What is the worst pun you can think of?

That’s pretty tasteless. Don’t touch this if you like animals.

Lol I love animals but that’s awesome XD

Here’s another in the same vein and this.

I would like to park my canoe in Natalie’s Port, man.

@ragingloli isn’t she a bit too old for you? :P

Mr. Frog went to the bank one day to get a loan. Upon entering the bank he was quickly referred to Miss Paddywack, the institution’s loan officer. She asked Mr. Frog if he had any collateral the he might use to secure the loan.

“All I have is this Commemorative Elvis plate from the Franklin Mint.”, he replied.

“Well, I’m not sure if this qualifies as collateral Mr. Frog.”, said Miss Paddywack. “I’ll have to get the Bank President’s approval before I can approve your loan.”

She excused herself and was quickly standing in front of the Bank President’s desk, holding the Elvis Plate in her hands.

“May I help you Paddwack?”, he asked brusquely. “And make it quick. I’m incredibly busy.”

“Mr. Frog wants a loan and would like to use this Franklin Mint Commemorative Elvis plate as a manner of securing it.”, she answered.

The Bank President rolled his eyes and dismissively waved Miss Paddywack from his office.

“That’s a kick-knack Paddywack.”, he ordered. “Give the frog a loan.”

@Blondesjon
So what is the joke?

your mom

I asked the priest this morning if he would release me from my vows in order to answer your question. Sadly, he would not grant me a dispunsation.

This is the worst pun I can think of. No pun intended.

YEARS AGO when I was living in Islington, a cub reporter in the service of Tay Pay, founder of that modern scourge, the “gossip column”, I had great trouble with my landlord. The man was a vulgar low bowler-hatted plumber who tortured me exquisitely by his vulgarity of dress, talk and aspect. The situation rapidly became Russian. Evenings in the yellow gaslight, myself immersed in a letter to George Harris or painfully compiling my first novel, the gross plumber audibly eating tripe in an armchair behind me. The succession – the crescendo of “Greek” emotion – irritation – anger – loathing – then hatred. And then the quiet grey thought – I will do this creature in. I will do for him, gorblimey, if I have to swing for it!

It is funny how small things irk far beyond their own intrinsic significance. The way he sucked at his dirty pipe, too lazy or stupid to light it. The trick of never lacing his boots up completely. And his low boasting about his drinking. Forty-eight pints of cider in a Maidenhead inn. Mild and bitter by the gallon. I remember retorting savagely on one occasion that I would drink him under the table. Immediately came the challenge to do so. “Not now,” I remember saying, “but sooner than you think, my good friend.” That is the way we talked in those days. Possibly it was just then that I first formed my murderous resolution. But I digress.

When I had finally decided to murder this insufferable plumber, I naturally occupied my mind for some days with the mechanics of sudden death. I was familiar with the practice of homicide fashionable in the eighties, and I laid my plans with some care. I took to locking my bedroom so that the paraphernalia of execution could be amassed without arousing the suspicions of the patient.

The chopper was duly purchased, together with a spare hatchet in case the plumber’s skull should withstand the chopper. I attended a physical culture class to improve my muscles. Alcohol and tobacco were discontinued. I took long walks on Sunday afternoons and slept with the window wide open. But most important of all – remember that I speak of the gaslit eighties – I purchased a large bath and the customary drums of acid.

I was then ready. The precise moment of execution did not matter so much. It would coincide with some supreme extremity of irritation. And it did. One evening, re-opening the manuscript of my novel, I discovered traces of tripe on the clean copper-plate pages. The wretched plumber had been perusing my private documents. I went upstairs whistling “The Girl in the Hansom Cab,” came down cheerfully with the chopper behind my back, and opened the ruffian’s skull from crown to neck with a haymaker of a wallop that nearly broke my own arm. The rest was simple. I carried the body up to my room and put it in the bath of acid. Nothing more remained but to put things in order for my departure next day for a week’s holiday with my old parents in Goraghwood, my native place.

When I returned to London, I went up to the bedroom with some curiosity. There was nothing to be seen save the bath of acid. I carried the bath down to the sittingroom and got a glass. I filled the glass with what was in the bath, crept in under the table and swallowed the burning liquid. Glass after glass I swallowed till all was gone. It was with grim joy that I accomplished my threat that I would drink this plumber under the table. It was the sort of thing one did at the turn of the century.

Flann O’Brien

This is a straight cut-and-paste, and I’m not even going to proofread it, but…

1. Two vultures board an airplane; each is carrying two dead raccoons. The stewardess looks at them and says, “I’m sorry gentlemen, only one carrion allowed per passenger.”

2. Two boll weevils grew up in the Deep South. One went to Hollywood and became a famous actor. The other stayed behind in the cotton fields and never amounted to much. The second one, naturally, became known as: the lesser of two weevils.

3. Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, but when they lit a fire in the craft, it sank, proving once again that you: can’t have our kayak and heat it, too.

4. A three-legged dog walks into a saloon in the Old West. He slides up to the bar and announces: “I’m looking for the man who shot my paw.”

5. Did you hear about the Buddhist who refused Novocain during a root canal? He wanted to transcend dental medication.

6. A group of chess enthusiasts checked into a hotel and were standing in the lobby discussing their recent tournament victories. After about an hour, the manager came out of the office and asked them to disperse. “But why” they asked as they moved off? “Because,” he said, “I can’t stand chess nuts boasting in an open foyer.”

7. A woman has twins and gives them up for adoption. One of them goes to a family in Egypt and is named “Ahmal.” The other goes to a family in Spain; they name his “Juan.” Years later Juan sends a picture of himself to his birth mother. Upon receiving the picture, she tells her husband that she wishes she also had a picture of Ahmal. Her husband responds, “They’re twins! If you’ve see Juan, you’ve seen Ahmal!”

8. These friars were behind on their belfry payments, so they opened up a small florist shop in town to raise funds. Since everyone liked to buy flowers from the men of God, a rival florist across town thought the competition was unfair. He asked the good fathers to close down, but they would not. He went back and begged the friars to close. They ignored him. So, the rival florist hired Hugh MacTaggart, the roughest and most vicious thug in town to “persuade” them to close. Hugh beat up the friars and trashed their store, saying he’d be back if they didn’t close up shop. Terrified, they did so, thereby proving that Hugh and only Hugh can prevent florist friars.

9. Mahatma Gandhi, as you now, walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail and with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath. This made him a super callused fragile mystic vexed by halitosis.

10. And finally, there was the person who sent ten different puns to friends, with the hope that at least one of the puns would make them laugh. Unfortunately, no pun in ten did.

@flutherother . . . well worth the trip