The best puns are often offered as stories, and the pun component is as much as surprise as the pun content. By having a "pun" page I'm giving some of that away, so this is a somewhat limited collection. Something really is lost when you have an idea of what might be coming.
Apologizing for the interruption, the scientist began again, "My fellow scientists,". Again the clone sprang to his feet and yelled, "this dumb *%@(&+*! couldn't produce a copy on a Xerox. He's a fraudulent *$3%$#*#+=!".
Incensed, the scientist rushed to the clone, grabbed him, and threw him out of the window.
The crowd gasped and security rushed into the room. A short while later New York's finest arrived and the events that had transpired were explained to them. The police chief said to the scientist, "We are going to have to arrest you."
The scientist replied, "For what? You can't arrest me for killing a
clone!". The attending scientists nodded in agreement. "Well!" retorted the
police chief. He thought for a moment and ordered the scientist held for
"Making an obscene clone fall..."
A first, he swam into a small crevice in the rock, but he very quickly swam out of there, chased by an eel. Then he decided he could hide inside a shell, so he found a nice big one that he liked, but had to retreat from the crab that had got there before him. Finally, exhausted, he swam into the coral beds, and hid among the brilliant colored fern-like fronds of the corals.
The next day, when he hadn't come back to the anemone, some of the other fish decided to go out and look for him. The hunted everywhere for him, but they couldn't find him. Eventually, just as they had given up, they heard him calling to them. They looked around, but they couldn't see him anywhere - he was perfectly hidden by the coral.
Finally, he showed himself, and they tried to persuade him to come back
home, but he refused - the coral was too good a
hiding place to leave. "After all," he said, "with fronds like these, who
Just then, an armless man approached him and announced that he was there to apply for the bell ringer's job. The bishop was incredulous. "You have no arms!"
"No matter," said the man. "Observe!" And he began striking the bells with his face, producing a beautiful melody on the carillon. The bishop listened in astonishment, convinced he had finally found a replacement for Quasimodo.
But suddenly, rushing forward to strike a bell, the armless man tripped and plunged headlong out of the belfry window to his death in the street below.
The stunned bishop rushed to his side. When he reached the street, a crowd had gathered around the fallen figure, drawn by the beautiful music they had heard only moments before.
As they silently parted to let the bishop through, one of them asked, "Bishop, who was this man?"
"I don't know his name," the bishop sadly replied, "but his face rings a bell."
WAIT! WAIT! There's more . . .
The following day, despite the sadness that weighed heavily on his heart due to the unfortunate death of the armless campanologist, the bishop continued his interviews for the bell ringer of Notre Dame. The first man to approach him said, "Your Excellency, I am the brother of the poor armless wretch that fell to his death from this very belfry yesterday. I pray that you honor his life by allowing me to replace him in this duty."
The bishop agreed to give the man an audition, and, as the armless man's brother stooped to pick up a mallet to strike the first bell, he groaned, clutched at his chest, twirled around, and died on the spot. Two monks, hearing the bishop's cries of grief at this second tragedy, rushed up the stairs to his side.
"What has happened? Who is this man?" the first monk asked breathlessly.
"I don't know his name," sighed the distraught bishop, "but..."
( . . . Wait for it . . . )
(. . . It's worth it . . . )
(. . . Here it comes . . . )
"He's a dead ringer for his brother."
wait for it.....
Super calloused fragile mystic plagued with halitotis.
When in Autumn, do as the Ottomans.
When in a Chord E, do as the Accordians.
When in Drag, do as the Dragons.
When in Fahrvergnug, do as the Fahrvergnugens.
When Infirm, do as the Furmans.
When it's Friday, do as the Freudians.
When in Fur Boat, do as the Verbotens.
When with High Bernie, do as the Hibernians.
When in Oh Really, do as the Aurelians.
When in Oise, do as the Wazoos.
When in Pawns-Ideally, do as the Ponce de Leons.
When in Pee, do as the Peons.
When in Serge, do as the Surgeons.
When on the Verge, do as the Virgins.
At this point, you must understand two things:
(1) 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 used to be 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 quaff a few brews. After they had downed the first couple rounds, 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, Milton'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.
Katims was furious! And why not? After all...
It was the bottom of the Ninth, the score was
tied, and the basses were loaded.
Pattie explains that he will need to secure the loan with some collateral. The frog says, "Sure. I have this," and produces a tiny porcelain elephant, about half an inch tall - bright pink and perfectly formed. Very confused, Pattie explains that she'll have to consult with the bank manager and disappears into a back office.
She finds the manager and says, "There's a frog called Kermit Jagger out there who claims to know you and wants to borrow $30,000, and he wants to use this as collateral." She holds up the tiny pink elephant. "I mean, what in the world is this?"
The bank manager looks back at her and says... "It's a knickknack, Pattie Whack. Give the frog a loan. His old man's a Rolling Stone."