The Page Of Puns|The Pun Starts Here! He he he!

One day a planet is discovered out Antares way whose sole inhabitant is an enormous humanoid, three miles high and made of granite. At first it is mistaken for an immense statue left by some vanished race of giants, for it squats motionless on a yellow plain, exhibiting no outward sign of life. It has legs, but it never rises to walk on them. It has a mouth, but never eats or speaks. It has what appears to be a perfectly functional brain, the size of a condominium, but the organ lies dormant, electrochemical activity at a standstill. Yet it lives. This puzzles the hell out of the scientists, who try everything they can think of to get some sign of life from the behemoth–in vain. It just squats, motionless and seemingly thoughtless, until one day a xenobiologist, frustrated beyond endurance, screams, “How could evolution give legs, mouth and brain to a creature that doesn’t use them?”

It happens that he’s the first one to ask a direct question in the thing’s presence. It rises with a thunderous rumble to its full height, scattering the clouds, thinks for a second, booms, “IT COULDN’T, ” and squats down again.

“My god,” exclaims the xenobiologist, “of course! It only stands to reason!

A frog enters a bank, looking for a loan. He approaches the loan officer, Patty Black, and makes his request known. Taken somewhat aback, she tells him they bank doesn’t typically make loans to frogs.

“But please,” exclaims the frog, “I really need this loan.”

“Do you have any collateral?” asks Ms. Black.

“Only this,” he says. With that, the frog pulls from his pocket an object and hands it to Ms. Black. Not knowing what it was, but being too embarrassed to say so, she takes the object to the bank manager and explains about the frog and his request for a loan.

“Sir, I don’t even know what this is but it’s all he has for collateral,” she tells him.

The manager takes the objects, looks at it for a moment, hands it back and tells her, “Why, it’s a nick-knack, Patty Black, give the frog a loan!”

A much-maligned character of Greek mythology, a harpy (who is half predatory bird, half woman) was flying cautiously along the precipice of a cliff, wistfully gazing at the yew forests which grew at the foot of the sheer granite. Her once-remarkable sensory powers were dulled by countless millennia. In her prime, she could clearly visualize the drops of sea foam in the beard of a distant sailor. Now, she disregarded the arrogance of puny men. Sore and bleary-eyed, she hunted safely inland, picking off young children, stray goats, and an occasional occasional madman who became lost in the forest. She looked for large objects, and those which moved through clearings were the most visible.

Fatigued by her years and with tattered feathers, she knew her end was approaching. But her hunger was merciless, a rhythmical ache. On she flew, back and forth, back and forth, hoping for a flicker of movement in the clearings below. As the winds shifted, she adjusted course to minimize the effort of her creaking wings. The boughs of the trees below shifted, and she caught a slight movement below at the edge of the yew forest.

With hope born of desperation, she wheeled in the air and dove at the source of the movement. Her stomach and gizzard quivered with anticipation as she closed with the edge of the clearing and heard the voices of young children! Though subject to many laws of nature, she was still akin to Vulcan and the other supernatural beings who had shared her world once. As the creature streaked down on a succulent toddler in the middle of the clearing, she actually glowed bright orange with the heat of intensity. For a moment she became young, vital. But the cryptic mind was devoid of that quality we call humanity. Hunger was all, and she would feast upon the flesh of young humans. What was the children’s merriment, if not a seasoning for this long-anticipated meal?

At that moment, the wind abruptly shifted again. She headed straight into a massive tree and caromed into the huge bonfire that graced the children’s celebration. The watchers were aghast, not realizing that they were only prey for the grotesque and wizened creature. Alas, the shouted warnings of the children were too late! The half-woman, half-bird sheared the tree as if it were an overripe banana and then struck the bonfire with tremendous force! Embers flew like blazing meteors in all directions. A crater yawned beneath the fire as plumes of dust and smoke shot into the air. A warning, shrieked by a chorus of young voices, was nearly swallowed by the massive explosion that boomed off the stone cliffs and through the trees..

Harpy! Yew Near!

There was once a very influential farmer in a remote part of China, who had a problem. His chickens were losing their feathers and dying. H sought the counsel of the two wise men in town, Hing, who was scientist, and Ming, who was a sorcerer.

