeff, then catching up with the relatives in Bancroft for the rest of the week. Should be a good time.
I’m already starting to get the shakes from the lack of Internet access. Either that, or it’s from the Coke I just drank at 9:30 this morning.
Since HumourList started last November, I’ve been debating whether or not to send a Package solely based on ‘pun’ jokes. I figured I’ve gathered enough to fill a few Packages, but to spare everyone’s sanity including my own, I’ve decided to pull out only the best ones (whose punch-line puns are usually the ‘moral’ of a story), and toss the rest.
Hope everyone else had a great weekend!
Opening header is Copyright 1997 by Ian W. Douglas; all rights are reserved, and no portion should be copied in any way or modified in any way without permission of the author.
There once was a medieval village named Trinsic. This village was being terrorized by a vile monster, the Medicrin. Each night, the Medicrin would stalk down from the hills, and devour one of the villagers.
The terrified villagers called a meeting, and decided to pool their money together to hire the great hero, Erik.
Erik came and listened to the complaints of the villagers. He consulted his Great Hero’s Book of Vile Monsters, and learned that Medicrins love to eat Loons.
So Erik hunted high and low to find a loon. He found one, captured it, tied it up, and brought it back to the village. He then had the villagers dig a deep pit. Erik threw the loon into the pit, hoping to capture the Medicrin,and slay it.
That night, the Medicrin came…
It smelled the loon…
But it also smelled DANGER, and it ran off, devouring one of the villagers on the way out.
After calming the villagers, the next day, Erik again consulted his Great Hero’s Book of Vile Monsters, and learned that Medicrins also love sugar.
So Erik gathered up all of the sugar in the village, and threw it into the pit. The loon, not having eaten in days, devoured all of the sugar in a single gulp. Erik was struck with panic, and ran to and fro trying to figure out what to do next, but night had fallen, and the Medicrin would bethere soon, so Erik crossed his fingers, and hoped for the best.
That night, the Medicrin came…
It smelled the loon…
It smelled danger…
But it also smelled the sugar, and the Medicrin dived into the pit, and devoured the loon. The villagers swarmed over the Medicrin, and slew it.
The moral of the story: “A loon full of sugar helps the Medicrin go down.”
Here is a recipe for a drink I invented.
It is a martini with 10 kinds of gin, Big-K Cola, and peppermint schnapps.
I call it: A ten-gin K-martini schnappers.
It seems that, late in the war in Vietnam, the CIA became displeased with the amount of cooperation they were getting from the South Vietnamese government. So, they decided to stage a coup, depose then-President Thieu, and install someone more to their liking.
A special field agent, code name “Jack,” was dispatched to meet with the Saigon bureau chief (code named “Santa”), and work out a plan. The plan was that the local agents (code names “Comet,” “Cupid,” “Donner,” and “Blitzen”) would lay the groundwork, bribing guards, setting up escape routes, and so forth. Then, on a specified night, “Jack” would assassinate the head of the army, General Po, by releasing poison gas into the ventilation system of his residence. Following this, he would kidnap President Thieu, who was thought to have some value alive, and take him to the coast, where “Jack’s” partner, “Jill,” would be waiting with a boat to take them to an offshore submarine.
All seemed to be going according to plan. Then, on the very day the coup was to be carried out, one of the local agents was captured by the South Vietnamese secret police! “Santa” knew that this particular agent wasn’t very good at resisting torture, and would soon be screaming out all he knew. Knowing he had to work fast, “Santa” wrote up a special coded message, and had a courier get it to “Jack” immediately. Luckily for the CIA, “Jack” received the message in time, so the plan was aborted, and a messy international incident was averted.
The message “Santa” sent, after decoding, read: “Go to Jill. Go directly to Jill. Do not gas Po. Do not collect Thieu – Donner hollers.”
Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, but when they lit a fire in the craft it sank – proving once and for all that you can’t have your kayak and heat it, too.
Two boll weevils grew up in South Carolina. One went to Hollywood and became a famous actor. The other stayed behind in the cotton fields and never amounted to much. The second one, naturally, became known as the lesser of two weevils.
This guy goes into a restaurant for a Christmas breakfast while in his home town for the holidays. After looking over the menu he says, “I’ll just have the eggs benedict.” His order comes a while later and it’s served on a huge fancy chrome plate. He asks the waiter, “Whats with the fancy plate?”
The waiter replies, “There’s no plate like chrome for the hollandaise!”
Some friars were behind on their belfry payments, so they opened up a small florist shop to raise the funds. Since everyone liked to buy flowers from the men of God, the rival florist across town thought the competition was unfair.
He asked the good fathers to close down, but they would not. He went back and begged the friars to close. They ignored him. He asked his mother to go and ask the friars to get out of business. They ignored her, too.
So, the rival florist hired Hugh MacTaggart, the roughest and most vicious thug in town, to “persuade” them to close. Hugh beat up the friars and trashed their store, saying he’d be back if they didn’t close shop.
Terrified, the friars did so - thereby proving that . . .
Hugh, and only Hugh, can prevent florist friars.
A recent college graduate took a new job in a hilly Eastern city and began commuting each day to work through a tiring array of tunnels, bridges and traffic jams. To make the task less onerous, he invited several of his coworkers to share the ride.
He soon found, however, that the commute continued to get more stressful, especially the trips through the tunnels. He consulted the company doctor.
“Doc,” the frustrated commuter complained, “I’m fine on the bridges, in the traffic, in the day and at night, and even when Joe forgets to bathe all week long. But when I get in the tunnels and I’ve got those four other guys crowded around me in the car, I get anxious and dizzy and feel like I’m going to explode.”
Without further analysis, the doctor announced he had identified the ailment. “What is it, Doc? Am I going insane?” “No, no, no, my boy. You have something very common in these parts.” “Tell me! What is it?”
“You have what is known as Carpool Tunnel Syndrome.”