It’s time for a thread just for stupid puns. This one was told by my retiring 8th grade teacher in an effort to waste time:
Jim Konowicz and Sam Frank were best friends from childhood. They did everything together. Jim was a good guy, courteous to all. Sam was not, he was mean. Jim didn’t know what he wanted in life. Sam wanted to own a discotheque. One day they were both killed in a horrible car accident. Jim went to Heaven but Sam went to hell. At the Pearly Gates St. Peter informed Jim that he would have to pass a few tests to get into heaven, the first one was that he would need to carry a harp for a month. Jim said great, but he really wanted to visit his friend Sam Frank. St. Peter agreed saying he’d have to be back in heaven with his harp in 24 hours. So Jim descended into hell it didn’t look that bad, but he didn’t know where Sam was. He asked around and was told to go downt the street and take a right. He did this, lugging the hart the whole way. When he turned he saw a giant disco, and inside he found the owner, Sam Frank. He and Sam reminisced for a while and lost track of time, when Jim checked his watch he only had 10 minutes, barely enough time. So he bolten to get back to Heaven. At the Pearly Gates St. Peter said “where’s your harp? you can’t get into heaven without it!” and Jim Said, “I LEFT MY HARP IN SAM FRANK’S DISCO!!!”
I feel actual physical pain after reading that. Way down in the bowels.
It was Larry the Lobster and Sam Clam!
I have one that I do not pass up an opportunity.
People who have known my for a long time cringe, when they’re with me at a dinner table and I notice: I haven’t been given a fork.
They know what’s coming up when I say “I wasn’t given a fork.”
::cringing::
“That’s very un-fork-tunate.”
At a dance club one night, there were two wallflowers sitting on opposite sides of the room. No one would dance with the man because he had a wooden eye, and no one would ask the woman to dance because she had a hairlip.
At some point during the evening, the man noticed that the young lady was not being asked to dance. He had been rejected all night, but he managed to work up the courage to approach her. He walked up to her and said, “Excuse me Miss, would you care to dance?”
“Would I?” she exclaimed.
“Hairlip!!” he yelled back.
(if you don’t get it, ask someone to read it outloud to you)
Being a big fan of the Shaggy Dog, here’s a puppy of my own…
Long before written history bands of nomads wandered Mongolia and it has been said that great magic was performed. A clan claims to have its roots in a mystic legend and its name holds the legacy. The Band of Kygraa still inhabits the lower steppes and they are rumored to have had a great and powerful Shaman who is linked through legend to the Kygraa.
The Mongolian Herdsmen to this day yell out ‘Kygraa’ to their flock to get them moving. It is not known if ‘Kygraa’ is used by the herdsmen because of the myth or if the myth has caused the use of ‘Kygraa’.
The story goes that their Shaman led the tribe to the high country to flee from murdering marauders. The members of the clan were able to escape with their lives and their possessions but were unable to bring their yaks and goats with them. The invaders gorged themselves on the flocks and waited for the tribe to return.
The Shaman helped the members of his clan survive in the high country without food using his mystical powers. His way to quell the hunger pangs was to approach from an unusual angle. He had them all line up, drop their drawers, and he would go from man, to woman, to child yelling out ‘Kygraa’ into their upturned arses. He would ‘scare away the hunger’ with his great magic. Through this peculiar technique the slightly embarrassed band was able to wait out the marauders.
It is said he thieves perished that winter in waiting for the band to return, having foolishly slaughtered all the animals in fit of gluttony and triumph over seizing the Kygraa pastures. As the spring returned the Band sent scouts back to their pasturelands and found that the invaders were no more, it was safe to return again.
The great Shaman was able to maintain the tribe with his occult magic, but the tribe was a proud one and worked to regain the mighty herds they once had. The Shaman knew the tribe was only able to survive because of his magic, and felt slighted by his kinsmen. With a heavy heart he left his tribe seeking wisdom from the great Sage of the Mountain.
Enduring great hardship and expending tremendous effort he was finally able to reach the mountaintop and told his story to the Sage. The Sage for a long time said nothing. He let the Shaman reflect on what had occurred. The Sage then spoke. “O great Shaman, you are wise in the ways of magic, but far from the understanding of the common man.” He then told the Shaman a powerful truth that applies around the world to this very day. After another long pause the Sage spoke again “Even the simplest of your tribesman knows that a herd in the Band is worth boo in the tush”
I love puns! Here’s one of my favorites:
There was this island village that had a king. The king lived in a castle made of grass. He was extremely vain, and every few months, he would make his people build him a newer, bigger, better throne. He would take the old thrones and store them in the attic. So, one day, he gets a new throne. He of course has the old one stored upstairs. Well, this was too much weight for the floor of the attic. So, the thrones came crashing through the ceiling, landing on the king and killing him. The moral of this story is: People who live in grass houses shouldn’t stow thrones.
:ducking: Hey, stop throwing those tomatoes!
Homepage: www.idreamofjeannie.com
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Location: I’m still stuck in this damn bottle in Cocoa Beach, Fla.
