Warning: SirLoin knows that seven days without a pun makes one weak. He is one-of-a-kind. When he was made, they broke the mold … closed off the clay works … abandoned the quarry … chained the entrance … electrified the fences … and mined the road leading to it … leaving an old sign that said: DANGER – Pirates and Lasers and Ninjas and Stuff.
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Attack of the grammar police (“to correct and to serve”): I before E except when eight feisty neighbors seize a surfeit of weighty heifers.
The past, the present and the future walked into a bar … IT WAS TENSE!
Never play cards in the Serengeti … there are too many cheetahs.
‘Tis better to have loved a short person than never to have loved a tall.
A hungry lion was roaming through the jungle looking for something to eat when he came across two men; one was sitting under a tree reading a book while the other was typing away on his typewriter. The lion quickly pounced on the man reading the book and devoured him, proving even the king of the jungle knows that readers digest and writers cramp.
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The Famy Fire Station stands in the town of Chester, PA – during the summer, when the risk of fire was low, the various stations would compete for the local baseball title.
Now, Milford Famy (“But call me Mil”) was the strongest pitcher, but also the man with the greatest capacity for beer. He would chug down a steel can of brew and crush it in one mighty hand, then reach for another.
To end the season of rivalry, the fire station teams played one another until there were only two left. Mil’s team, of course, was favored. During mighty play, in hot summer weather, as Mil drank quarts, the scores shifted to first one team, then another.
Each time Mil pitched, it was to the destruction of his opponents. Then, he’d down another brew and crush the can, throwing it to the side in a growing pile.
In the 10th, and last, inning, though, the score was tied. After chugging his last two beers, Mil strode to the mound, and threw balls that left the bases loaded. It was the final batter up, and after two hard pitches for two strikes, it was down to the last pitch … when Mil appeared fascinated by the ball, as though he’d never seen such a thing.
Winding up, he threw high and wide. Ball one!
He threw low and slow. Ball two!
He threw low and wide. Ball three!
Then, winding his arms in a fearful, thrashing spin, he dribbled a ball across the plate and fell down across the mound, belching loudly and then passing out.
Batter walked to 1st base! First walked to 2nd! Second walked to 3rd!
The guy on 3rd base walked home, grinning like a fiend, and the game was over.
As the opposing team came off the field, victorious, they passed the belching, snoring Mil and then pointed to the pile of crushed beer cans, there by the dugout, as one guy said, “that’s the beer that made Mil Famy walk us!”
Addendum from Brenda55.