A great pun is it's own reword

Yet another one of the chickens were due for the slaughter the other night. I decided it would be Caesar, the bloody rooster that would not cease his incessant crowing and attacking me at a whim. And good riddance!

Once he was disposed of, I decided to do something different. I usually cook the meat in potatoes, onions, carrots, some broth and sugar, and of course some curry powder. Stir-fry all until fragrant mmmm…

I had read about the process of cooking meat in moist then dry heat to make all the connective tissue break down. So, to do something different, I put the carcass in the crockpot along with the other vegetables, but the water all evaporated before it was ready and it was quite dry and tough.

For the next chicken I will go back to the tried and true recipe for curry chicken. After all, I should have known to curry Caesar, not to braise him.

A roughneck laborer working in the rural west building roads or what not meets and falls in love with the demure and lovely daughter of a Chinese immigrant. He must make a choice between the work he must do to pay for (whatever) and the girl he’s come to love.

We’ll call it Mei Wei or the Highway

There are many sub-breeds within the major breeds that aren’t often known. My neighbor had a beautiful Labrador Retriever puppy that never seemed to calm down, even after it had grown.

So he took it to the Vet, who quarantined it as an illegal breed.

Turns out the dog was a Meth Lab.

A scientist created a clone of himself. It was an exact duplicate except for one thing, it had a filthy mouth. After days of of putting up with his clone’s swearing, the scientist had enough and pushed his clone out the window.

The police came and arrested him for making an obscene clone fall.

Damnit, TOJ, you are evil. But not as evil as my friend Hugh.

Hugh works for me at my nursery. He’s very good with roses and nobody gets between Hugh and his roses. I’ll give you an example: Some Franciscan monks came into town trying to sell flowers. That’s what I do, and I do not appreciate them trying to cut into my business. The bastards were trying to sell roses, which made Hugh none too happy. Before they were able to set up, the guy torched their entire stand. Without their roses, the monks had to leave and it saved my profit margin. It all goes to show that…

only Hugh can prevent florist friars.

Indeed I am evil, monkey. Did you hear about the time I left a pregnant dog on the side of the road? She had her puppies right there! I even got caught doing it too. I was cited for littering.

I have a good friend who is an archeologist by profession - but since the current economic recession he has found it tough to get placements - now I delight as introducing him at parties as “a man whose career lies in ruins.”

GROAN!! Here’s another archeologists story.

After a heavy day’s digging at the archeological site in Norway, researchers uncovered a priceless statue of the ancient Norse thunder god. He had bulging muscles and imposing stance, and his famous giant hammer. But most important of all, the eyes in his fierce-looking face were made of two giant rubies that glittered with a brilliant red color.

Of course, the two leading archeologists on the dig were both determined that they should be the one to have their name listed on the discovery. Pretty soon, a big argument was underway. The two provided the others with a great source of amusement for the evening. By the time they finally gave up and called a truce,everyone else was feeling quite refreshed by the entertainment. As the crowd dispersed, one junior digger turned to his friend, and said: “Well, that was a fight for Thor eyes.”

An English professor was reading Canterbury Tales to his class and noticed that one of his students had fallen asleep. The professor was annoyed enough to send the book spinning through the air and bounce it off the sleeper’s skull. Startled awake, the student asked what had hit him. “That,” said the professor, “was a flying Chaucer.”

Once there was a marine biologist who loved dolphins. He spent his time trying to feed and protect his beloved creatures of the sea. One day, in a fit of inventive genius, he came up with a serum that would make dolphins live forever!

Of course he was ecstatic. But he soon realized that in order to mass produce this serum he would need large amounts of a certain compound that was only found in nature in the metabolism of a rare South American bird. Carried away by his love for dolphins, he resolved that he would go to the zoo and steal one of these birds.

Unbeknownst to him, as he was arriving at the zoo an elderly lion was escaping from its cage. The zoo keepers were alarmed and immediately began combing the zoo for the escaped animal, unaware that it had simply lain down on the sidewalk and had gone to sleep.

Meanwhile, the marine biologist arrived at the zoo and procured his bird. He was so excited by the prospect of helping his dolphins that he stepped absentmindedly over the sleeping lion on his way back to his car. Immediately, 1500 policemen converged on him and arrested him for transporting a myna across a staid lion for immortal porpoises.

Prior to the breakup of the Soviet Union, my wife and I had an opportunity to visit Moscow. It is a beautiful city with friendly people, all eager to help us enjoy our visit, including Rudolph Karnekov, the personal guide assigned to us by the concierge of our hotel. Moscow-born and bred and a former member of the Politburo, Rudy was very knowledgeable about the city and every aspect of Russian life, as well. We spent every moment possible out exploring the city, despite the often unpredictable Moscow weather.

One day, as we prepared to leave the hotel for a visit to a winery on the outskirts of Moscow, it began to rain/sleet/snow. I, at least, was sure it was snow. My wife was equally sure it was rain, and insisted upon a visit to a local department store, to purchase an umbrella. I thought the shopping spree was a waste of time - who needed an umbrella for a little snow? (Besides, I really wanted to get to that winery!) Well, a lengthy argument ensued which threatened to ruin the day’s excursion, until my wife suggested we defer to someone whose judgement about local weather conditions was sure to be above reproach – namely, our Muscovite guide. “After all,” my wife insisted, “Rudolph, the Red, knows rain, Dear!”

