It's a pun contest. If you don't like it the Exodus over there.
March 25, 2014 7:02 PM Subscribe
Yes, I tried to get into those contests with ten different puns, but no pun in ten did.
posted by oneswellfoop at 7:19 PM on March 25, 2014 [19 favorites]
posted by oneswellfoop at 7:19 PM on March 25, 2014 [19 favorites]
We need an all-duck online punning contest... it'd be quite a webbed feat.
posted by oneswellfoop at 7:23 PM on March 25, 2014 [4 favorites]
posted by oneswellfoop at 7:23 PM on March 25, 2014 [4 favorites]
You don't need ten submissions to land a spot in a pun contest if you have an in-eight ability.
posted by uosuaq at 7:26 PM on March 25, 2014 [8 favorites]
posted by uosuaq at 7:26 PM on March 25, 2014 [8 favorites]
After Doge, the PUN DOG was inevitable...
posted by oneswellfoop at 7:35 PM on March 25, 2014 [1 favorite]
posted by oneswellfoop at 7:35 PM on March 25, 2014 [1 favorite]
NB: groaners may be imperceptible to people who are constantly groaning internally anyway
posted by clockzero at 7:37 PM on March 25, 2014
posted by clockzero at 7:37 PM on March 25, 2014
I'd rather have a nice glass of wine than open heart surgery.
posted by mono blanco at 7:42 PM on March 25, 2014 [3 favorites]
posted by mono blanco at 7:42 PM on March 25, 2014 [3 favorites]
puns aren't funny
posted by philip-random at 8:13 PM on March 25, 2014
posted by philip-random at 8:13 PM on March 25, 2014
In that case I suggest a glass of red, blanco. It's good for the heart.
posted by uosuaq at 8:15 PM on March 25, 2014
posted by uosuaq at 8:15 PM on March 25, 2014
I'd rather have a nice glass of wine than open heart surgery.
I am SO embarrassed to ask this, but I need this one explained to me.
posted by 4ster at 8:19 PM on March 25, 2014 [1 favorite]
I am SO embarrassed to ask this, but I need this one explained to me.
posted by 4ster at 8:19 PM on March 25, 2014 [1 favorite]
Well, I'd rather than a free bottle in front of me than a pre-frontal lobotomy...
posted by oneswellfoop at 8:23 PM on March 25, 2014 [3 favorites]
posted by oneswellfoop at 8:23 PM on March 25, 2014 [3 favorites]
At some point, my father in law was reading a book about Amish culture and the use of shun signs and woeing (this is the term he used, anyway; he basically seemed to interpret it as "following someone around intoning 'Woe! WOOOOOE!'").
Based on this non-fiction reading, here is the story he created:
Based on this non-fiction reading, here is the story he created:
There's an Amish community which is very active in drug trafficking. It's so active that the federal government sends two narcotics officers, Desmond (Des) and Theodore, to check the place out. There's a woman there, Martha, who is in charge of the shunning and woeing for this village; she puts the shun sign on the doors of houses whose inhabitants are to be shunned and she personally woes people of whom she disapproves.posted by Mrs. Pterodactyl at 8:24 PM on March 25, 2014 [22 favorites]
Agent Theodore is gay and Martha is Not Happy about this, so she starts hassling him. Eventually she follows him out of town leaving Desmond alone to deal with the narcotics trafficking. They're gone a long time and Desmond ends up moving in with an unmarried Amish lady, much to the chagrin of the community, but they can't do anything about it because Martha's gone.
Bill Withers sees all this and writes a song about it:
Ain't no shun sign when she's gone
Just narc Des every day
Ain't no shun sign when she's gone
And she's gone too long
Every time she woes a gay
Ok. I feel better now. Thanks onefellswoop.
posted by 4ster at 8:26 PM on March 25, 2014 [1 favorite]
posted by 4ster at 8:26 PM on March 25, 2014 [1 favorite]
Didja hear the one about the brothers that inherited a cattle ranch?
They named it Focus.
Why?
