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This is a question Puns

Tell us your best ever puns - get them out of your system now and let's not see them again.

Suggested by MatJ

(, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 12:52)
Pages: Latest, 27, 26, 25, 24, 23, 22, 21, 20, ... 1

This question is now closed.

The - now mandatory* - Fluffeh entry.


*A cat is for lolz, not just for life.
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 13:57, 4 replies)
"Where the fuck are we gonna go on holiday?"

"Europe?"

"I know, I've been up for half an hour, now where the fuck are we gonna go on holiday?"
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 13:47, 2 replies)
Not a pun as such...
..but the wittiest thing I have ever said.

In 2005, after John Prescott changed his role in a cabinet reshuffle, the BBC aired a documentary about the role of the Deputy Prime Minister and how only some Prime Ministers have had them and how they have had different roles.

During the documentary, they spoke about Willy Whitelaw, Margaret Thatcher's little puppet of a Deputy PM. Some officious person sitting in a big chair with their hands clasped noted that Thatcher famously said that..

"Every Prime Minister needs a Willy!"

Quick as a flash I said..."Well, not every Prime Minister needs a Johnny!"

Nobody was there to hear it :(
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 13:46, Reply)
Daily Sport
Surely the best Daily Sport headline the day after Gianni Versace was killed

"Shoots You, Sir"
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 13:32, 4 replies)
In my latest high powered Hollywood production meeting
A couple of producer wannabes we're pitching an idea for a new movie.

"Mr Hanky, what we're looking at is getting a whole platoon of star actors and piting them against each other in a battle to the end."

I stopped playing with my executive stress toy, having nearly worn the plastic boobies out after a morning's kneading.

"Where's the funnies?" I asked.

The second producer stammered. "Well, we could get Jim Carey..."

As my nostrils flared they realised they might just as well have asked to rape my mum.

"No, I want a classic comedian lead in this battle of the actors," I said. "I want someone old school, someone with that X factor. I want Bob Hope..."

"Errr, he's dead..."

"Well, I want the new Bob Hope. Go and find him, you retarded shitmongers!" and they scurried out of my office pretty sharpish.

I scribbled the working title for this new epic of cinema in my notebook:

Star Wars: A New Hope...
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 13:29, Reply)
Possibly the best newspaper headline ever
Back in 2000, Caledonian Thistle (ever the also rans of Scottish football) beat Glasgow Celtic (Normally guaranteed a win in a matchup like this) 3-1. The next day, the sport headline in the Scottish Sun was:

Super Caley go ballistic, celtic are atrocious.

As punning headlines go, this one is difficult to beat.
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 13:24, 2 replies)
I bumped into Anna Kournikova the other day…

Me: “So…Anna, what are you doing with yourself now you’ve retired?”
Anna: “Well…I’ve changed my religion, perfected the science of cloning, formed a huge army in my own image, and set about my master plan of stealing some of the Doobie Brother’s camping equipment!”
Me: “Buggeration, that’s interesting! – They should make a movie about that!”
Anna: “They already have…It’s called ‘Hindi-Anna Drones and the Tent-pole of Doob’”
Me: “Hmm…anyway, less talk…carry on sucking, there’s a good girl…”
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 13:16, 5 replies)
Puns
One day whilst paddling down the Dordoigne river in France.

Father in Law : As my dad always said "I can row a boat.......Canooo" (As in can you)

Me : Fuck off

But later I grew to love this pathetic statement.
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 12:42, 1 reply)
Puns
Are like children.

You want to murder them and dispose of the corpse under the floorboards.

Signed,

John Wayne Gacy
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 12:32, 2 replies)
True…hence shit…= ‘truly shit’…

This very morning I was introduced to some bloke who had been taken on a short temp contract in our office.