Once, I tried to do that, but it turns out the axe missed the mark when I tried to slaughter the chicken beforehand. As I turned to put it in the cooker, it cried out to me “don’t braise me, bro!”

There’s a store nearby me that sells statuettes of famous people. One of their most popular items is the Declaiming Will, a small wooden Shakespeare with his hands in the air and his mouth open. I guess people think it makes them look erudite to have him on their mantel or something. Declaiming Will sells for six dollars.
They also have a line of stuffed Shakespeare dolls for kids, but those aren’t nearly as sought-after. They only cost three dollars, because a Bard in demand is worth two in the plush.

Be very grateful that this thread came up, or I would have tried to slip it into a conversation.

The Chinese restaurant in Ketchikan, AK, named “Lo Mein on a Totem Pole”…

In the mystical land of the gnomes, a great cook by the name of Anne was working on her stew when she realized the recipe called for an ounce of thyme, and to her dismay, she had run out.
In a rush, she hurried to George the elf’s market and declared, “I need exactly one ounce of thyme, and quickly – I left a pot on the fire. In fact, you needn’t even bother to tie the pouch closed.”
As George placed Anne’s purchase on the scale, his wife came into the room and asked, “Whaddaya got there, dear?” George replied:
“Thyme untied weighed for gnome Anne.”

When Beethoven passed away, he was buried in a churchyard.

A couple of days later, the town drunk was walking through the
cemetery and heard some strange noise coming from the area where
Beethoven was buried. Terrified, the drunk ran and got the priest
to come and listen to it. The priest bent close to the grave and
heard some faint, unrecognizable music coming from the grave.

Frightened, the priest ran and got the town magistrate.

When the magistrate arrived, he bent his ear to the grave,
listened for a moment, and said, “Ah, yes, that’s Beethoven’s
Ninth Symphony, being played backwards.”

He listened a while longer, and said, “There’s the Eighth
Symphony, and it’s backwards, too. Most puzzling.” So the
magistrate kept listening, “There’s the Seventh… the Sixth…
the Fifth…”

Suddenly the realisation of what was happening dawned on the
magistrate. He stood up and announced to the crowd that had
gathered in the cemetery, “My fellow citizens, there’s nothing to
worry about. It’s just Beethoven decomposing.”

And another Beethoven one:

Beethoven’s Ninth - The Legendary Performance

A couple of years ago, the Seattle Symphony was doing Beethoven’s Ninth under the baton of Milton Batter. At this point, you must understand two things:

  1. Bass players hate playing Beethoven’s 9th. There’s a long segment in this symphony where the bass violins don’t have a thing to do… not a single note for page after page!
  2. There’s a tavern called Dez’s 400 right across the street from the Seattle Opera House, rather favored by local musicians.

It had been decided that during this performance, after the bass players had played their parts in the opening of the Ninth, they were to quietly lay down their instruments and leave the stage rather than sit on their stools looking and feeling dumb for twenty minutes. Well, once they got backstage, someone suggested that they trot across the street and have a few brews.

They had quickly downed the first couple of rounds when one said, “Shouldn’t we be getting back? It’d be awfully embarrassing if we were late.”

Another (presumably the one who suggested this excursion in the first place) replied, “Oh, I anticipated we could use a little more time, so I tied a string around the last pages of the conductor’s score. When he gets down to there, Batter’s going to have to slow the tempo way down while he waves the baton with one hand and fumbles with the string with the other.” So they had another round and finally returned to the Opera House, a little tipsy by now. However, as they came back on stage, one look at their conductor’s face told them they were in serious trouble.

And if you thought things couldn’t get worse, both first stand players soon passed out right in their chairs! Batter was furious and on the verge of completely loosing it, as he began making gestures at the basses while trying to finish the piece and flip tied pages.

But the absolute worst part of it: (brace yourself)

Batter was up at the bottom of the Ninth, the score was tied with the basses loaded and two men out.

In honor of our nations 200 th birthday ,a guy cut the hooves off of 444 buffalo.
It was the 1776 Bisontoenail.

Math pun
An indian chief had 3 women pregnant at the same time. He put each of them in a different teepee. One was on a deer skin. the next on an elk skin and the last he found a hipopatamus hide for her.
The next day when he returned the first 2 has 1 baby each. The last had twins.
The chief observed “the squaw on the hipopatamus hide is equal to the sum of the squaws on the other 2 hides.”

I saw this on a car today. It had all the usual local business advertising info on it, but on the back I saw:

Small Family Owned Business

You know those “rolled turkeys” you get in the deli section, the ones that are half dark, half light meat, folded together, and laced with 400% RDA of sodium?
I calls 'em “Particle Bird.”

Sign at the local nudist colony: Clothed for Winter.

If this is actually true, reminds me of the Asian restaurant we got here. It’s along the first base line of the local minor league ballpark.

The name of it is Hu’s on First.

Seriously, here’s the link for the place!