Because that's where the Sons Raise Meat.
posted by pjern at 8:41 PM on March 25, 2014 [5 favorites]
They named it Focus.
Why?
Because that's where the Sons Raise Meat.
posted by pjern at 8:41 PM on March 25, 2014 [5 favorites]
IF ANYONE IS GOING TO THE O.HENRY PUN OFF IN AUSTIN, I AM SO THERE. I'LL BE THE CRAZY CHICK STANDING BY THE STAGE, BLOWING KISSES AND MIMING "CALL ME."
posted by quincunx at 8:52 PM on March 25, 2014
posted by quincunx at 8:52 PM on March 25, 2014
After an extremely long and totally shaggy dog-like setup, the doctor says "It's a simple observation: Abcess makes the fart go 'Honda!'"
posted by Spatch at 8:56 PM on March 25, 2014
posted by Spatch at 8:56 PM on March 25, 2014
'...well then it sounds to me like the ewe's on the lam!'
[feel free to invent your own belabored setup for that one]
posted by shakespeherian at 9:02 PM on March 25, 2014
[feel free to invent your own belabored setup for that one]
posted by shakespeherian at 9:02 PM on March 25, 2014
puns aren't funny
No, they aren't. They are, instead, a classic tool in the rhetorical toolbox, so essential to communicating the way language cen heighten the terrible ironies of life that Shakespeare used them at the most profound moments in his plays (such as Mercutio's death) and the entire Catholic church is rooted on a pun Jesus made inspired by Peter's name. The title of one of Marcel Duchamp's most iconic works is a pun. Joyce puns in Ulysses. It is one of the summits of our linguistic ingenuity.
Also, our former vice president used to relentlessly pun about math to a strict waltz tempo, and that was the origin of the algorythm.
posted by Bunny Ultramod at 9:03 PM on March 25, 2014 [14 favorites]
No, they aren't. They are, instead, a classic tool in the rhetorical toolbox, so essential to communicating the way language cen heighten the terrible ironies of life that Shakespeare used them at the most profound moments in his plays (such as Mercutio's death) and the entire Catholic church is rooted on a pun Jesus made inspired by Peter's name. The title of one of Marcel Duchamp's most iconic works is a pun. Joyce puns in Ulysses. It is one of the summits of our linguistic ingenuity.
Also, our former vice president used to relentlessly pun about math to a strict waltz tempo, and that was the origin of the algorythm.
posted by Bunny Ultramod at 9:03 PM on March 25, 2014 [14 favorites]
I actually tacked this up in front of my apartment once...
Shockingly, nobody tore any of them off...
posted by oneswellfoop at 9:04 PM on March 25, 2014 [8 favorites]
Shockingly, nobody tore any of them off...
posted by oneswellfoop at 9:04 PM on March 25, 2014 [8 favorites]
Punderdome, in Brooklyn, is a pretty-much-monthly bit of fun with this. Good bit of minor-league competition for those interested (i myself am terrible at puns, and can only find true humor beyond vague appreciation in the instances when they are wildly inappropriate or otherwise used to troll somebody.)
posted by Navelgazer at 9:19 PM on March 25, 2014
posted by Navelgazer at 9:19 PM on March 25, 2014
My wife intends to send me to one of these someday.
Also to let me come back, but only if I bring a dessert.
So I intend to return to her as she requests, with a lemon boomerang pie.
posted by mephron at 10:21 PM on March 25, 2014 [3 favorites]
Also to let me come back, but only if I bring a dessert.
So I intend to return to her as she requests, with a lemon boomerang pie.
posted by mephron at 10:21 PM on March 25, 2014 [3 favorites]
Here's one of my own:
Q: How did Russell Crowe feel after he ate his wife?
A: Gladiator
posted by misterbee at 10:33 PM on March 25, 2014 [8 favorites]
Q: How did Russell Crowe feel after he ate his wife?
