Herald-Leader Staff Reports
Some say that puns are the lowest form of humor. Not so, paronomasia breath, this is the lowest form of wit: [the word ‘wit’ was printed in 6-point font].
If bakers have their buns, bill collectors their duns and Germans their Huns, why can’t writers have their puns? (Did you hear about the window viper who turned out to be a snake-in-the-glass?)
To prove that caring is sharing, we’re sponsoring a pun contest. Send us your favorite pun, and we will send a “The Pun Also Rises” T-shirt to everyone who makes us groan (i.e., whose pun we publish).
Originality counts. And remember, this is a family newspaper. We can publish only good, clean fun, er, pun. Send your entry (one pun per person) by Friday to: The Pun Also Rises, c/o D.G. Fitzmaurice, Lexington Herald-Leader, Main and Midland, Lexington, Ky. 40507. Look for your best—or worst—efforts in Lifestyle on March 26.
To D.C. Fitzmaurice, The Lexington Herald Leader, 3-7-1988
…I couldn’t send only one, as your contest rules require. I just couldn’t stop myself. It would be like making a soda and leaving out the fitz, Maurice. I really hope you develop a reputation for the best punny vapors in the nation. Let me know if you need more mist for your grill…uh, you know what I mean…
1) A farmer’s daughter took a job at a nearby textile mill which specialized in weaving silk. Her first day on the job, being unfamiliar with it all, she made a misstep and fell into one of the big looms. The merciless machine snatched the girl asunder and shortly wove her remains into a huge bolt of silk fabric. The factory owners extended condolences and, the silk being the wrong color anyway, gave the entire bolt to the girl’s family. In practical response to the difficulties of burial, the family tunneled a long horizontal hole under a hill on their farm and buried the roll of silk in it. Afterward, the farmer said the only thing he could in an effort to console his grieving family: “Aw, don’t cry over milled silk – that’s daughter under the ridge.
2) Clyde was employed in a nail factory. Being none too fond of work, he would seize upon every opportunity to goof off. Typically, when he found a dime on the restroom floor one day, he wasted an hour walking around allegedly trying to find the dime’s owner. His supervisor noticed, decided this was the last straw, and fired him. Later that day the factory owner asked the supervisor why he’d fired Clyde. His reply, obviously, was: “Clyde’s been shirking on the nail load, just to pass a dime away.”
…Want to hear the one about…
– Don Coffey, March 1988