From time to time an idea, like a thorn from a pyracantha shurb, works its spinous barb underneath my skin. And much like the ensuing allergic reaction to the fireweed, the consequence of the idea burrowing into my brain is an itch. An itch that must be scratched.
Several years ago, I went on a sonnet kick. I gave myself the goal of writing 100 sonnets in a year (did it).
This itch ain't half as classy as that one.
If you know me, then you know that I love me some puns. Don't we all? Punning is the most joyful of all the word plays. At its best, it's clever and sincere. At its worst, it's ribald or saucy or silly. These are all qualities that I admire and, if I can be so frank to admit this, strive for.
So.
I have given myself the assignment of coming up with 500 puns in the next year. I will post some of them here.
I will do my best to cover new ground,but if I invent for myself a pun that's already been turned-- mea culpa. I just want it to be clear I'm not googling for them.
As of today, day 2 of my discipline, I've come up with five.
Here are puns 6, 7, 8.
Thank you in advance for putting up with me.
6. Why were the curds late for the gala ball?
Because it took whey too long to get dressed.
7. Why wouldn't the jack-in-the-box pop up when the boy turned the handle?
Because it was cranky. (Ok, this one was lame.)
8. "Papa, this Hawaiian food tastes like cyanide!"
"Don't eat it. It's poi, son."
Yuk, yuk, y'all.