Hing, who has had man advanced course hours in poultry science, consults the classic text in poultry disease, “Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Diseases of Chickens, But Were Afraid to Ask.” In the book Hing finds a reference to the report of a study showing that feeding the chickens with an infusion of gum tree leaves is often a remedy for chickens losing their feathers. Meanwhile Ming reads obscure writings of ancient wise men, he meditates, and he reads tarot cards and examines the entrails of a pig. Getting no inspiration he uses his old standby, reading tea leaves. In a spark of discovery, it comes to him that an infusion of gum tree leaves is the cure.

So the two wise men report back to the influential Chinese farmer. Ming says, “As gum sticks to tables and chairs, so shall an infusion of gum tree leaves make feathers stick to chickens.”

Hing agrees, saying “Studies show that infusions of gum tree leaves alleviate feather loss in chickens.” The influential Chinese farmer is ecstatic, for the two wisest men in town are of a single mind. He decides to follow their recommendation.

But it does not work.

Moral of the Story: “All of Hing’s courses and all of Ming’ ken couldn’t get gum tea to feather a hen.”

Sir Edgbert, knight of the realm, was hurrying home on a cold, dark, wet night when, suddenly, his horse suffered a major coronary and died on the spot. All Sir Edgbert could do was collect up what belongings he could and tramp onwards.

After staggering for a spell, he decides that he must get alternative transport. Accordingly, he heads for the nearest building which, as luck would have it, is a small farm. He strides up to the door, bangs on it and shouts ‘A horse! A horse!. I must have a horse!”.

The door opens to reveal a young girl. She looks at Sir Edgbert and says, “Your pardon, good night but my father and brothers are returning from the village on the other side of the forest and will not be back before noon tomorrow. They are riding all our horses”.

Sir Edgbert is saddened by this and says “But I must return home immediately. Have you any idea where I may accuire alternative transportation?”.

The young girl says “I know of no other horses hereabouts, but sometimes my brothers ride our Great Dane dog when the need arises. Would use of that help?”

Sir Edgbert is desperate and says “If I must, I must. Show me the animal”. The young girl leads the way around to the back of the farmhouse to a stable. She dissapears inside and returns leading and enormous dogs which is quite of a size for riding. Unfortunately, the dog has seen better days. It’s coat is threadbare, it’s legs are spindly and it seems to be breathing labouriously.

Sir Edgbert looks at the young girl and says, “Surely, you wouldn’t send a knight out on a dog like this?”

A number of years ago there lived on Long Island, a wealthy business man who had made and lost a couple of fortunes on Wall Street in his short 29 years. At the time of this story, the business man was enjoying his third fortune and had taken a year off from work. His mother had recently died and one day while he was exploring some old chests in the attic of the huge farmhouse in the Adirondac Mountains near Lake Placid, he came across a map that was obviously very, very old. Something striking about t he map immediately caught his attention. After studying the map for several days, the business man became convinced that this was indeed an authentic map to the fabled Seven Cities of Cybolla. Persistent stories handed down from generation to generation told of a fabulously wealthy circle of seven cities whose exact location had been lost somewhere in the deep, dark jungles of Africa and had never been found. These stories also told of fabulous stores of jewels, gold and priceless artifacts that still existed for anyone who could locate the seven cities.

The business man was determined to be the first to find the Seven Cities of Cybolla and to claim its treasures, so he confided in two of his closest friends and persuaded them to join him. Together, they sailed to Africa, rode overland for 4 days and fou nd themselves in the small town of Aba on the border of the deepest jungles in what was once the country of Belgian Congo. There they organized a safari of 25 native porters carrying food, clothing, supplies and large, empty boxes with which to carry the treasures out of the jungle.