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I never hate myself in the morning. I sleep till noon.
–Custom sig line courtesy of Wally
In all the world no man was more blessed than Khu, the Grand Shan of Tartary–nor more cursed.
None exceeded him in power or riches, the breadth of his domain, the virtues of his wife, and the vices of his concubines. Such were his blessings, but heed ye his curse. For Khu, the Grand Shan, suffered from epilepsy, which men call the “falling sickness”–an affliction of sudden seizures, of convulsions occurring without warning. Like many great rulers, the Shan had enemies. And it remained for one, whose name was Ling-Po, to discover the cause of his curse. The Shan, a learned and intelligent man, was unusually sensitive to crude japes and mindless jests. It was on occasions when he was exposed to such idiocies–most notably in the form of puns–that he became enraged, and thus responsive to his seizures.
Knowing this, Ling-Po devised what is called, in the heathen lands of the West, a “shaggy dog” story–a witless and revolting piece of nonsense designed to lead the unsuspecting reader to a “punchline” in the form of a truly disgusting pun. This particular story might well sicken any reader–and in the case of someone susceptible to epileptic seizures, it might even bring about his death.
Ling-Po inscribed his work on a scroll of parchment inserted in a golden tube, and personally presented it to the Shan as a birthday gift from an anonymous admirer.
Presently it came to pass that the Shan unrolled the scroll. Ling-Po waited, his heart pounding in uncertainty as the Shan began to read. Would the Shan indeed experience an epileptic seizure when he came upon the filthy pun at the end?
The reading concluded, and for a moment Ling-Po waited, wondering if he had failed. But he need not have worried, once the pun was read. For it was then that the fit hit the Shan.
Once, there was a very rich man who was dying. He called his four sons to his deathbed and told them that his one regret was that he had never achieved his one true dream - to be a rancher. So, he told his sons that they would inherit the considerable family fortune only if they used it to buy and operate a ranch. The sons thought this was fair enough, and decided to comply with his wishes. But before the father could pass away, the sons wanted to ask him what to name the ranch, in his honor. The father, with his last breath, sighs “Call it … Focus.”
And so “Focus” became the place where the mourning sons raise meat.
Like an expensive sports car, fine-tuned and well-built, Portia was sleek, shapely, and gorgeous, her red jumpsuit molding her body, which was as warm as the seatcovers in July, her hair as dark as new tires, her eyes flashing like bright hubcaps, and her lips as dewy as the beads of fresh rain on the hood; she was a woman driven–fueled by a single accelerant–and she needed a man, a man who wouldn’t shift from his views, a man to steer her along the right road, a man like Alf Romeo.
–Rachel E. , Williamsburg, Indiana (1988 Winner)
more great stuff like that here… http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/ my favorite site after Straightdope! If you read the straightdope books… more then likely you will like these books too.
Anything that Polycarp says is likely to fit the bill for this one… 
Yer pal,
Satan
http://www.raleighmusic.com/board/Images/devil.gif
Still not smoking, but away from my meter!
What did the fish say when he swam into a brick wall?
Dam.
(It only gets worse from here, folks…)
What do you call Grandmasters discussing their game in a lobby?
Chess nuts boasting in an open foyer.
(And now my personal favorite…)
What happened when the blue ship and the red ship collided?
The survivors were marooned.
Ba-dum-bum. Thank you. I’ll be here all week.
“It’s not death I fear so much as leaving something so beautiful as life.”
I had a wonderful Ancient History teacher in college who told us about the primitive wristwatch invented by Alexander the Great. The soldiers tied strips of cloth to their wrists, which had been dipped in dye. When the dye dried it changed color, and the soldiers knew it was time to attack.
We were all sitting there busily taking notes on this, when the professor told us, “This invention became known as Alexander’s Rag Time-Band.”
Funny that this should be on the board at the same time as the Science Fiction thread, for who can possibly forget that greatest of pun-makers, Ferdinand Fehgoot!?
My personal favorite is when he is captured by giants of Brobdinangian proportions. After finally escaping, he tells his fans how he lived while captive, cleaning the teeth of the king in exchange for a hollowed out tooth to live in. Denying that he was kept in slavery, he said he preferred to be thought of as an ‘indentured servant’.
They published something like 150 of these groaners in Fantasy and Science Fiction during the 50’s and 60’s… and no deaths were ever reported… 
An unemployed man was checking the classifieds when he came upon an ad that said
“Wanted. One Tis bottle. Call xxx-xxx-xxxx for details”.
When he called, he was given directions to a house in the better part of town. He took the bus to a very nice mansion. A butler answered his knock, and showed him in.
A middle aged man greated him. "Yes, I placed the ad. I am a collector of antiques and curiosities, and the one thing I have never been able to aquire is a Tis Bottle. I know of three Bottles in existence. I will pay 6 million dollars for one of these Bottles.
Of course, the man agreed. He called his oldest son to tell him of his good fortune, and his son insited on searching for the Bottle himself. “It’s too dangerous for you,” he said.
