Punny Stuff

A friend of mine emailed me the "Knick Knack Patty Whack" joke. I haven't read it for a while, but it always makes me laugh, so I sent it on to my daddy.

He responded with just one line; "Pardon me Roy, is that the cat that chewed your new shoes?" It was enough. I had the tune from "Chattanooga Choo-Choo" in my head all night long.

Today he cemented his win in the corny joke-off with this email:

After Quasimodo's death, the Bishop of the Cathedral of Notre Dame sent word through the streets of Paris that a new bell ringer was needed. The Bishop decided that he would conduct the interviews personally and after several applicants demonstrated their skills, he had decided to call it a day.

Just then, an armless man approached him and announced that he was there to apply for the bell ringer's job. The Bishop was incredulous. "You have no arms!" "No matter," said the man. "Observe!" And he began striking the bells with his face, producing a beautiful melody on the carillon.

The Bishop listened in astonishment; convinced he had finally found a replacement for Quasimodo. But suddenly, rushing forward to strike a bell, the armless man tripped and plunged headlong out of the belfry window to his death in the street below.

The stunned Bishop rushed to his side. When he reached the street, a crowd had gathered around the fallen figure, drawn by the beautiful music they had heard only moments before. As they silently parted to let the Bishop through, one of them asked: "Bishop, who was this man?". "I don't know his name," the bishop sadly replied "....but his face sure rings a bell."
(Ba-dum-bum)

The following day, despite the sadness that weighed heavily on his heart due to the unfortunate death of the armless campanologist, the Bishop continued his interviews for the bell ringer of Notre Dame. The first man to approach him said, "Your Excellency, I am the brother of the poor armless wretch that fell to his death from this very belfry yesterday. I pray that you honor his life by allowing me to replace him in this duty."

The Bishop agreed to give the man an audition and as the armless man's brother stooped to pick up a mallet to strike the first bell, he moaned, clutched at his chest, twirled around, and died on the spot. The monks, hearing the Bishop's cries of grief at this second tragedy, rushed up the stairs to his side.

"What has happened? Who is this man?" the first monk asked breathlessly. "I don't know his name," sighed the distraught Bishop, "...but he's a dead ringer for his brother." (Ba-dum-bum)

This just goes to prove that my retarded sense of humor is genetic.