The other joke and meme thread

[Erestor Arcamen]

Use this thread for jokes and memes that do NOT relate to Tolkien.

Keep things appropriate or we'll have to sick Grond on you

 

[Beleg_Cúthalion]

 

[Erestor Arcamen]

 

[Deimos]

 

[Deimos]

 

[Erestor Arcamen]

 

[Maedhros_Nelyafinwë]

 

[Deimos]

That is a variation of

 

[Deimos]

 

[Klaatu]

 

[Deimos]

View attachment 45867

@ Klaatu...I'll bet you only hang around here because you've been banished from your own planet's polite society.🤨

 

[Klaatu]

@ Klaatu...I'll bet you only hang around here because you've been banished from your own planet's polite society.🤨

My dear Deimos… “banished” is such a tiny, squeaky, soapy little word for what actually befell me.

On my world, the High Council of Interspatial Decorum merely gently hinted that I should “take a sabbatical before someone’s pierogis achieve critical mass again.”
(They detonated with a whoomp, launched sour cream into the sky, and the ants immediately formed a new religion in praise of the newly attained sustenance available to them.)

A misunderstanding, truly.
How was I to guess the Chancellor’s ceremonial coffee pot was both flammable and emotionally vengeful? One minute I’m grinding beans, the next it’s shouting legal disclaimers and chasing the cat around the apartment.

Still, your planet’s polite society is wonderfully patient with me—as long as I resist the urge to rearrange your constellations into questionable silhouettes. Orion complained last time and filed a grievance in triplicate, and nobody wants to decode his handwriting. 😉

---

Klaatu the Unreasonably Luminous,
Grand Marshal of the Interplanetary Pogo-Stick Regatta,
Unofficial Spokesbeing for Moist Toast of the Ninth Dimension,
Recipient of the Golden Egg Whisk for Services to Brunch Diplomacy,
And Former Astral Intern to the Nebulous Bureau of Questionable Cartography

 

[Fingon_Findekáno]

My dear Deimos… “banished” is such a tiny, squeaky, soapy little word for what actually befell me.

On my world, the High Council of Interspatial Decorum merely gently hinted that I should “take a sabbatical before someone’s pierogis achieve critical mass again.”
(They detonated with a whoomp, launched sour cream into the sky, and the ants immediately formed a new religion in praise of the newly attained sustenance available to them.)

A misunderstanding, truly.
How was I to guess the Chancellor’s ceremonial coffee pot was both flammable and emotionally vengeful? One minute I’m grinding beans, the next it’s shouting legal disclaimers and chasing the cat around the apartment.

Still, your planet’s polite society is wonderfully patient with me—as long as I resist the urge to rearrange your constellations into questionable silhouettes. Orion complained last time and filed a grievance in triplicate, and nobody wants to decode his handwriting. 😉

---

Klaatu the Unreasonably Luminous,
Grand Marshal of the Interplanetary Pogo-Stick Regatta,
Unofficial Spokesbeing for Moist Toast of the Ninth Dimension,
Recipient of the Golden Egg Whisk for Services to Brunch Diplomacy,
And Former Astral Intern to the Nebulous Bureau of Questionable Cartography

Well I, for one, greatly enjoy the delightful humor and insights you bring with you, dear Klaatu. You are more than welcome to continue tickling my funny bone and brain! 😂

 

[Klaatu]

Well I, for one, greatly enjoy the delightful humor and insights you bring with you, dear Klaatu. You are more than welcome to continue tickling my funny bone and brain! 😂

Speaking of tickling funny bones, I once tried tickling an elephant’s pinky toe (they do have one, but you have to know the secret fold-out panel behind the ankle). The poor creature laughed so hard it toppled over, rolled two and 3/8ths times, and took out a lemonade stand run by three monkeys in a trench coat.