So the son went to the mountains of tibet, searching for the elusive Bottle. Months passed, and the man was finally informed that his son had found one of the Bottles in a Shoilen Temple. Unfortuantly, he fell off a cliff, and died. Even worse, the bottle was lost.
Heartbroken, the man told his other son the terrible news. “I will find onother one of the bottles, father. My brother will not rest in peace if his mission is unfinished.”
so the younger son set out to the jungles of South America. Afer many adventures, invovling dodging alligators and savages, he finally aquired the Tis bottle. However, on the way back, he was struck by a spear from one of the irate tribesmen, and died. The Bottle fell into the amazon, and was lost in the depths.
The man spent many years in mourning over the loss of his fine sons. finally, he decided to find the third Bottle. He had heard rumors of a sunken ship off the Atlantic coast that had the Bottlwe inside its wreakage. He took a leaky raft (all he could aford) into the ocean, and somehow made it to the site of the shipwreak.
He should never have been able to dive so deep, but his sorror was great, and he was determined. He made it to the wreak, and grabbed the Bottle. while swimming to the surface, a shark bit his arm off. Screaming, he tried to get back into the raft. As he did so, the shark bit both his legs off. The man almost dropped the bottle, but he grabbed it with his teeth just as the shark bit his other arm off.
He drifted back to shore, and a friendly couple on the beach bound his wounds and took hi mto the hospital. He was now a quadraplegic, but he had the Bottle!
After months of requperation(sp), he took a bus to the mansion. He had to ring the doorbell with his tongue. The butler took one look at him, and showed him into the parlor. The rich man was very happy, and gave Our Hero a check for 6 million dollors.
“Sir?” The man asked. “I’m sorry, but I lost both my sons and my limbs getting this bottle for you. I would really appreciate knowign what this Bottle is good for.”
The rich man stared at the formerly poor man quietly. Finally, he agreed. “Follow me,” he said.
He walked down a shadowy corridor, the cripple beign pushed along by the butler. At the end of the corridor was a safe door. The rich man dialed in a combination, and the door slowly opened. The cripple stared in wonder at what he saw.
A room filled with bottles! bottles of all sizes, shapes, and colors! And on one shelf, lit by a spotlight, was a space just big enough for the Tis Bottle.
with great reverence, the rich man slowly placed the Bottle on the shelf. Tears filled his eyes, as he reached into his coat pockets. He pulled out two small sticks, and, tapping the bottles, began to sing
“Our country, TIS of thee…”
You say “cheesy” like that’s a BAD thing.
My friend’s Chemistry Prof:
Where IS actinium on the periodic table… Hmmm, let me zinc"
“My drinking team has a Rugby problem.”
Homepage: www.I’mBig.com
Occupation: Photographer wannabe
Location: The darkroom
Interests: Yes.
Designer Sig and Profile. Anyone without one just isn’t cool.
If you need a graphic solution,http://talk.to/Piglet
One evening, while I was in Australia doing field work for my thesis, I was watching the news with a couple of friends. Among other events of the day, the news anchor read a story about a number of Merino rams that were being shipped by air to Turkey to help bolster wool production. The line came to me, and I couldn’t help but blurt it out:
“I wonder if the captain told them to fasten their sheep belts?”
Two sets of eyes turned to stare at me, and I was told, “Dear, you’ve been in the bush too long…”
I can’t think of any real stinkers right this sec, but if ya’ll want some really baaaddd puns, read Callahan’s Crosstime Saloon, by Spider Robinson. The book is hilarious, and the puns get worse by the minute.
“There are more things you don’t know than there are things that I do know. I despair of the imbalance.” – Dr. Morgenes, The Dragonbone Chair
My high school Latin teacher told me this one.
It’s widely known that there used to be a colony of Basques in the US, but they have disappeared. This is what happened to them.
One fine day they all decided to take a trip to New York. Having never been to a big city before, they were impressed by everything they saw. What impressed them most, however, were revolving doors. They found two such doors in department stores right across the street from each other. All the Basques would run into one door, zing around it and out into the street, going right into the opposite one, where they would zing around and out. They did this four or five times, until the last where they ran out of one door, into the street, and were run over and killed.
The storal of the mory is: Don’t put all your Basques in one exit.
This post is made of 100% recycled electrons
A much shorter one:
Once upon a time, there was a lovely queen who had a little princess. when the princess was born, an evil witch cursed her. “If the Princess Jenny ever cuts her hair, she will turn into a vase. Muh hah ha hah ha!”
Well, Jenny grew up into a beautiful young girl. But she was very stubborn. she always fought wit the queen. One day, after beign told she couldn’t play doctor with the baker’s boy, she cut her hair, knowing that would upset her mother (She had only been told not to cut it. she had never been told of the curse).
As soon as she cut off her hair, she transformed into a crystal vase. Her berieved mother used her to hold the nicest flowers in the land. The moral is:
a Jenny shaved is a Jenny urned.
You say “cheesy” like that’s a BAD thing.