Many of our schoolchildren know next to nothing about moss! I’m worried it’s a crisis of sphagnumeracy.
Fruit growers who ignore frost warnings are a bit like fascists. They don’t believe in freeze peach.
Bored? Try dissecting a testicle. You’ll halve a ball.
You may ask when will it snow for Christmas, but I ask when will it rein, deer?
Lichen will only grow on a tree if it achieves a critical moss.
Would a flower-powered car run on vase-oline?
Anyone who likes to quote punsters is a saidist.
I went to small claims court over a faulty bag of overly frozen vegetables; the case was heard by a just-ice of the peas.
To pass a law, the Queen must fart. Only then will it have royal ass scent.
The gangland baseball star established a huge mafia umpire. Of course, he won’t say a word about his past hits: He follows the code of homerta, and brushes off all allegations as baseless. But he has been seen patrolling the alleys, and out of left field, he takes a swing at the pitcher. ‘Don’t try to put one past a man with three balls,’ he gloats. Despite facing the heat for two controversial strikes–and repeatedly ending up in foul territory–he ends up walking. Of course, the other guys balk. The next inning he decides to stick a cap on a fan. This time the hard liners get to him. So he winds up in the pen. Before, he would feast on sliders, but now he kills time sacrificing flies and collecting booze tins on his mickey mantle. Some say he dabbles in CyYoungtology. During this short stop, he pulls off a deadly sidearm delivery. He rallies, ends up running all the bases, and despite being violently tagged, he makes it home, safe. The truth of the matter? You could ask the catcher, but the catcher knows squat.