There’s one in Lebanon, NH called Men at Wok.
Speaking of the thread title, we used to hang out with this guy Raymond who wore fluorescent Hawaiian shirts and decorated his house in glitter and spangles. But he did make the most killer savory garnishes to go with fried chicken and sandwiches. So we put up with the visual assault because no one was immune to gaudy Ray’s slaw.
An auto executive at GM developed this strange illness. Every time he farted, it sounded like “honda”. He was very embarrassed at farting out the name of a competitor and he could neither control his flatulence nor change the strange noise it made. He went to doctor after doctor trying to find a cure. He had no luck until he saw his fourth doctor. This doctor told him to go straight to a dentist. Puzzled, he went to the dentist, who looked in his mouth and found and drained a large abscess. The strange farting stopped. Days passed, and he still farted normally. He went back to that doctor who sent him to the dentist. “How did you know that the dentist would help me?” The doctor answered, “Everybody knows, abscess makes the fart go honda.”
There was a lady in our county who grew the most prodigious strawberries. She had her picture in the paper with one as big as her head. Well, some yahoo in Monsanto saw the picture and decided it must have been cross-pollinated from their patented genetically-modified stock. Long story short, Monsanto got the feds involved, and the feds went to her house. Her husband answered the door. “Come on in and have a look at it,” he said. “My wife’s got the greenest thumb you ever saw.”
The officer said, “Sorry, sir. We come to seize her berry, not to praise her.”
You’re darn tootin’ he’s important. He’s a celeried employee!
Best Tom Swifty:
This is the best shrimp cocktail I ever had said Tom shellfishly.
Chan Kai-Wei immigrated from China in the 50s, and started his new life here as a menial labourer, but through hard work and careful investment ended up with a successful business importing exotic wood. One day he noticed that there were unexplained shortages in some of his stock. Figuring that he was being systematically robbed, he decided to hide in the lumberyard one night to catch the thieves red-handed.
Soon after night had fallen, Chan heard a noise and peeked out of his hiding place. Much to his surprise, he saw a small figure disguised in a moth-eaten old bear costume hiding every part of his body except for the unshod feet exposed by the missing foot portions of the costume. The youngster was laboriously dragging a heavy billet of expensive tropical wood towards the entrance of the lumberyard.
Angered by the blatent theft in progress, he jumped from his hiding place and shouted “Where are you going, boyfoot bear with teak of Chan?”
Damn it, you made me giggle just as my boss was walking by.
Anyway, a while back, there was this couple - she was from Colombia and he was from Saudi Arabia. They were thrilled when they found she was pregnant with twins, but unfortunately they fell on hard times shortly thereafter. They couldn’t afford to support their new babies, so they sent them to live with their respective families.
After several months, they received letters from both of the families, providing updates on how the children were doing. The husband’s family said they had named their boy Amal, and he was growing quickly, and was happy and playful. The wife’s family said that their boy, Juan, was also doing very well, and was very bright and a quick learner. Even better, they enclosed a photo.
The wife was glad to have such good news, and grateful to have the photo, but she told her husband she wished she had a picture of the other son, too. Her husband replied, “Well, dear - they *are *twins, so if you’ve seen Juan, you’ve seen Amal.”
So, there’s this guy, likes to try the strange and unusual, so he got some absinthe, mostly from hearing that it was weird and forbidden, but mostly it just tastes like homemade shit. Anyway, he tried it, didn’t like it, forgot it.
A few days later, he cuts one and thinks he heard something enunciated, rather than the standard noise of the rectal trumpet. By chance, the next time he farted he was undressed, and heard, clearly and distinctly, the word “Honda!”.
Perplexed, he consulted a number of physicians who could not provide any answers, nor were they inclined to investigate. And it wasn’t painful or threatening, so no big deal. A friend recommended an old Chinese herbalist, so he thought he’d give him a try. He began relating this strange symptom when the old gentleman cut him off mid-sentence and asked “Have you ever drank any absinthe?”
“Why, yes, yes I have, how did you know?”
"Very simple. Absinthe makes the fart go “Honda!”.
AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!
brilliant.
If I ever have twins they WILL be named Juan and Amal. No matter the gender or ethnicity.
Inspired by this post (where I attempt to make a similar pun but didn’t quite have the material necessary)
Of course! Nobody expects the Spanish extradition!
Thanks. It was one of my better ones evah and no one acknowledged it there. /needy
Please forgive me, gigi, but I don’t get it. I don’t speak French, which may be why I don’t get it. I’d love to know what it means, though.
Anyway, I was waiting in line for a concert the other day and it started to rain. I had one of those pop-up canopies in the car, so I got it and set it up. Ten minutes later, a bunch of us got citations for loitering within tent.
So you know how there are two French authors named Alexandre Dumas, one is called “Alexandre Dumas, père” (father) and one “Alexander Dumas, fils” (son) (senior and junior)? Père is pronounced similarly to pear, of which Anjou is a type.
