I took my mate Samuel to a Japanese restaurant once. Everything was going wonderfully until we had too many sake shots he was so drunk he missed his mouth and ended up giving his retina a good soaking.
He was haplessly flailing about on the floor whilst I kept repeating uselessly "Samurai! Does it hurt?! Can I get you anything?"
For anyone who needs a translation, the bespectacled gentleman on the right pontificates "'ere guvner, I've decided against the newspaper, cop a mammoth fuck-off pencil in your 'ead", while the gentleman on the left replies "D'oh..."
I am slightly miffed at being left out of this obvious salute to those of you who consider yourselves the be-all and end-all of the pun.
But oh well. I will just have to leave so many brilliant punning comments on this site that you realise the error of not including me at the outset and regret the cold shoulder treatment you have given me.
Or I could get over it.
Either way, there is no pun here, so stop looking. I will return another day and pun all over your sorry asses.
I'd give you a little hand, but a big hand would be more generous.
Face it, my grandfather was right. Hours is not to question why. Hours is but to do or die. But his knowledge of such matter was quite minute. He was second in a race as a boy, though. Beat his own personal best time by a lot.
Ben was his name. Big, he was. His wife, Belle, struck the right chord whenever we went over, which was all the chime.
15 Comments:
I took my mate Samuel to a Japanese restaurant once. Everything was going wonderfully until we had too many sake shots he was so drunk he missed his mouth and ended up giving his retina a good soaking.
He was haplessly flailing about on the floor whilst I kept repeating uselessly "Samurai! Does it hurt?! Can I get you anything?"
For anyone who needs a translation, the bespectacled gentleman on the right pontificates "'ere guvner, I've decided against the newspaper, cop a mammoth fuck-off pencil in your 'ead", while the gentleman on the left replies "D'oh..."
"pontificates..."
don't you mean PUNtificates, anon?
Hmmm, I believe the guy on the right is actually saying "These profit forecasts are pathetic! Now go off and redo this graph, aiii?"
Nah, they both look like MÄoris to me and given how the guy on the right is berating the other, I'd say they've got a severe stationary shortage:
"Ja-pun up dis poster, coz I can't find any puns left in dajare bro."
Of course, that should have been "dus poster". Curse my poor stereotyping skills!
To be blunt, these translations may have mis-lead a few. As for your wit - you'd better sharpener up.
I am slightly miffed at being left out of this obvious salute to those of you who consider yourselves the be-all and end-all of the pun.
But oh well. I will just have to leave so many brilliant punning comments on this site that you realise the error of not including me at the outset and regret the cold shoulder treatment you have given me.
Or I could get over it.
Either way, there is no pun here, so stop looking. I will return another day and pun all over your sorry asses.
I ain't moving from this comment thread until the punning improves. That's right, I'm staying completely stationary.
I think he's just testing it's softness. "Derwent you think it's 2B? Or not 2B?"
Oh, OK. I'll tell you a joke, Jess, to pass the time.
Knock-knock.
To pass the time?
Uh-oh. I've been told to watch out for your jokes. Be gentle with me, I develop a nervous tick when I don't understand gags.
Who's there?
Um, I haven't really got anything else. The 'knock-knock' bit was the pun. As in, he's knocking the other guy's head with whatever he's holding.
OK, it wasn't very good: So sue me.
(I hope you caught that one.)
I'd be interested to know who warned you about my jokes ...
No one warned me about your jokes, really. I just needed a time-related pun and I wanted to use "watch".
What do you call a brothel situated in a Swiss chalet?
A HOROLOGE!
HAHAHAHAHA I JUST MADE THAT UP THEN, MOTHERCHUCKERS! HAHAHAHAHA
*drinks more caffeine*
Aha, the cogs have turned now; I see. Good one!
I'd give you a little hand, but a big hand would be more generous.
Face it, my grandfather was right. Hours is not to question why. Hours is but to do or die. But his knowledge of such matter was quite minute. He was second in a race as a boy, though. Beat his own personal best time by a lot.
Ben was his name. Big, he was. His wife, Belle, struck the right chord whenever we went over, which was all the chime.
I'll wind down now.
Post a Comment
<< Home