(Note: Surviving and Thriving is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to Amazon.com.)

One of the many reasons I adore my dearest partner is that he not only endures my puns, he collaborates with them. Another reason is that he constantly comes up with his own – some germane to what’s happening in the moment, others that appear out of nowhere.

Can’t help lovin’ that man. Or writing about him: Previous pun compilations (see below) have encouraged groans but also appreciation from readers.

Those recaps were inspired by the fellow who posted some of his father’s pithy pronouncements on Twitter under the name “Shit My Dad Says.” Ultimately it became a best-selling book and even a short-lived television series called “$#*! My Dad Says.”

Sorry, folks: As long as he’s going to come up with these things, I’m going to write them down. Well, I’ll write some of them down. Some are too personal, too smutty or too deeply obscure to translate in this space. 

 

In fact, some of the following might not make much sense to you. Sorry about that, too. #NerdHumor

 

Time flies

 

One day when time was getting away from me, I shouted “Tempus fugit!” in frustration. DF said it reminded him of what they call a big storm in the Seattle area: “Tempest Puget.”

 

Time flies, part 2

 

Moments later, DF claimed that the not-very-successful sequel to Shakespeare’s “The Tempest” was called “The Teapot.”

 

Accuracy above all

 

While fact-checking, I used the phrase “accuracy in media.” Within seconds he suggested that this was the job description for Tyler Perry’s proofreader: “Accuracy in ‘Madea’.”

 

What price efficiency?

 

Referring to reports that Amazon warehouse employees have almost to run from place to place, anxious to hit their minimum quotas and keep their jobs, DF suggested that they are “The Working Dead.”

 

Zombie jamboree

 

Close to Halloween, he mentioned a piece of music called “A Victory Ball,” a tone poem that depicts a Viennese ball circa 1920. It’s based on an anti-war poem by Alfred Noyes.

During the piece, ghosts of the Great War show up. It’s some terribly gloomy dance music, DF notes: “The Waltzing Dead.”

 

Every step they take

 

Also on the subject of dance: Apropos of nothing, DF once came into the kitchen singing,

“How I wish I had dancers who’d tread

“Above my head, while I’m lying in bed:

“Someone to waltz over me.”

 

The chillin’ of the green

 

While discussing the prediction for a “wintry mix” of snow and sleet, DF said that also described the residents of the north of Ireland: “Wintry micks.”

(He and I both have Irish ancestry, so I feel that we can joke about our relatives.)

 

I’ll drink to that

 

I informed DF of the existence of a comics site called Comixology. Instantly he said, “Isn’t that team bartending? Co-mixology?”

(This seemed particularly impressive since I hadn’t told him the spelling of the site’s name.)

 

That one stinks

 

I’d warmed some leftover chili, fragrant with cumin and other spices. DF was having a big green salad with shrimp on it. He mentioned that if he’d been eating a pastrami sandwich instead, he’d have been able to smell the cumin through the rye.

 

Let them (not) eat cake

 

I mentioned that I might make a cake for my birthday before heading off to the Talkeetna Bachelors Auction and Wilderness Woman Competition. DF said he’d sworn off birthday cake after one too many staff parties at his former communications job, which required editing.

That’s because he’d try to go back to work but the piece would end up riddled with typos and missing words: “I decided then that I can’t have my cake and edit too.”

Related reading:

• $#*! my boyfriend says
• More $#*! my boyfriend says
• Still more $#*! my boyfriend says
• Yet more $#*! my boyfriend says