/I’m such a geek
Ringo became a gentleman farmer, but was having no success. His neighbor’s animals were all strong and healthy, so he went and asked him the secret to his success.
‘well, for chickens, you wanna plant some corn.’ The farmer said.
‘Right, a field of corn for chickens.’ Ringo replied.
‘And for horses, you wanna plant some corn.’ The farmer said.
‘Right, a field of corn for horses.’ Ringo replied.
‘And for cows, you wanna…’
‘I know, I know,’ Ringo butts in, ‘I want a field of corn.’
‘No,’ replied the farmer, ‘everyone knows it is strawberry fields for heifers.’
It was during the times of Ancient Babylon, and a spy was sent out to infiltrate their army. Unfortunately, he was caught and brought before a general who condemned him to death at dawn.
Things seemed bleak for the spy, but at sometime during the night he found an opportunity and broke free. He ran across the country with the army in hot pursuit and miraculously came across an old unused ziggurat, an earthen temple in the middle of the desert. Quickly, he ran inside.
But the desert gets cold at night, and the spy began to shiver uncontrollably. To keep from freezing to death, he gathered some brush and scrap wood and made a fire inside the ziggurat. The smoke from the fire rose in the night air and was easily seen in the moonlight by the general from whom he had escaped. Furious, the general led his guard into the temple, found the spy and killed him on the spot. Yes, there is a moral to this, namely…
WARNING: The Searching General Has Determined That Smoking Ziggurats Is Hazardous to Your Stealth.
There was this traveling circus, and one of the side-shows was a dwarf who “read” people’s minds and ostensibly sent messaged from them to their dead relatives – and got answers back!
Well, one night, the guy went on a bender, ended up throwing a punch too many in the bar, and was put into detox to clean up overnight.
Once the alcohol wore off, he noticed there was a window in the corner with fairly wide-spaced bars. Not something your average 5’+ guy could use, but… a few moments, and one rope made from his blanket, later, he has just barely squeaked his way through the bars to freedom.
Next morning, when the local fish-wrapper got hold of the story, they came out with a fitting headline:
“Small Medium at Large.”
A chance to repost the finest joke ever.
It is 1895. The British Empire spans the globe, and Victoria reigns over all from London.
In the Austrailan outback our heroes, Charles Carruthers and Bernard Fortescue-Smythe, make plans for a daring journey. They intend to walk across the Nullaboor Plain. They have devised a cunning way to store enough water, and have the proper gear.
They set off.
Part of the way across, with the sun beating down from a cloudless sky, the worst happens. The water container bursts, and the entirety of their water supply soaks into the parched earth. They are almost exactly in the middle of the Plain (they think) and all directions are alike. They press onward.
By the end of the day they are feeling dizzy through lack of water. They rest briefly then press on, hoping to find some shade for the day.
When the sun rises they are in the middle of an utterly flat, featureless area. There is less shade than there is water - and ther is none of the latter. The sun hammers at them, draining them of their reserves. Despite all their skills, they begin to wander, being so groggy in the heat.
The next morning sees them still walking, still looking for water or shade - anything. By midday they are reduced to crawling.
They can’t estimate how long has passed before Carruthers (who is in the lead) realises he has gone blind. He stops, and gropes around. No, not blind - he can see the glare of the Sun on the ground behind him, but something blocks it. He croaks “Shade…” and crawls on determinedly. Fortescue-Smythe also pauses when he enters shaded area.
They don’t get far before Carruthers comes to a stop - there is something in his way. As he realises this and begins to lift his head, the obstacle disappears, to be replaced by a pair of feet - dark-skinned feet.
A voice cries out “Visitors!”
Carruthers and Fortescue-Smythe find themselves surrounded, lifted up and carried into the hut. They lift their heads to see a young Aborigine, who smiles at them and, in impeccable Queens English, welcomes them to Mercy and asks what they want to drink. Years of ingrained habit cut in, and they ask for tea. The man calls out a sharp command “Tea for our guests!” Feet scurry to obey.
Being thoughtful, the natives provide the explorers with a glass of water each “to tide you over.” They learn that their host (who’s name was unpronounceable) went to school at Eton and Jesus College, Cambridge (where “everybody called me Sin.”) They reminisce about schooldays until finally the tea is served.
Sin pours. As he does so Fortescue-Smythe asks “What kind of tea is this, Sin old fellow? Chinese, Assan?”
Carruthers leans across before Sin can answer and says “It does not matter old bean. Tea is tea, after all.” Fortescue-Smythe acquiesces weakly.
Milk and sugar having been added to taste, the explorers get their tea. Carruthers stirs briefly and is just about to take his first mouthful when Fortescue-Smythe cries out. “Here. This tea is lumpy! What is it made from?”
Sin answers “It is made from the pressed flesh of koala bears.”
“Koala bears? Koala bears? But… but… don’t you even get the lumps out?”
Sin looks a little surprised. “But of course not. Everyone in England knows that the koala tea of Mercy is not strained.”