A: Gladiator
posted by misterbee at 10:33 PM on March 25, 2014 [8 favorites]
I... think I have found my calling. Thank you.
posted by spiderskull at 11:40 PM on March 25, 2014
posted by spiderskull at 11:40 PM on March 25, 2014
Thanks for making me ex-pensive!
posted by hat_eater at 12:20 AM on March 26, 2014 [1 favorite]
posted by hat_eater at 12:20 AM on March 26, 2014 [1 favorite]
They hold these pun contests in Singapore as well and the first price is highly appreciated, as it's a litre of durian fruit juice. As you may know, durian fruits, due to their smells, are forbidden within the city, while importing the juice is expensive due to the high demand for it.
What they do with the juice is to mix half a litre of it with half a litre of earl grey, one of the most popular drinks in Singapore for those who can afford it. Why it's so prized? Because it gives longevity.
As they say in Singapore, you'll never grow old with a pitcher of dorian grey.
posted by MartinWisse at 1:10 AM on March 26, 2014 [9 favorites]
What they do with the juice is to mix half a litre of it with half a litre of earl grey, one of the most popular drinks in Singapore for those who can afford it. Why it's so prized? Because it gives longevity.
As they say in Singapore, you'll never grow old with a pitcher of dorian grey.
posted by MartinWisse at 1:10 AM on March 26, 2014 [9 favorites]
great pun, but shouldn't it be "pitcher of durian grey"?
I like durians! If possible, try to find the durian gummi candies in Asian markets. Meaty and chewy.
posted by telstar at 1:41 AM on March 26, 2014 [1 favorite]
I like durians! If possible, try to find the durian gummi candies in Asian markets. Meaty and chewy.
posted by telstar at 1:41 AM on March 26, 2014 [1 favorite]
So, this guy comes home from work one day and finds this little ball of white stuff on his front walk... He leans down, picks it up, and realizes it's a small handful of dental floss. "hmmmm...." he says, and throws it in the trash can in the garage.
The next day he comes home and finds that there is a car sized pile of the this stuff in front of his door... It took him a half hour to get it out of the way... He asked his wife, his kid, his dog, none of them had a clue as to how it got there..
The next day he comes home and finds that the front yard is full of dental floss, he ends up hiring a dump truck and a front end loader to get it out of there... cost him about $500. He calls the police, they can't find any clues... his wife and kid (and dog) are terrified...... counseling for all of them.
A month later he comes home and finds the house covered and filled with floss... He battles his way in, searches for hours and finally drags out the wife, the kid, the dog... They are all traumatized, refusing to go back into the house.
He moves. He moves with the wife, the kid, the dog, to a town 200 miles away... things are better, after a couple of months the dog has even come out from under the bed... He even saw the kid smile once.... Then, one day, a year later, he comes home from work (late, of course, now it's a 200 mile commute each way), and, from a mile away he sees this white mass on the horizon..his heart sinks, he speeds home to find his home buried in tons and tons of floss...
It takes the national guard to find the wife, the kid, the dog, they end up hospitalized for weeks, the psychiatric treatment alone was a tough road for them... and the dog was pooping floss for days....
He quits his job, he changes his name, he paints the dog a different color, cuts the kid's hair, changes everything he can change... sells the house (for pennies on the dollar because.....floss), buys a truck, a trailer, and from that point on never spends a night in the same spot...and, never again has to deal with mountains of dental floss....
You see, he had figured it out, it was simple... A rolling home gathers no floss.
I'm going to have some coffee now...
posted by HuronBob at 3:06 AM on March 26, 2014 [1 favorite]
The next day he comes home and finds that there is a car sized pile of the this stuff in front of his door... It took him a half hour to get it out of the way... He asked his wife, his kid, his dog, none of them had a clue as to how it got there..
The next day he comes home and finds that the front yard is full of dental floss, he ends up hiring a dump truck and a front end loader to get it out of there... cost him about $500. He calls the police, they can't find any clues... his wife and kid (and dog) are terrified...... counseling for all of them.
A month later he comes home and finds the house covered and filled with floss... He battles his way in, searches for hours and finally drags out the wife, the kid, the dog... They are all traumatized, refusing to go back into the house.