I was informed that his name was ‘Ade’…not pronounced ‘Aid’, as in ‘short for Adrian’, but ‘Ade’ pronounced ‘Ad-Day’, as in Ade Akinbiyi

Me: “Pleased to meet you Ade, how long are you with us for?”
Ade: “Just til the end of the week.”
Me: “Oh, so does that mean I can call you…*comedy pause*…‘Come Ade, go Ade?’ *stifles chortle*




Ade: “Please don’t”
Me: "Erm….Ok then…


As you can tell…It’s a fucking MADHOUSE in our office!
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 12:31, 1 reply)
Short but sweet
Did you hear about the randy German poet?


He went from bed to verse.
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 12:11, 1 reply)
*scratches blackboard*…So it’s puns ye wants is it…?

It started with a leisurely round of golf…

…I had just begun bashing away on the 2nd hole when I sliced my shot into one of the sand traps. However, as I wandered over to retrieve my ball, I discovered that it had plopped neatly into a momentous mountain of minging mutated man manure, which sat happily steaming away, resembling an Easter-time-special family sized Walnut Whip that was almost mocking me with its sheer size, curled consistency, rancid aroma and general nutty texture.

As I gazed in disbelief at this putrid sight, I was then distracted by a disturbance past the next tee and noticed a man naked from the waist down, squatting low and merrily gurning as he crimped off yet another stench-infested slurry pit from his wincing tea towel holder into another helpless bunker.

Of course, this completely put me off my game.

Incensed with rage, I approached this trouserless toilet-terrorist and twatted him with one of my larger golf bats, before bending down, scooping up the offending anal produce with my bare hands and shoving it firmly into the perpetrator’s (or should that be ‘poo-pertrator’s) face…rubbing it into his nose and forcing the foul and filthy faecal fiend to swallow down lump after lump of sweetcorn-peppered, puke-inducing ploppage.

Not surprisingly, I was subsequently arrested for violent conduct and when I appeared in court the Judge asked me what reason I had to justify my actions...

“Don’t you get it?” I pleaded in reply before continuing: “Everybody knows…’A turd in the sand is worth poo in the mush?”…

Unfortunately the judge didn’t see things my way…I was sentenced to 5 years imprisonment and repeatedly raped in the showers…




But it wasn’t all ‘fun fun fun’…Whilst incarcerated, my diet was atrocious, and in my starved state I was reduced to eating the odd-looking flowers on my cell’s window sill…not only did they taste rank, but unfortunately they possessed a powerful laxative effect that reacted terribly with my already industrial strength diarrhoea…and as my battered and gaping rusty sheriff’s badge barked ever angrier, emptying forth a veritable dirtbox deluge across my bed and walls, I considered the situation and realised that it was a sure-fire case of:…

‘The bot calling the petal cack’…

Upon my release I rented a small flat and partook in the healthy pastime of self-indulgent raging alcoholism, in particular I developed a penchant for a certain 'super-strength distilled aniseed flavour drink'; but I almost immediately started to suffer strange after effects…

One night…as I lay in a particularly rat-arsed slumber, I began to break wind with such verve and girthsome gusto that it would have made Bernard Manning’s rectum tremble with trepidation.

As the crap-a-licious collection of nose-bleed-inducing noxious bottom gas seemed to seep from my festering colon in what seemed like a never ending gassy guff-fest, it began to materialise before my very eyes into a visible browny-green cloud. It then hung around, lingering menacingly in the air. By the next morning before it had finally dissipated it had sprouted a little Civic, tootling happily around my bedroom.

Unable to cope with these strange circumstances, I immediately caned the liquor even more…hitting the Grande Wormwood pretty hard, and in my shitfaced state I scarcely realised that the same flatulence-related farcical metomorphosis was once again taking place within my rotting innards…

The next day I glanced across my bedroom and discovered that once again my arse fumes had ‘gone Twilight Zone’; this time creating a little Accord, neatly parked next to the Civic.

