Invest in puns, corny puns! The stalk mock-it has never been higher.
agriculture
My friend took joint ownership in a grow-op, out in the Hempsteads. The place had gone to weed and needed grass, but after applying some THC–tender hearted care–it looked spliffy in no time.
The farmer got arrested during the drought. He couldn’t make bale.
Farming advice: be a fallower, not a weeder.
When I arrived home from farming the fields, my wife suggested I be seeded. She gave me a baleful look. There was bad news. It appears someone stole harvest. “Somebody dung us wrong, in an awful manure,” she said. I was upset, and wanted to cull the crops, so they could catch the fallow. “I till you, he must sty!” Such events make farmers almanac. Indeed, it seems like part of a larger plot, made my mind acre just threshing out the possibilities. When I finish with him, he won’t be live, stocking at all.
The future of farming? Pig Data.
There is no smog out in the country. But there is hays everywhere.
So many farm animals are shamefully raised in holes, under cow pitalism.
Islamic fundamentalists are obsessed with crop circles. Because it’s written that way in the Korn.


