Yes Ludovic, clearly you are an outlier.
**anyrose. ** I was feeling TIRE-d, CRANK-y, and ready to blow a GASKET, like I was ready for a BRAKE but running out of FUMES and running up against a WHITEWALL. All this ENGINE-uity is hard to keep PACECAR with! IDLE-ly I’d like to FORD-ge ahead get this over with. But Jesus V-8 CHRYSTLER, you’re right. I’ll STOP – for awhile.
Here’s hoping This Year’s Model and Tuckerfan show…
“I know the state of Washington like the back of my hand,” spoke Ann.
Sir Erivan, the smallest but not the least hardy of King Arthur’s knights, receives word of a foul dragon molesting a helpless village and carrying off its maidens fair. Without delay he calls for his mail, his sword and his lance, and thus prepared for errantry he hies him to the stables, heedless of the rain lashing down in the gathering post-sunset gloom. “Saddle me a mighty charger, for I must away!” he cries. “Alas,” says the says the constable, “all thy brother knights are already abroad on deeds of renown, and they have taken every horse in the stable that is fit to be ridden.” Sir Erivan, not to be gainsaid, looks about him until he spies, lying on the straw in a corner of the stable, a great wolfhound, in stature the mightiest of all dog-kind, though to be sure, it appears to ail somewhat. “My need brooks no delay!” he declaims. “If there be no destrier ready to my need, then saddle me yonder hound, at once!”. The constable sadly shakes his head, the while bringing a potation to succour the discomforted animal. “Nay, your honour,” he says. “I would not send a knight out on a dog like this.”
Everyone was ecstatic when Grandpa won a trip to the Bear River Casino – comp’d at no charge. A host of vendors donated a list of strange but intriguing free prizes, too. A Hungarian doll collection. A stocked, functional workbench. Fruit bearing trees for landscaping. A vintage WWII file cabinet. A brand new model SUV. Most shockingly of all: services from an exclusive escort service. Grandson Billy looked at the prize list and laughed. “They got all kinds of good stuff here!”
Grandpa, full of shrewd immigrant distrust, was unimpressed. "Thees ees nothing. Eet sounds goot, but they’ll screw it up. Nobody makes casinos like zey do in Vegas. Zese people…’
Billy’s mother interjected, “Native Americans, pop.”
“Ahhh. They’ll screw eet all up!”
So against his better judgment, Grandpa (and Billy) drove to the casino to collect the prizes. To everyone’s surprise, they came back looking dour and disappointed. Billy was carrying a box.
Billy’s mother asked, “What happened? Didn’t you get your winnings? The workbench? The free lanscaping? The Ford Expedition?”
Grandpa screeched, “They screwed eet up, I tell you. Everything’s too small!”
Grandpa ranted, pointing to his pile of winnings. “They’re all toys! Huns leettle! Tools leettle! Trees leettle!” He said in disgust: “Indians. Ford leettle! File leettle! Sex leettle…!”.
I really don’t see how that story’s Germane to the thread, Askia. In fact, it made me quite Palefaced. I’d Gamble that you’ve run out of jokes.
It takes a big intellect to Inuit his meaning.
Well, looks like that one got “a patchy” reception. I’d’ve had “reservations” about going that route, myself. Askia’s a “brave” man for trying it. Yelling out puns like that in that “crazy, hoarse” voice of his is just asking for someone to “sue” him (although I wouldn’t “crow” if anyone did). Whatever his faults, it’s plain he’s not a “shy 'un”. At least he jumped in and got his big, “black feet” wet.
Eh, "try b"ullshitting someone else, dude; I’m not "sitting bull"shitting here any longer.
Watching you guys bumble around like this really stings. Hive a mind to give you a real buzz, make myself heard above this endless drone of amateur stuff. I don’t mean to gripe hornet pick, but you guys don’t seem to know wasp makes a really sweet pun. It’s not combing the language for any old sound-alike, it’s letting a double meaning flower in its own right.
I know I’m not beeing very nice about this, but it bugs me so.
I hear ya, **Spats ** - and while punning is not my forte, I am a major fan. A good (or rather, bad) pun doesn’t diminish the words around it, rather augments them. You have to have a sharp wit, or the pun will fall flat. On this point, we are in a chord.
How did we get in there? I want out! LEMME OUT! HELP, I’M STUCK IN A CHORD!
Words such as these are bound to cause timpanis to flare.
Grow up and show some glass, will ya? It’s not very knife to dish out punny putdowns, because spoon or later you are bound to get bowled over by a pro. A cupple of the previous posts managed to wipe the smile off people’s mugs, although a butter way could have been found to put them in their placemat. What platters is how you juggle the meanings and if you are table to make yourself understood. I mean, don’t bottle it up, we can pandle it, just keep the tone recepticle. Otherwise I might have to tell you to fork off, get back to wok and stop napkin on the job.
-Tcat
Well, I knew I was taking a risk with my last joke. Apologies to anyone if I added insult to injun-ry.
I know my Pixar a bit risque, but I try to be to be topical, too. Why? Be CARS I like you!
Stop! You’re making me Disney!
I just read that last ten posts and was hoping that at least one of them would elicit a chuckle out of me but no pun in ten did.
Eutychus. Well spotted, dick. Have some pi and I hope you joke on it.
(Wait -wait- wait- before anyone gets all mad at me, I thought for sure that Eutychus did that “spotted dick” article for the Straight Dope Staff Advisory Board, but dammit, I just checked just now and that seems to be Dex. So my attepted triple alluded pun reference is basically down to two, and sounds much more mean spirited than I meant. Sorry. I was just trying to top that last pun.) :smack:
Yours was pretty good, though, Eutychus.
Someone’s made a royal askia of himself, it appears. 
Oh, yeah? You can go straight to `Ell, en Cherry the rest of hell with you.