The last few Fridays, I’ve been sharing jokes from the Archer treasury of bad puns. I want to add a few that may or may not have been told when I was young. They’re included because they are equally pun-ishing:

The wildebeest and the animal trainer

Donny was an animal trainer who worked at the circus. That is, he worked at the circus until the circus went out of business. Then he had to find a new job.

Fortunately, the local zoo had an opening, and Donny got the job. It wasn’t quite the same, but at least Donny was around the animals he loved.

When things would get slow at the zoo, Donny would spend time with some of the animals, teaching them new tricks. As the animals became more proficient at their pirouettes, more and more people flocked to the zoo. Soon Donny was allowed to spend all his time training the animals to perform.

There was a wildebeest in the zoo that had been there since the zoo opened. Nobody was really sure how old it was, but it was well past its prime. Donny decided that his next task would be to teach that wildebeest some basic tricks. He started with some of the simple ones: Sit. Stay. Play dead. But the elderly animal just grunted at him and continued chewing its cud. Donny gave up out of frustration.

Davey, one of the other workers had observed the whole thing. He asked Donny for permission to try and train the animal. Donny laughed and said, “Sure, kid, knock yourself out.” Davey went to work, and after a few days, Donny was amazed to see the old wildebeest balanced on a ball, spinning a plate on his nose.

Donny rushed up to Davey and said, “You must be the greatest trainer in the world! Tell me your secret.”

Davey smiled at Donny and explained, “You forgot one of the basic rules in training zoo animals:”

Photo by Profeberger at en.wikipedia

“You can’t teach an old gnu dog tricks.”

As I’ve been doing the last few Fridays, I want to share another joke from the Archer treasury of bad puns

The holy man and the odious ogre

Long, long ago, before we were kids, there lived a small people known as the Trids. They were gentle and helpful each one to the other. No man would think his neighbor to bother.

But an ogre moved in next door to the Trids. He took over the hills, yes that’s what he did. He stood near the road, in his hands a big stick. If a Trid happened by, that Trid he would kick.

Rabbi Sam came that way, one sunshiny day. When the Trids saw him, they cried out to say, “The ogre, the ogre. How did you pass him?” In all the excitement, twas all they could ask him.

“What ogre?” Sam asked. “There was none in sight.” So the Trids told him of their terrible plight.

“What a terrible plight!” the holy man shouted. “I’ll talk to that ogre, don’t you dare doubt it.”

The rabbi took off as quick as a flash. To find that foul ogre, away he did dash. On reaching the spot where the ogre stood tall, the rabbi took courage and up he did call, “Sir Ogre, I challenge you now to a test. If you want to kick someone, kick me with your best.”

The ogre laughed at the holy man hero, “Me, kick you? The chances are zero.”

Undaunted, the rabbi continued his quest: “I insist, Mr. Ogre. I don’t speak in jest. I want you to kick me along with the rest.”

The ogre refused, yes that’s what he did. He looked at the rabbi and firmly he said:

“Silly rabbi! Kicks are for Trids.”

Another offering from the Archer family treasury of bad jokes…

Pepe and the Fire at the Barn

The Johnsons lived out in the country on a small farm. They had many animals on their place, but none as special as Pepe. Pepe was a chihuahua. And Pepe could talk.

Not just Lassie-style communication or a Scooby-dooish speech. Pepe could talk like you or me. Sure, he made a grammatical error or two, but his syntax was much better than Yoda’s.

Bobby Daniels was the Johnsons’ hired man. He had quite a temper and a bit of a mean streak, but he was always good to Pepe.

One day, Bobby and Mr. Johnson had a fierce argument. Bobby got mad and quit. That didn’t settle the score for him, however, so he came back and set the barn on fire.

Pepe woke up and smelled the smoke. “Fire, fire!” he screamed, at the top of his little lungs. Though his speech was impressive, it was far from loud, so no one heard little Pepe’s cries. The barn burned to the ground that night.

When the Johnsons’ got up the next morning, they found the smoldering ruins of their barn. “Pepe, what happened?” they asked. “Who did this?”

Poor little Pepe could barely talk after all that screaming. And he certainly didn’t want to see his friend Bobby get in trouble. All he would croak out was: “I don’t know. I didn’t see anything.”

Mr. Johnson knew that Pepe was holding out. He became so angry that he hit the dog again and again. Still Pepe wouldn’t give up his friend. He finally tired of the abuse and ran away into the woods, never to return.

MORAL: You can beat a hoarse chihuahua, but you can’t make him fink.