When we go on a picnic, the ants beg for TUMS.
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Found a refresher course:
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An American is visiting an English Abbey. He sees an old man in a brown robe slicing and frying potatoes.
He laughs, “Are you the Friar?”
The old man deadpans, “No. I’m the Chip Monk.”
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Good one!
By the by, quite a number of UK fish & chip shops have names that are puns. Friar/Fryer ones are fairly common, as are one’s punning on fish names. One of my favourite names (although not the food, which was pretty awful), is London’s “Rock & Sole Plaice”.
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I’ll just leave this here.
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I’ve been. Iirc, I had a battered and fried sausage, fish and chips, and a fried candy bar or twinkie for dessert. 
The deep fried Mars Bar has become a modern classic. It started at a chip shop in Scotland where the owner decided to do it as a joke/parody about the poor Scottish diet. And it took off. Now, I’ve never fried a Mars but I have melted one down over a pan of hot water, to use as a sauce for ice cream. Man, it works!
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We tried a deep fried pizza slice in Edinburgh instead of a Mars. It came out resembling something like a mutant paratha. BTW, we must have hit Rock and Sole Plaice (yes, great name; and convenient to Neal’s Yard Dairy) on a good day, or could it have been that we ordered plaice, or could it have been the novelty of a Turkish beer with the chips ?
I don’t get it.
Henny Youngman again:
People ask me how I’ve stayed married for so long—54 years. Here’s the secret: My wife and I go to a lovely, romantic restaurant twice a week. A little candlelight, a little wine. She goes Tuesdays. I go Thursdays!
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Yesterday, I got mugged by six dwarfs. Not Happy.
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One year, I decided to buy my mother-in-law a cemetery plot
as a Christmas gift…
The next year, I didn’t buy her a gift.
When she asked me why, I replied,
“Well, you still haven’t used the gift I bought you last year!”
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I always said if I was facing the chair and on my last night they granted me an hour visit from one person, any person of my choice, know who it would be?
My mother in law! Why you ask? Well that would simply be the longest hour of my life.
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She’s gone now, but my husband’s mother was the most difficult woman I have ever had to live around. I do not miss that woman.
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This morning I made a Belgian waffle. And this afternoon I made a German talk nonsense.
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Returning to the food joke theme – and we’re no misogynists – but here goes:
There’s the Reuben which is corned beef, Swiss, sauerkraut, Russian dressing on grilled rye.
There’s the Rachel variation which substitutes pastrami and slaw.
Then there’s the mother in-law sandwich of cold shoulder and tongue . . .
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(Borrowed from several Facebook posts)
So when this quarantine thing is over will the producers of My 600lbs Life contact me directly or do I need to reach out to them?
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There’s a David Sedaris short story about the childhood vacations his large family tok in a rented house on the North Carolina coast. He cited the many punny names of owned vacation homes, such as The Ship Shape, or The Shell Shack. When decades later he purchased a house there, he named it The Sea Section.
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