Early the next morning, a line of native porters led by the three Americans headed out into the jungles. Travel was slow in the intense heat and humidity of the tropical forest, particularly as they had to literally cut every inch of their path by swingi ng huge machetes to clear away the vines and undergrowth. For four days of grueling travel, following the markings on the old map, the safari made its way across swollen rivers, through mosquito infested swamps and past many alligator nests. At high noo n on the fifth day, while the safari was resting from its exhausting work, the group suddenly heard a terrifying sound off in the distance in the direction in which the safari was headed. “Fu…. Fu…. Fu…” was the sound. The members of the safari looked at each other, unsure what was making such a shrieking, ungodly sound. All of a sudden, there appeared in the air directly over the group, a huge, black bird, screaming at a deafening level, “FU!!! FU!!! FU!!!”. In one swoop, the Fu bird took aim at the first of the three Americans at the head of the safari, dove headlong through the air at near supersonic speed in a dive bombing run so well executed that any military pilot would have been impressed, and completely covered the man with crap. It was a terrible, vile smelling mess! The poor man quickly ran to the edge of the nearby stream, dove in and immediately began to scrub away at the disgusting crap. After an hour of hard work, the majority of the stuff had been washed away and the man felt he was ready to move on again. That night, while everyone else was sleeping, the man died.

The rest of the expedition were truly saddened by the death of the man, but the two remaining American organizers decided that they should continue on in spite of this tragedy. They were sure their friend would have wanted it that way and besides, now th e loot only had to be split two ways. Before long they were on their way, hacking their path through the jungle after they had properly buried the body of their friend. Unfortunately they had not gone too far when once again they heard the sounds of the approaching Fu bird. “Fu…. Fu…. Fu….” The safari members began to run for cover but it was too late and the huge Fu bird suddenly appeared at the head of the line of running people, took aim at the American in the lead, and dumped a tremen dous load which covered the man from head to foot. It was excruciating to the poor man but as he raced to the stream to wash the terrible mess off, he stopped, remembered that the first man had died after he had cleaned away the very same kind of crap. Perhaps, he reasoned, there was a connection between washing and his unfortunate death. With that, the second man returned to the group, determined not to take a bath as long as he could stand it. That determination lasted for nearly a week when finally , it became so unbearable in appearance, smell and discomfort that the man finally gave in. He went to the stream and cleaned the mess from his body. Later that night, while everyone else was sleeping, he died.

The business man who had initiated the safari was very sad because he had lost two of his closest friends, but decided to continued because he knew his friends would have wanted him to. Besides, the loot would be his alone with no need to share the treas ures with anyone else! The next morning he climbed to the top of the a hill and to his amazement, there at his feet, lay a lush, tropical valley and the Seven Cities of Cybolla glittering in all their glory. The business man rushed down the hill, along the banks of the river and made his way to the entrance of the cities. As he ran deliriously through the streets of the cities he yelled “They are mine!! It’s all mine!!!” He yelled so loudly and was so overwhelmed at his unbelievable discovery that he didn’t hear the approaching Fu bird. The gigantic bird took aim at the business man and as accurately as in his first two attacks, smartly deposited the largest load of crap yet on the man running through the empty streets. The stunned man stopped and was about to rush to the stream to wash the mess off when he realized that it would be certain and immediate death in the night to do so. He sadly realized that he had discovered the worlds richest treasures, but had also been given the cross of isolatio n at the same time.

To make a very long story somewhat shorter, the business man did claim all the wealth of the Seven Cities of Cybolla, returned to America and lived a very long life in all the luxury his unmeasured wealth could afford. However, he enjoyed his wealth as a lonely, isolated man. His wife, his children, his family and his friends disowned him because of the absolutely disgusting appearance and stench of the man because of the crap. They did not understand why he refused to wash the mess and clean himself.

After many, lonely years, he neared death. Realizing he had only a few more days to live, the business man decided he wanted more than anything else to see his wife and children again. Carefully, he went into the shower with steel wool cleaning pads an d a chisel. It took him most of the day, but he was clean and ready to greet his family at the door when they arrived for dinner. He spent a wonderful evening sharing with the family, catching up on all the news and local gossip, and finally they left.

Later that night, the business man died…

Now I would not have imposed upon your time and attention without having a purpose. I am very sensitive to the value of time and am determined to make the time you have given to this story worthwhile. My goal in telling this story is to draw from the e xperience of this heroic and fabulously wealthy man and learn so that we might become better and more mature individuals. I believe the true message of this story is in fact, a moral with deep meaning for us all:

“If the Fu shits, wear it.”

