Sometimes on Fridays, I’ve been sharing jokes from the Archer treasury of bad puns. I was reminded of this one last week, so I thought I’d share it:

Julia and her amazing berry

Julia Anthony loved to garden. Her vegetables had won prizes every year at the state fair. Her cobblers had won prizes. Her jams had won prizes. But she’d never won a prize for her berries.

This would be the year to change that, for Julia’s garden had produced an amazing strawberry. Her friends began to tell their friends, and people came from miles around just to see Julia’s berry. She knew that when it came time for the fair that she would most certainly win. In fact, she had hopes of entering the National Berry Association’s nationwide competition. (if the NBA could settle its labor problems)

One evening, a large dark sedan pulled up in front of their house. Two men got out of the car, wearing dark suits and sunglasses. Julia was thrilled. She was certain that the National Berry Association had sent field agents to evaluate her strawberry. She called to her husband, Mark, to join her for the excitement.

Julia quickly invited the men in and led them out to her strawberry patch. All the while she chatted about how happy she was that her berry was going to get to compete. The men were strangely silent.

Finally, Mark Anthony could stand it no more. He asked them straight out: “So, do you think her berry is good enough to enter the competition?”

That’s when the men showed their true intentions. One of them pulled out a gun and said, “There seems to be some misunderstanding…

…we’ve come to seize her berry, not appraise it!”

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

The bird lover and the plaid pigeon

Charlie Storch loved birds. He had dedicated his life to the study of birds. But one day he met a bird that he just couldn’t love.

It was the plaid pigeon. A lifetime of ornithology hadn’t prepared Charlie for the sight of the plaid pigeon. And it was love at first sight. Charlie was exploring in the deepest, darkest regions of Iowa when he stumbled upon the nest of the plaid pigeon. This was certainly a rare bird! The bird was colored just like the old couch at Charlie’s grandma’s house and sang a heartwarming song. Charlie trapped the bird and took it home with him.

The bird was quite content in his new home and really seemed to flourish. Too much so, I’m afraid. The bird ate and ate, and the bird grew and grew. By the end of the first week, the bird had doubled in size. By the end of the second week, the bird had doubled in size again. By the end of the third week… well, you get the picture.

The food bill was tremendous. The, err, output was tremendous. And soon the bird wouldn’t fit in Charlie’s house. Charlie had to do something. Rare bird or no, he had to get rid of it.

Charlie borrowed a pickup from a neighbor, but the bird was growing as they went down the road and soon got to big for the truck. Charlie went and rented the largest dump truck he could find. He loaded up the bird and headed for a nearby ridge where he could drop the bird off into the forest.

The truck was groaning under the strain by the time they reached their destination. Charlie pulled the lever to dump the bird and got the surprise of his life. From the back part of the truck, he heard the voice of the plaid pigeon: “Hey, mister, do you know what you’re doing?” the bird called, before commenting…

“It’s a long way to tip a rarey.”

(Note: I used to laugh at this joke as a kid, even though I didn’t know the song. In case you don’t know the song, I’ve included a YouTube video of the original)

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

The piano tuner
and the persnickety pianist

There once was a town known for its music, a little town called Musika. It was filled with orchestras and bands, piano studios and bagpipe halls. Everyone loved music. Almost everyone played music. Almost everyone did something related to music.

Auber couldn’t sing. He couldn’t play an instrument. But he was the best piano tuner in the land. Nobody knew how he did it, but Auber could tune a piano with nothing but a rusty pair of needle-nosed pliers. He didn’t even use a tuning fork. And when Auber finished, the piano was perfectly tuned. Every time.

Although he had no children, Auber drove around in a van that proudly proclaimed: “Noggity & Sons, Piano Tuners.” He thought the “& Sons” part added an air of distinction.

Nigel was a concert pianist. A world-famous concert pianist. As part of his tour of Europe, he stopped in the town of Musika to give a concert in their renowned concert hall. (which, by the way, was the largest building in town) As was his custom, he shipped in his own Steinway piano. And he had the townspeople call in the finest piano tuner to tune his piano. This, of course, was Auber.

Auber came in and worked his magic. Soon the Steinway sounded as never before, and Auber left in his “Noggity & Sons” van.

But Nigel wasn’t the kind to admit that someone else could do anything right. (When you look up “persnickety” in the dictionary, there’s a picture of Nigel) He sat down, played a few chords, and summoned the manager of the hall. “Bring back that incompetent piano tuner immediately,” he sneered. “He has bungled the acoustics and mangled the harmonics.” (Besides being persnickety, he was also pretentious, trying to use big words to impress people)

The manager turned white. He stuttered and stammered, and finally blurted out: “But sir!…”

“Auber Noggity only tunes once!”