I first want to point out that there’s a reason the title of this post isn’t “Punny Business.” That reason is that it would be a dreadful title. Some people, however, have neither the restraint nor the better judgement to leave puns in their accustomed milieu: the passing comment or the punchline of a soon-forgotten joke.

As I, and no doubt countless others, have mentioned previously, puns are roundly and routinely criticized as the lowest form of humor; some even speculate that uncontrollable pun-making is a legitimate psychological condition, a disease. I hold no such vendetta with them, but caution that there is a time and a place for puns, as well as a time and a place not for puns. (more…)

The Living Crocodilians

Alligator

Crocodile

Caiman

Gharial


(more…)

(more…)

If puns are, as Samuel Johnson asserted, “the lowest form of humour,” I would in turn suggest that Tom Swifties are the lowest form of punnery. This, of course, does nothing to dissuade me from proffering a few timely Swifties, inundated as we’ve been by the political dog-and-ponying of the seemingly endless presidential election.

You’ve been warned.

  • “Let’s make a film about global warming,” Tom said allegorically.
  • “Those fanatics blew up the abortion clinic!” said Tom prolifically.
  • “Can you believe the price of fuel these days?” winced Tom in gastronomic pain.

If you have a punny itch that needs relief and release, feel free to unload it here.


Coming soon: Bicycle Crashes, Part Three: “South × Southwest × Head over Heels”