He moves. He moves with the wife, the kid, the dog, to a town 200 miles away... things are better, after a couple of months the dog has even come out from under the bed... He even saw the kid smile once.... Then, one day, a year later, he comes home from work (late, of course, now it's a 200 mile commute each way), and, from a mile away he sees this white mass on the horizon..his heart sinks, he speeds home to find his home buried in tons and tons of floss...
It takes the national guard to find the wife, the kid, the dog, they end up hospitalized for weeks, the psychiatric treatment alone was a tough road for them... and the dog was pooping floss for days....
He quits his job, he changes his name, he paints the dog a different color, cuts the kid's hair, changes everything he can change... sells the house (for pennies on the dollar because.....floss), buys a truck, a trailer, and from that point on never spends a night in the same spot...and, never again has to deal with mountains of dental floss....
You see, he had figured it out, it was simple... A rolling home gathers no floss.
I'm going to have some coffee now...
posted by HuronBob at 3:06 AM on March 26, 2014 [1 favorite]
Oh that reminds me, I need to call my dad.
posted by Ham Snadwich at 5:24 AM on March 26, 2014 [4 favorites]
posted by Ham Snadwich at 5:24 AM on March 26, 2014 [4 favorites]
We used to have occasional pun contests in-store back when I owned a small chain of consignment stores for Indian clothing. Pun night was always a big hit at Whose Sari Now?
posted by jbickers at 7:00 AM on March 26, 2014 [1 favorite]
posted by jbickers at 7:00 AM on March 26, 2014 [1 favorite]
A classic from Isaac Asimov:
It was extremely unusual for a Foy to be dying on earth. They were the highest social class on their planet (which had a name that was pronounced — as nearly as earthly throats could make the sounds — Sortibackenstrete) and were virtually immortal.
Every Foy, of course, came to a voluntary death eventually, and this one had given up because of an ill-starred love affair, if you can call it a love affair where five individuals, in order to reproduce, must indulge in a yearlong mental contact. Apparently, the Foy had not fit into the contact after several months of trying, and it had broken his heart — or hearts, for he had five. All Foys had five large hearts and there was speculation that it was this that made them virtually immortal. Maude Briscoe, Earth’s most renowned surgeon, wanted those hearts.
“It can’t be just their number and size, Ray,” she said to her chief assistant. “It has to be something physiological or biochemical. I must have them.”
“I don’t know if we can manage that,” said Ray Johnson. “I’ve been speaking to him earnestly, trying to overcome the Foy taboo against dismemberment after death. I’ve had to lie to him, Maude.”
“Lie?”
“I told him that after death, there would be a dirge sung for him by the world-famous choir led by Harold J. Gassenbaum. I told him that, by Earthly belief, this would mean that his astral essence would be instantaneously wafted back, through hyperspace, to his home planet of Sortib-what’s-it’s-name — provided he would sign a release allowing you, Maude, to have his hearts for scientific investigation.”
“Don’t tell me he believed that.”
“Well, you know this modern attitude about accepting the myths and beliefs of intelligent aliens. It wouldn’t have been polite for him not to believe me. Besides, the Foys have a profound admiration for Earthly science and I think this one is a little flattered that we should want his hearts. He promised to consider the suggestion and I hope he decides soon because he can’t live more than another, day or so, and we must have his permission by interstellar law, and the hearts must be fresh — Ah, his signal.”
Ray Johnson moved in with smooth and noiseless speed. “Yes?” he whispered, unobtrusively turning on the holographic recording device in case the Foy wished to grant permission. The Foy’s large, gnarled, rather tree like body lay motionless on the bed. His bulging eyes palpitated — all five of them — as they rose, each on its stalk, and turned toward Ray.
The Foy’s voice had a strange tone and the lipless edges of his open round mouth did not move, but the words formed perfectly. His eyes were making the Foyan gestures of assent as he said, “Give my big hearts to Maude, Ray. Dismember me for Harold’s choir. Tell all the Foys on Sortibackenstrete that I will soon be there.”
posted by Johnny Wallflower at 7:39 AM on March 26, 2014 [5 favorites]
It was extremely unusual for a Foy to be dying on earth. They were the highest social class on their planet (which had a name that was pronounced — as nearly as earthly throats could make the sounds — Sortibackenstrete) and were virtually immortal.
