Pat’s 2007 Pun Off Punniest of Show Routine :: Puns about Puns

Pat’s 2007 Pun Off Punniest of Show Routine :: Puns about Puns

Read Pat’s first-person reportage from the 2007 Pun Off in Austin, Texas (National Post)


Most puns are just pointless yawn sequiturs. For example: tree puns are not very poplar. Gambling puns are real eye-rollers. Puns about radio frequencies should be band. Video games? No pun nintendo’d! Food puns are hard to take in ingest, and liver puns taste awful — who cares if they’re full of irony! Chicken puns are fowl, obviously, and puns about dismembered cows are absolutely a tear a bull. Islam puns are so offensive, they give me koranaries. So no mo’hammeding it up. And midget puns? Simply the lowest form of humour. The joke’s on me though: as a punster who is also Roman Catholic, I’m pretty much guaranteed never to have sects!

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A famous composer was also a cyclist. But he refused to ride his new bach, because of the handel bars. So he took it back to the chopin began to rattle off a lizst of complaints. “Grrr… Schwinns,” he cried. But the store owner didn’t understand his unwillingness to ride. ‘Hey, it’s beets hooven‘ he said, ‘especially if you’re bizet! I was hoofin’ the other day, and got gum on my schubert!’ Riding is certainly better than taking de bussy; except if your bike is too heavy. This fellow’s ride weighed 20 kilobrahms! He took a ride by a painter’s castle once and admired the moat’s art. But some half-German, half-Russian idiot almost ran him over – what a scheisskopfsky! The composer fell headlong into a dog turd: a wipeout of operatic proportions – it was poo-chinny! He almost baroque his face, and was so shamed he went into haydn. Lessons learned? Cycling is a taste one must a choir. But if you decide to give up halfway through a ride, de bussy now comes with a bike-rachmaninoff!

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Pat’s 2005 Pun Off Punniest of Show Routine :: Cannibalism

Pat’s 2005 Pun Off Punniest of Show Routine :: Cannibalism

The transcript of Pat’s bronze-medal winning performance (score: 38 out of a possible 40)


(Intro: points to podium, displaying sign saying ‘This is my Hannibal lectern‘)

Men and women of good taste, great to finally eat you! I wouldn’t lie, my mother braised me well, so that’s no can o’ bull. After years in the Pizza Corpse working as a human-eat-arian, I’m here finally to compete; I promise you I’m no flesh in the pan.

My girlfriend, a cute little fillet, name’s Cake Moss, spends all her time cooking in the microwaif, didn’t think I’d make it this far, but now she’s eating Russell Crowe. Sometimes I’m not so glad I ator – I mean, date her. Nothing’s worse than a jealous liver.

But I won’t Lecter you; I’m not one of those annoying people who never stops chewing you out. You’re all men of convection; I’m practically in oven with you; I am enjoying you people with relish.

Please come over to my place for a donner party. Don’t worry if you are lack-toes intolerant, I’ll strap the feet-bag right on you. You like fresh brain muffins? Exskullent! Then it’s toast slathered with marma-ladies, scrambled legs, all washed down with a full-bodied wino. And dessert: adam’s apple pie with eyes cream and my favourite, J-Lo pudding pops. Bring your kids over to play too – I’d consider it a veal good time.

Now I’m off on a tour of international menus: first it’s Iceland for Bjork chops – then Manila for some Phyllopinos, and also France to have a true hommelette breakfast! Last stop’s the Vatican, where I hope to have the pope’s ear. Hope he listens – someone’s got to keep that guy a-cannibal!

Thanks for letting me take you in gest; I’ll ketchup with you later.

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