h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

PUNS FOR THE EDUCATED
King Ozymandias of Assyria was running low on cash after years of war with Hittites. His last great possession was the Star of the Euphrates , the most valuable diamond in the ancient world. Desperate, he went to Croesus, the pawnbroker, to ask for a loan. Croesus said, "I'll give you 100,000 dinars for it".

"But I paid a million dinars for it," the King protested."Don't you know who I am? I am the king!"

Croesus replied, "When you wish to pawn a Star, makes no difference who you are."

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Evidence has been found that William Tell and his family were avid bowlers. Unfortunately, all the Swiss league records were destroyed in a fire, and so we'll never know for whom the Tells bowled.

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A man rushed into a busy doctor's office and shouted, "Doctor! I think I'm shrinking!"
The doctor calmly responded, "Now, settle down.You'll just have to be a little patient."

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A marine biologist developed a race of genetically engineered dolphins that could live forever if they were fed a steady diet of seagulls. One day, his supply of the birds ran out so he had to go out and trap some more.
On the way back, he spied two lions asleep on the road. Afraid to wake them, he gingerly stepped over them. Immediately, he was arrested and charged with... transporting gulls across sedate lions for immortal porpoises.

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Back in the 1800's the Tate's Watch Company of Massachusetts wanted to produce other products, and since they already made the cases for watches, they used them to produce compasses. The new compasses were so bad that people often ended up in Canada or Mexico rather than California . This, of course, is the origin of the expression, ... "He who has-a-Tate's is lost!"

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A thief broke into the local police station and stole all the toilets and urinals, leaving no clues. A spokesperson was quoted as saying, "We have absolutely nothing to go on."

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An Indian chief was feeling very sick, so he summoned the medicine man. After a brief examination, the medicine man took out a long, thin strip of elk rawhide and gave it to the chief, telling him to bite off, chew, and swallow one inch of the leather every day.

After a month, the medicine man returned to see how the chief was feeling. The chief shrugged and said, "The thong is ended, but the malady lingers on."

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A famous Viking explorer returned home from a voyage and found his name missing from the town register. His wife insisted on complaining to the local civic official who apologized profusely, saying, "I must have taken Leif off my census."

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There were three Indian squaws. One slept on a deer skin, one slept on an elk skin, and the third slept on a hippopotamus skin. All three became pregnant. The first two each had a baby boy. The one who slept on the hippopotamus skin had twin boys. This just goes to prove that ... the squaw of the hippopotamus is equal to the sons of the squaws of the other two hides.

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A skeptical anthropologist was cataloguing South American folk remedies with the assistance of a tribal Brujo who indicated that the leaves of a particular fern were a sure cure for any case of constipation. When the anthropologist expressed his doubts, the Brujo looked him in the eye and said, "Let me tell you, with fronds like these, you don't need enemas."

Should I or ?

at some, and don't get several .

It must be my cultural upbringing - or maybe I should get someone to read them aloud in English.

I'll pass them on to a fellow Dane who loves puns - and we'll exchange notes.

Hyp

Excellent, Hyp.

You are evil.

A scientist was successful in cloning himself.

He was asked to speak at a national convention of cloning scientists. The
meeting room was located on the 45th floor of a New York skyscraper.

The scientist arrived with his clone and proceeded to the podium. The clone
sat at the end of the head table. The scientist began the speech intending
a tribute to the advances in the field of modern biology.

"My fellow scientists," he began. But before he could utter another word,
the clone sprang to his feet and shouted out, "he's an AE!". The crowd
began to murmur as the scientist commanded the clone to "sit down and
shut-up!". Apologizing for the interruption, the scientist began again, "My
fellow scientists,". Again the clone sprang to his feet and yelled, "this
dumb A couldn't produce a copy on a Xerox. He's a fraudulent
SON-OF-A-B!".

Incensed, the scientist rushed to the clone, grabbed him, and threw him out
of the window.

The crowd gasped and security rushed into the room. A short while later New
York's finest arrived and were explained the events that had transpired.

The police chief said to the scientist, "We are going to have to arrest
you." The scientist replied, "For what? I have committed no crime. What
fell from the window was a clone, not a person.". The attending scientists
nodded in agreement. "Well," retorted the police chief, "we can not let
this heinous act go unchallenged.".

The police chief thought for a moment and ordered the scientist held for
"Making an obscene clone fall..."

Okay. Somebody call the Pun Police...

That one did take me 10 seconds...

After Quasimodo's death, the bishop of the Cathedral of Notre Dame sent word through the streets of Paris that a new bell ringer was needed. The bishop decided that he would conduct the interviews personally and went up into the belfry to begin the screening process. After observing several applicants demonstrate their skills, he had decided to call it a day. Just then, an armless man approached him and announced that he was there to apply for the bell ringer's job. The bishop was incredulous. "You have no arms!" "No matter," said the man. "Observe!" And he began strikng the bells with his face, producing a beautiful melody on the carrilon. The bishop listened in astonishment, convinced he had finally found a replacement for Quasimodo. But suddenly, rushing forward to strike a bell, the armless man tripped and plunged headlong out of the belfry window to his death in the street below. The stunned bishop rushed to his side. When he reached the street, a crowd had gathered around the fallen figure, drawn by the beautiful music they had heard only moments before. As they silently parted to let the bishop through, one of them asked, "Bishop, who was this man?" "I don't know his name," the bishop sadly replied, "but his face rings a bell."

Although it wasn't easy, what with English being a foreign language... there are two I didn't get, if anyone could be so kind to point out the ing obvious to me. The one about seagulls and lions, and the one about the thong.