Every Foy, of course, came to a voluntary death eventually, and this one had given up because of an ill-starred love affair, if you can call it a love affair where five individuals, in order to reproduce, must indulge in a yearlong mental contact. Apparently, the Foy had not fit into the contact after several months of trying, and it had broken his heart — or hearts, for he had five. All Foys had five large hearts and there was speculation that it was this that made them virtually immortal. Maude Briscoe, Earth’s most renowned surgeon, wanted those hearts.
“It can’t be just their number and size, Ray,” she said to her chief assistant. “It has to be something physiological or biochemical. I must have them.”
“I don’t know if we can manage that,” said Ray Johnson. “I’ve been speaking to him earnestly, trying to overcome the Foy taboo against dismemberment after death. I’ve had to lie to him, Maude.”
“Lie?”
“I told him that after death, there would be a dirge sung for him by the world-famous choir led by Harold J. Gassenbaum. I told him that, by Earthly belief, this would mean that his astral essence would be instantaneously wafted back, through hyperspace, to his home planet of Sortib-what’s-it’s-name — provided he would sign a release allowing you, Maude, to have his hearts for scientific investigation.”
“Don’t tell me he believed that.”
“Well, you know this modern attitude about accepting the myths and beliefs of intelligent aliens. It wouldn’t have been polite for him not to believe me. Besides, the Foys have a profound admiration for Earthly science and I think this one is a little flattered that we should want his hearts. He promised to consider the suggestion and I hope he decides soon because he can’t live more than another, day or so, and we must have his permission by interstellar law, and the hearts must be fresh — Ah, his signal.”
Ray Johnson moved in with smooth and noiseless speed. “Yes?” he whispered, unobtrusively turning on the holographic recording device in case the Foy wished to grant permission. The Foy’s large, gnarled, rather tree like body lay motionless on the bed. His bulging eyes palpitated — all five of them — as they rose, each on its stalk, and turned toward Ray.
The Foy’s voice had a strange tone and the lipless edges of his open round mouth did not move, but the words formed perfectly. His eyes were making the Foyan gestures of assent as he said, “Give my big hearts to Maude, Ray. Dismember me for Harold’s choir. Tell all the Foys on Sortibackenstrete that I will soon be there.”
posted by Johnny Wallflower at 7:39 AM on March 26, 2014 [5 favorites]
If you were like me, and didn't know the chorus to Give My Regards To Broadway, you'd be excused for not getting the pun.
And now for something entirely different, how do you call a queue to the punch bowl?
posted by hat_eater at 8:11 AM on March 26, 2014
And now for something entirely different, how do you call a queue to the punch bowl?
posted by hat_eater at 8:11 AM on March 26, 2014
A-and then there's that outrageously long shaggy dog story in Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow that Steven Weisberger called the "most elaborately staged pun in all of GR. ... Note that Pynchon has fashioned an entire narrative digression about illicit trading in furs, oarsmen in boats, fur-henchmen, and De Mille -all of it in order to launch this pun."
The pun being: "For De Mille, young fur-henchmen can't be rowing".
posted by chavenet at 8:57 AM on March 26, 2014
The pun being: "For De Mille, young fur-henchmen can't be rowing".
posted by chavenet at 8:57 AM on March 26, 2014
A pre-frontal lobotomy is brain surgery, not heart surgery. For future meta-punning reference. God I'm insufferable. Sorry.
I love puns. I love this post. Please carry on.
posted by vytae at 6:13 PM on March 26, 2014
I love puns. I love this post. Please carry on.
posted by vytae at 6:13 PM on March 26, 2014
...and I never intended my lobotomy comment to explain the heart surgery comment, it just reminded me of it...
