From the keyboard of SirLoinDeBeef:

We know, after the 1st submission, that the PUN really is the lowest form of humor … possibly battling it out with the Limerick for bottom-of-the-barrel last place. For instance:

An fetching young Maid of Madras,

Was renowned for her beautiful ass:

Not rounded and twerking,

As though she were working,

It was gray, had long ears and ate grass!

The punster is one who should be “pun-ished” by being “drawn and quoted,”  because frequently the eleventh pun always gets a laugh, even when no pun in ten did. Yes the punster’s reward comes in the forms of groans … gagging sounds … howls … eye-rolls … and, for the ultimate puns, death threats. Not all is negative for the punster. I recall this girl who said she recognized me from the vegetarian club, but I’ve never met herbivore but I digress and without further ado for your weekly education and delight, I now submit my 2nd entry for MONDAY-PUNDAY:

      When an ardent young man could make no headway while courting his lady-love, he looked for help from his local witch (www.whichwitchiswhich.com). After payment terms had been concluded, he was given a bottle of rather large pills, with the instructions that he should bury one pill each night under the window of his beloved’s room. Thirty days later, there were wedding bells, during he asked his witchy consultant what was in the pills he had buried. She  cocked her head to the side with a knowing smile for trade secrets are best not divulged when she replied, “Nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from the coven, and pills-buried says it best!”

But wait there’s more:

Joe Street was known in musical circles as The Harp Master. Whether it was a Sousa March, an Irish ballad or a wailing Delta Blues tune, Joe could belt ’em out on his harmonica. Since it was so small and easily carried, Joe always had his ‘harp’ on him, ready for any musical moment.

On his last night in town, out on the West Coast of the USA, right after his late-night gig, he and his buddies wound up at “The Clam Bar” a infamous place. Though known only to the musical underground scene, it was renowned for it’s menu of steamed clams, the friendly lesbian who owned it, named Sam, copious amounts of beer courtesy of the local microbrew, dancing and a raucous good time.

The rules were simple. Guys had to play or sing at least one karaoke set and the girls had to perform a disco dance on the stripper pole (clothing optional), followed by downing a large brew and eating a plate of clams. Being a true performer, Joe had several tries and possibly due to the high alcohol value of that night’s beer, the ‘fog’ closed in rather quickly. All Joe could remember, come morning, was that, at one point, he was hanging upside-down from the pole, covered in a large beach towel while playing, ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ to Sam, who was having a giggling fit.

Taking pity on him, his friends somehow got him dressed, out to the airport, through TSA and onto the aircraft just in time. But, as it roared down the runway and bolted for the sky, Joe started frantically searching all his pockets and clothes. Finally, near to tears, he groaned and said, “I left my harp in Sam’s Clam Disco!”

>>> See you next Monday <<<