There once was a small town in which lived a group of monks. These monks, having need of money to fund their monastary, decided to open up a flower shop. Well the rest of the townspeople were very pleased at first, since they hadn’t had a flower shop before. However, some people became concerned when they noticed that whenever children were sent to the flower shop to buy (you guessed it!) flowers, they went missing.

A group of citizens went to the shop to see if the monks knew what had happened to them. They entered the store and were immediately impressed and awed by the wide assortment of exotic flora present. However, their admiration turned to horror when one of the larger plants reached down, grabbed a small boy, and swallowed him whole!

The villagers fled the shop screaming, attracting the attention of the other townspeople. As soon as the news was spread, the people decided that the only thing to do was to get rid of the evil monks!

A group of 20 men were assembled, and they armed themselves with clubs and staves. At high noon, they attacked the monks’ flower shop. However, they were unprepared for the high level of fighting skills of the brown-robed brothers: The men were beaten back in less than fifteen minutes!

So the townspeople assembled a second group, this time arming them with knives and scythes. At midnight, they attacked. But once again, the merciless monks beat them back, this time in less than ten minutes!

The townspeople were at a loss. Who would save them from the corrupt Cappucins? Suddenly, out of the darkness, stepped Hugh the blacksmith,the tallest, strongest, and most foul-smelling man in the village.

“Do not worry, my friends”, said Hugh. “*I* will rid this town of these evil evangelists!”

The townspeople, having no other alternative (and nothing to lose except a relatively poor blacksmith), armed Hugh with clubs, staves, knives and scythes, and sent him off to vanquish the foul friars. They waited impatiently at the edge of the town, hoping against hope that Hugh would return victorious.

Suddenly, over the crest of the hill, sillouetted against the afternoon sun, appeared Hugh. Over his shoulder was slung the remains of the hideous man-eating plant.

“The monks have fled! Their flowers will trouble us no more!”, cried Hugh. The townspeople cried out with joy, and, proclaiming the day a holiday, feasted and danced until dawn.

From that day on, a moral was passed on to all the children of the town. Whenever they were tempted to make fun of Hugh and his slow, smelly ways, they were reminded:
“Only Hugh can prevent florist friars!”

A manufacturer of electric light bulbs was talking to the owner of a theater. “I’d like to supply you with bulbs for your marquee,” the manufacturer said, “and it won’t cost you a penny. It will enable me to realize a lifelong ambition.”

“If I accept the free bulbs,” the curious theater manager asked, “will you tell me about this ambition of yours?”

“Certainly,” the man said. “It’s just that I’ve always dreamed of seeing my lights up in names!”

A lion was prancing through the jungle one day, roaring at the top of his voice for all to hear: “I am king of the jungle, for my mighty strength and lion-like prowess strikes fear into all other creatures!”

An eagle lands on a nearby tree branch and says, “Not so fast, Leo buddy!” the eagle calls. “For it is *I* who is the rightful king of the jungle, as my wings enable me to attack from above, and my beak and talons rip my victims to shreds!”

Whereupon a skunk walks calmly out of the trees. Approaching the ferocious feline and fearful flighted one, he meekly says, “You’re BOTH wrong! Needing neither fight nor flight, I disable my would-be opponents most skillfully! Wanna sniff?”

And the three animals engage in a heated argument over who is the rightful king of the jungle. While they argue, oblivious to their surroundings, a huge grizzly bear walks up and eats them all – hawk, lion, and stinker.

A Wyoming rancher had a bull named Caesar who was getting old.so he decided to sell him on the auction market. The only problem was that the nearest railroad was miles away and across across a river that hadn’t yet been bridged.

Since Caesar had grown somewhat crotchety in his old age the rancher organized a crew of three men who he sent off with his ranch foreman to lead Caesar to the railroad line. After two days of travel Caesar and the crew arrived at the river near the market town. The tired crew members suggested to their foreman that they be allowed to relax and fish awhile before catching the ferryboat.

“What shall we do with Caesar while you fish?, asked the foreman.

The men replied, “Oh, he can just graze on this lush grass along the river.”

After a long period of thought the foreman decreed,

“We came to ferry Ceasar, not to graze him!”