In a deleted scene from Twin Peaks, the Log Lady claimed that by soaking her log in water passed through a steel mesh, it could act like a vaccination against communicable diseases for whomever touches it. Agent Cooper was totally dismissive: "You'll never get anything from a metal-filtered co-immunity wet log."
posted by oneswellfoop at 9:41 PM on March 26, 2014
In a deleted scene from Twin Peaks, the Log Lady claimed that by soaking her log in water passed through a steel mesh, it could act like a vaccination against communicable diseases for whomever touches it. Agent Cooper was totally dismissive: "You'll never get anything from a metal-filtered co-immunity wet log."
posted by oneswellfoop at 9:41 PM on March 26, 2014
Also, Jeff Wysaski of the usually fun meme congregator site Pleated Jeans posted a video of himself telling 25 self-proclaimed TERRIBLE jokes, half of which are puns. As a public service, I'm separating out the least-painful punnery here so you don't have to watch the whole video.
What did the tree put on its salad?
Branch dressing.
What's the best way to advertise to apes?
Gorilla marketing.
Which state gets vacuumed the most?
Floorida.
Why are a stockbroker's arms always cold?
Even in winter, he in vests.
What kind of car does a ghost drive?
A Boo-ick.
Why was the 40 ounce beer friends with Flipper on Facebook?
Because bottle knows dolphin.
Where does a razor put its money?
A shavings account.
Did you know Mexican Cupid uses sombr-arrows?
You're welcome.
posted by oneswellfoop at 9:56 PM on March 26, 2014
What did the tree put on its salad?
Branch dressing.
What's the best way to advertise to apes?
Gorilla marketing.
Which state gets vacuumed the most?
Floorida.
Why are a stockbroker's arms always cold?
Even in winter, he in vests.
What kind of car does a ghost drive?
A Boo-ick.
Why was the 40 ounce beer friends with Flipper on Facebook?
Because bottle knows dolphin.
Where does a razor put its money?
A shavings account.
Did you know Mexican Cupid uses sombr-arrows?
You're welcome.
posted by oneswellfoop at 9:56 PM on March 26, 2014
...and I never intended my lobotomy comment to explain the heart surgery comment, it just reminded me of it...
But you did explain it! I was going to post the "frontal-lobotomy/bottle in front of me" pun. Then I thought, "Nah, everyone knows that one." Then I thought "Hey, here's a meta-pun."
But it's not a good one because it itself has no pun.
4ster was embarrassed yet nevertheless asked. I think that's very admirable. I felt abashed by that courage.
posted by mono blanco at 8:04 PM on March 27, 2014 [1 favorite]
But you did explain it! I was going to post the "frontal-lobotomy/bottle in front of me" pun. Then I thought, "Nah, everyone knows that one." Then I thought "Hey, here's a meta-pun."
But it's not a good one because it itself has no pun.
4ster was embarrassed yet nevertheless asked. I think that's very admirable. I felt abashed by that courage.
posted by mono blanco at 8:04 PM on March 27, 2014 [1 favorite]
Supermultitasking can't be a binary is or isn't thing though. Everyone can do do things at once is one of the things has been practiced so much that it's a habit. That's why most challenging hobbies stress practice. Why do you practice boring-ass scales over and over again if not to make the finger positions habit if you drop the guitar pick or have to sing while playing or something. Even pilots have to practice emergency procedures again and again so that when something gies wrong, it's muscle memory instead of conscious thought.
Not to say that supermultitaskers don't exist, but don't confuse practice with multitasking ability. If you think you're a supermultitasker, you're probably not.
EDIT: How the fuck did this comment get in this thread?
posted by fnerg at 8:13 PM on March 27, 2014
Not to say that supermultitaskers don't exist, but don't confuse practice with multitasking ability. If you think you're a supermultitasker, you're probably not.
EDIT: How the fuck did this comment get in this thread?
posted by fnerg at 8:13 PM on March 27, 2014
OK, mono blanco, but heart surgery is not brain surgery, and neither one is rocket surgery. Jokewriting is much harder than that (and with no doctorates available).
posted by oneswellfoop at 9:42 PM on March 27, 2014
posted by oneswellfoop at 9:42 PM on March 27, 2014
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posted by arcticseal at 7:10 PM on March 25, 2014 [5 favorites]