From the Henry Cate Life Humor collection:
More
really bad puns:
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There was a Russian man named Rudolph, a high ranking member of the KGB. One evening Rudolph and his wife, Helga, were walking along, and it begins to snow. "My, my, look at the lovely snow," said Helga.
"No, that is not snow, that is rain!" replied Rudolph.
"No, no, no, this is snow," she said. "Look, there is a palace guard, we will ask him."
Rudolph went to the palace guard and said "is it raining or snowing?"
The guard was no dummy, so he said "what do YOU think it is doing, Rudolph?" Rudolph replied, "raining." and the guard said "Yes comrade, I was going to say raining, also!"
So Rudolph and Helga went walking off. The guard could just barely hear the KGB official say: "RUDOLPH, THE RED, KNOWS RAIN, DEAR"
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Two guys were stranded on a desert island. The only way they could get food was to kill sea birds by throwing rocks at them. By the time they were rescued, ...
They had left no tern unstoned.
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Once in a land far, far away there lived a group of people called Trids. The Trids were happy except for the huge ogre that lived on the mountain. The ogre would periodically terrorize the Trids.
The Trids tired of the ogre and sought to reason with him. They thought one of their religious leaders would be a good intermediary. So a group of Trids and their minister went up the mountain and before they could even say one word the ogre kicked them down the mountain.
Not being dismayed the Trids thought that maybe the ogre was Catholic, so they sent another delegation, this time led by the local priest. But alas, as they approached the ogre he once again kicked them all down the mountain. The Trids were upset until they thought that perhaps the ogre was Jewish. Unfortunately, no Trids were Jewish, so they wrote to the people of another land and asked them to send a Rabbi to help them with the ogre. The Rabbi arrived and led a delegation of Trids up the mountain.
The ogre saw them coming and kicked all of them, except for the Rabbi, down the mountain. The Rabbi, having been told of the previous expeditions, wondered why he alone had not been kicked down the mountain, so he asked the ogre. The ogre laughed and replied:
"Silly Rabbi, kicks are for Trids!"
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During the invasion of Sicily in World War II, General George ("Blood 'n' Guts") Patton was preparing to take the city of Palermo. He checked with his meteorologists and learned the day he had chosen would be incredibly rainy. So he issued an order to place copies of the New York "Times" immediately beneath the tailgates of the transports carrying his troops. In this way the men could keep their feet dry.
His staff was mystified. Why the "Times"? Why not the New York "Daily News"? Patton was adamant; and one did not argue with the General. As five tons of old copies of the "Times" were being loaded, the General issued one of his greatest quotes to the assembled war correspondents:
"THESE ARE THE 'TIMES' THAT DRY MEN'S SOLES."
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Once there was a King who was loved by all of his subjects, especially because of the hunting excursions he shared with them. As will happen, one day he died and his eldest son took the throne. Now this new king was an animal-lover to the core, and immediately outlawed all forms of hunting and fishing. His subjects accepted this for only a short time before they ousted him. This is a truly significant event, because it's the first time a reign was called on account of the game.
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Late in the previous century, the well-known folklorist Vivian McNabb was collecting ballads and tales in the Scottish Highlands, and found a previously unknown musical instrument, something in the lyre-lute-dulcimer range. It was sitting unused as a family heirloom, and the family who owned it no longer knew exactly how it should be tuned or played, nor did anyone else in the region. McNabb purchased it, and showed it in every village he passed through. Nobody could give him completely accurate information, and nobody could tune it or play it, but some clues began to fall in place. Several people mentioned Seamus O'Pernokkety, who lived in Ireland, as a great authority on stringed instruments. McNabb determined to go over and consult Seamus. Insert shaggy description of McNabb's difficult travels, and the frustrating search for Seamus O'Pernokkety.)
Finally, weak and confused, McNabb stumbled up to the door of the cabin at the top of the steep hill. Success at last! Seamus recognized the instrument, and agreed to tune it and teach McNabb how to play, but only if McNabb would serve as his apprentice for a full year. (Insert description of McNabb's arduous year of servitude at the feet of his musical guru.)
When the year was up, Seamus took the instrument out of the cupboard, spent the rest of the day tuning it up, and played all night and all the next day. It was the most remarkable, beautiful tone McNabb had ever heard. He stayed on another month, until he too had some proficiency at playing. At last they parted.
McNabb skipped and jumped down the hill, exulting in his newfound skill in playing the instrument, and in the precious object itself. So unbridled was he in his joyous carriage, that he tripped and fell, and went tumbling down into a ravine. A large boulder finally broke his fall, and also his leg. The instrument, however, did not seem to be damaged. But when he tried to play it, it proved to be badly out of tune, and he could wring from it nothing but harsh discords. There was no help for it: he painfully crawled all the way back up the terrible hill, arriving at Seamus's cottage late that evening.
"Oh, Seamus, the most terrible thing has happened!" he gasped out, and explained about his accident. "Please, maestro, help me in my despair. Re-tune the instrument! And perhaps do something about my leg, if you can."
"Certainly, McNabb, I can set your leg, and you're welcome to food and lodging while it mends. But I hope you realize I can't work on that instrument again."
"But why not? Please, you must."
"No, I cannot. I thought it was well known: O'Pernokkety tunes but once."
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It seems there were three monks who enjoyed raising plants and were trying to keep a flower shop running, selling unique and exotic plant life. One day, some children where playing behind the shop and were eaten whole by an extremely rare man-eating plant. The parents, needless to say, were outraged, and demanded that the friars get rid of the dangerous plant. The friars refused. So the parents and the people of the town tried several ways to get the friars to consent, but finally they asked Hugh, the town blacksmith, (undoubtably the strongest man around), to run the friars out of town. Your waiting for the moral... Can you guess? "Hugh, and only Hugh, can prevent florist friars!"
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