At this point I couldn’t stand any more. I went to the Doctors and explained my situation. He stroked his chin thoughtfully at my plight but it was only when I mentioned exactly what I had been drinking on the nights in question that he clicked his fingers and said: “Of course! It’s obvious! I know exactly what your problem is…

…Absinthe makes the fart grow Honda”



*loses will to live*

Disclaimer: I’ve been away for a few days, so I apologise if any or all of these godawful puns have already bindun…

In fact…thinking about it…I just apologise. Full stop
.
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 12:08, 11 replies)
This weeks QOTW
is just people telling a load of shit old jokes. Where's the originality? Where's the puns they made up themselves? If I wanted to read shit puns I'd go and get a shit jokebook.

Signed,

Not-So-Mellow-Yellow
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 11:51, 1 reply)
Already Bindun??
I hear Gary Glitter is off to Florida for his summer holiday.

He's going to Tampa with the kids.
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 11:43, Reply)
not so much as a biscuit
how much fun can a monk have?



nun
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 11:20, Reply)
A detective is interviewing a lady about a suspicious man she saw
Detective: Could you please describe the man?

Lady: Yes, he was a white guy, brown hair, moustache, about six foot two.

Detective: Thats an awfully big moustache


(Naked Gun II if you really want to know)
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 10:48, 2 replies)
If your not insulted by this QOTW
Fuck off you smelly cunt.
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 10:42, 2 replies)
My poor friend
My poor, vagina dodging, cock loving, anally receptive friend came home one day to find his fella partaking in a bit of bumfun with another man!!!

He didn't feel to gay after that.
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 10:36, Reply)
New York Methodists...

In my capacity as fanatical puritan, I was once invited to speak at a service at the young ladies’ branch of the local New York Methodists (NYM).

The congregation consisted of girls aged 18-22, and each one was blessed with stunning good looks, shapely thighs, firm, pert buttocks, and supple breasts that were humongous in their pendulate gelatinous magnificence.

As I began my lecture, I noticed that they were becoming visibly aroused as I discussed how sex, deep, sensuous penetration, and the exploration of each others bodies in girl-on-girl action was a very bad thing indeed.

The next time I glanced up from my notes I realised that they had all stripped off out of their convent girl uniforms, exposing their sultry bodies to the light through the stained glass windows…and as they began to probe each other with their tongues, they glistened with moistness and sweat.

Next thing I knew it was like an explosion in a chopped liver factory – there were arms, legs, dildos, gash and buckets of kebab meat flying about the place…and the moans and sighs of ecstasy were beginning to drown out the church organ.

Obviously, I was appalled.

“I cast thee out! - You're all going to Hell!” I cried to them, reciting the bible and throwing crucifixes in the general direction of the animalistic carnal live lesbian display, before spurting holy water over their nubile young bodies as they writhed around, passionately plunging tongues ever deeper into various crevices and orifices.

...


Now I tell you something…I may not be able to do puns, but I know how to treat 'homo-NYMs' as 'sinner-NYMs'...
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 10:19, 2 replies)
Chicken Fucker !
It get's lonely at night, sometimes...

Once when I was working on the farm I was desperate to get laid, I mean, I'd been there for a whole four hours and still hadn't got any...

So, as you do, I decided to grab the nearest chicken clucking happily away in the farmyard, go to the barn, and shove it's head up my arse.

Felt good. Felt great, infact. But after a few moments of chicken-based anal fun, I realised I'd got it stuck up there.

Panic! Blind fucking panic!

I slept in the barn that night. I was too ashamed to go and find help for my chicken-sex-related-problem. Not again! I thought to myself. (Only the previous time it was with a pheasant, so I suppose its not the same at all). The next morning the farmer found me, trousers round my ankles, the lifeless, feathery body of the chicken sticking out my rectum and trailing between my legs. It looked like I was giving birth... to a chicken...

"Fuckkin 'ell, Spanky! You need to go to a fucking hospital NOW!!!" reasoned the famer.

"I would, Mr Farmer," I replied. "But I don't think I could stand the embarresment."