Titania:

Thong = The Song is ended but the Melody lingers on

Gulls, lions and porpoises = Transporting girls across state lines and using them for immoral purposes

I love the one about the bell ringer.

I heard that one back when I was in school. It was always one of my faves.

Understandably so.

We're doing puns. Where the heck is Paul?

I submitted ten puns for a joke contest hoping one would win.
No pun in ten did.

Sherlock Holmes had to be THE consummate White Anglo-Saxon Protestant stereotype. Born to privilege, endowed with finances that afforded him luxuries and status, a mind of genius proportions, observation skills that missed not even the minute details of common living; all these things made him a legendary sleuth of the Occidental world. After many years, and countless adventures, the perennial bachelor finally decided to settle down and make his own family. Marriage to a beautiful woman of high-borne lineage brought a sweet bliss to Holmes’ life, and she even graced him with a fine young boy.

The lad grew and, fueled by his scholarly environment and the memoirs written by Dr Watson, began a career of criminal investigation in keeping with his father’s former trade. He was even beleaguered by his own generation’s archenemy, Les E. Musical, who would leave a tune playing at the scene of each crime—inevitably with lyrics appropriate to the nature of the misdeed. Holmes’ son eventually took it upon himself to bring this nefarious nemesis to justice and did everything within his power to track him down. He followed his trail across Europe, to America, doubled back through Iceland, and lost the spoor after returning to London, England.

At his wit’s end and nonplussed by his own inability to bring the case to resolution, he approached his father for assistance, knowing he would surely see something that had been overlooked. True to form, Holmes narrowed the scope of investigation with a few specific questions. It came down to a set of footprints his son had examined shortly before the trail grew cold.

“Son, did you note the type of rock embedded in the prints? Its structure is particular to a region of Dover, near the coastline. That’s where you’ll find your man.”

“But father, all the evidence I have points to his return to Iceland…”

“That is simply a red herring to throw you off his track, my lad. Iceland is a volcanic island and composed of igneous rock. The residue you found in the footprints clearly points to the rock shelves of Dover. Please tell me that your heritage stands you in good stead to finish the deduction process!”

“If this isn’t igneous rock, then what kind is it?” asked the young man querulously.

“Why, sedimentary, my dear WASP son. It’s sedimentary…”

B4ihave2dodgetheslings&arrowsofoutrageous4tunes

Well, we could either stick to our puns, or we could cut over to spoonerisms.....and never the main shall tweet.

(Oops! Am I mixing my metaphysicals again? No, that was when I went to the doctor and he determined I had a semicolon because I only did things half-*ss. He noted I couldn't even finish a good analogy; I could only come up with a semi-phor.)

All that aside, let me tell you about the last time Slartibartfast and I had a chat. He'd been working on some more fjords (you know, those little curliques of coastline usually associated with Norway?) on a project for which a couple of had paid a tidy sum, and he'd noticed something odd about the shapes they were taking. He pulled down a ream of computer printout paper and started sketching the wave patterns of the shorelines, only stretching the sine-wave-like scrawlings along the paper in more-or-less a line. With an intuitive leap, we both recognized the undulations to be what resembled a representation of a voice print. He had the tools and facilities to transfer the wave patterns into a computer application that read it and converted it into actual sound waves. Upon hearing the output, Slartibartfast looked across his keyboard at me with a quizzical expression. He stammered, "This seems to be an ancient dialect of earth. I didn't even realize I'd drawn the coastlines into shapes that could mimic such a language. I understand the gist of the message, but all I'm able to get out of it is a littoral translation..."

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B4igetbeaned

London (UPI)—As if President Barak Obama’s troubles with the credibility of certain aspects from his past aren’t enough, recent revelations into his connection with an international arms dealer have surfaced to tarnish America’s most hopeful head of state. Due to the seeming inexhaustible supply of campaign funds that allowed this relative new-comer to the political scene to garner the highest office in the land, other factions pursued the trail of money to find out from where it came. Via several layers of clearinghouse hocus-pocus, one major backer for the Obama campaign was winnowed from the chaff.

Brörtenin Armaments Enterprise (BAE) is headquartered in Sweden, and operates a weapons facility in Karlskoga, about 240 kilometers away from Stockholm. Sales from the plant include high-tech guided munitions and long-range delivery systems, though the mainstay of its product line is still lead bullets. Its current CEO, Stig Brörtenin, is a third-generation arms purveyor in this family-owned business. Because of the clout he wields in the industry, he has been able to ramrod sales to countries and war-torn areas of the world with relative impunity. When approached about the matter of his firm funneling funds to back an American political candidate, Brörtenin declined to make any comment.

In Washington, D.C., the furor over the matter is just starting to blossom. The formation of an investigative committee has already been called for by House and Senate Republicans, as well as a number of other political organizations whose hue and cry is that of greater transparency. With the typical speed of most such committees, it might be years before a final resolution to the matter. Cabinet insiders of the Oval Office, when questioned, were not at liberty to either confirm or deny any ties between the President and Brörtenin. The President himself has shied away from any mention of it and refuses to concede anything to the media.

A Swedish group of peace activists, not willing to wait so long, have taken to civil disobedience to bring the story into the public eye. The OFOG/Avrusta (loosely translated as “mischief/disarm”) has over the last few days infiltrated several of the company’s arms facilities, engaged in various acts of token vandalism, and has set up picket lines at the plant entrances. They have very effectively embarrassed and turned away all who would cross, with their sing-song chant of:

“Obama’s little maybe shoves Brörtenin, Brörtenin…
Obama’s little maybe shoves Brörtenin lead!”

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B4someonetakesapotshotatme