"What - about having a chicken stuck out your arse, boy?"

"No, not that - it's just that some bright spark's gonna make a pun about me having a cock stuck up my arse, and that's shameful and sinful..."

The farmer just stared...
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 10:14, 2 replies)
I would do this, but can't be arsed.
'Tis a shame - for it's topical in 2 ways.

Instead I shall conjure mental imagery and hope that someone else does it...

A Picture/photo of proud "gardener type" stood next to a plank that is neatly rooted in a growbag. Preferably with a rather indifferent look on his/her face. Extra points for "great big bushy beard" factor.

Captioned thusly: "Oi've Grown BOARD".
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 10:02, Reply)
Are you a Pole Walter?
No I am German and my name is Fritz
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 9:34, 5 replies)
What's brown and sticky?
A stick.
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 9:30, Reply)
[pearoast] To the lovely ladies of b3ta
This is a pearoast of a post I posted to QOTW (Darwin Awards) on Valentine's day. Enjoy.

------------------------------------------------

We interrupt this QOTW to bring you a special Valentine's bulletin.

I'm bored at work. I am completely underwhelmed. I want to leave! Wander lust is taking over my mind, and I feel like I can walk all the way from Brixton to Brussels.

The situation stinks. I'm in love with someone. I'd really like to root her between the boobs. When thinking of her, I unleash buckets of jizz from my creamy ankh-shaped genitals followed by the wee which cleans out my urethra. But because I'm such a big girl's blouse, I chicken out at every opportunity. But really, it stinks! The smell reminds me of my teenage years when I joined a gang who would rebel against society by shitting their pants (they were known as the 'pants cackers'). But secretly, I found it too much, so I would discretely give my self several arse-wipes. It's like I'm living in a bin! As if my nose is pressed next to a seal's bum and I think "This seal end reeks!".

But I have to look at myself and think "Am I a pussy or a vampire?". I really need to man up and badger myself to flirt using the correct grammar.

I'm badly addicted to her. I see her as the empress of my heart (AKA Madam the Fluffy Grandmistress) who can't get in because she forgot her password. Thinking of her gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling. I imagine myself being as happy as a little tulip. But the reality is very different.

Until then, I'll be crying so much that I'll have to be locked up in the loony bin. For me, there will be a special ward reserved for me - The dire whiner ward.


Apologies? Lengthy.


Previously...
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 8:57, 9 replies)
Not even my own (but I wish it was)
I"m having problems with my time machine - it broke down next week!

and…

I can't get the spare parts until 35 years ago.

Followed by…

They just don't make them like they will do soon…
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 8:42, Reply)
This QOTW just isn't much pun anymore.

(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 8:42, Reply)
Pack of Polos goes into a pub...
...throwing it's weight about, being a right arsehole.
"YOU KNOW WHO I AM, I'M POLOS, YOU DON'T WANT TO MESS WITH ME BOYS!"
He walks upto the bar and orders a straight whiskey while glaring at anyone who dares look at him.
Behind him, the pub doors open and in walks a packet of Tunes. The pack of Polos starts quake with fear and dives under a table, hiding from the Tunes view. Tunes buys a drink and heads out 5 minutes later, to which the Polos climbs back to the bar again. Everyone laughs at him and the landlord asks why he hid.

"You don't mess with Tunes mate, they're fucking menthol."

A-thankyaw.
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 8:29, Reply)
Curry Capers
I was in an Indian restaurant the other night, halfway through my meal, a waiter came up to me and said,

"Curry ok?"

I replied, "Go on then, 1 song then you can fuck off"
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 8:02, Reply)
A polar bear and horse walk into the bar.
The barman shoots them both in the cocks and mounts their heads above the bar. Kindest thing really.

Now someone please do likewise with this QOTW or I swear I wont be held responsible for my actions.
(, Tue 10 Mar 2009, 7:59, Reply)

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