If my nonsense manages to tickle both your funny bone and your brain, then I consider that an interstellar success—worthy of a celebratory banner woven from moonlight and slightly embarrassed pigeons. 😄

--
Klaatu the Chronically Unsynchronized,
Supreme Custodian of the Intergalactic Lost Sock Archive,
Honorary keeper of the Lemon-Scented bowling balls
Winner of the 14th Annual Nebula Yodel-Off (Junior Division),
Licensed Handler of Celestially Confused Armadillos

 

[Deimos]

Well I, for one, greatly enjoy the delightful humor and insights you bring with you, dear Klaatu. You are more than welcome to continue tickling my funny bone and brain! 😂

Oh, my dear Fingon.... do you not recognize a baited hook? Our friend @Klaatu does 😄

 

[Klaatu]

A baited hook? I recognize them all too well.
Last time I encountered one, it wasn’t just dangling in some gentle pond—it was orbiting a giant squid and baited with a suspiciously friendly smelling carrot that was offering coupons for “half-price frozen bananas”

Naturally, I took the bait.
Naturally, brain freeze ensued.
Naturally, I regret nothing.

So yes, you may cast your hooks, your lures, your sparkly conversational shinies—Klaatu will always swim enthusiastically toward them, flippers flailing and dignity nonexistent. 😁
--
Klaatu the Perpetually Hooked,
Honorary Fisher of Ideas in Unlicensed Star Systems,
Champion of the 7th Moon’s Competitive Overreacting League,
Keeper of the Umbrella That Rains Upwards,
and Official Correspondent for Weather Reports That No One Asked For

 

[Erestor Arcamen]

There was this man in Bulgaria who drove trains for a living. He loved his job. Driving a train had been his dream ever since he was a child. He loved to make the train go as fast as possible. Unfortunately, one day he was a little too reckless and caused a crash. He made it out, but one person had died. Well, needless to say, he went to court over this incident. He was found guilty, and was sentenced to death by electrocution. When the day of the execution came, he requested a single banana as his last meal. After eating the banana, he was strapped into the electric chair. The switch was flown, sparks flew, and smoke filled the air – but nothing happened. The man was perfectly fine.

Well, at the time, there was an old Bulgarian law that said a failed execution was a sign of divine intervention, so the man was allowed to go free. Somehow, he managed to get his old job back driving the train. Having not learned his lesson at all, he went right back to driving the train with reckless abandon. Once again, he caused a train to crash, this time killing two people. The trial went much the same as the first, resulting in a sentence of execution. For his final meal, the man requested two bananas. After eating the bananas, he was strapped into the electric chair. The switch was thrown, sparks flew, smoke filled the room – and the man was once again unharmed.

Well, this of course meant that he was free to go. And once again, he somehow managed to get his old job back. To what should have been the surprise of no one, he crashed yet another train and killed three people. And so he once again found himself being sentenced to death. On the day of his execution, he requested his final meal: three bananas.

“You know what? No,” said the executioner. “I’ve had it with you and your stupid bananas and walking out of here unharmed. I’m not giving you a thing to eat; I dont know what the bananas do to help you stay alive but we’re strapping you in and doing this now.” Well, it was against protocol, but the man was strapped in to the electric chair without a last meal. The switch was pulled, sparks flew, smoke filled the room – and the man was still unharmed. The executioner was speechless.

The man looked at the executioner and said, “Oh, the bananas had nothing to do with it. I’m just a bad conductor.”

 

[Squint-eyed Southerner]

So we're doing this now? Okay:

A novice monk joined a "vow of silence" order, the only exception being allowed one word per year.

After his first year he went to the Abbott, said: "I", turned around and walked away.

At the end of the second year, he went up to the Abbott, said "Want", walked away.

Third year. Went to the Abbott again, yelled "OUT!".

"You may as well leave," said the Abbott. "You've done nothing but complain since you got here".

 

[Fingon_Findekáno]

Oh, my dear Fingon.... do you not recognize a baited hook? Our friend @Klaatu does 😄

Of course it was baited, like with a wriggling gummy worm. I just enjoy springing traps with a playful wink. 😉 And I wanted to take the opportunity to express my appreciation and enjoyment of Klaatu’s presence here, regardless of the bait. 😁

Honorary keeper of the Lemon-Scented bowling balls

Where may I be able to procure one of these Lemon-scented bowling balls, O Honorary Keeper of them? Asking for a friend. 👀

 

[Klaatu]

Of course it was baited, like with a wriggling gummy worm. I just enjoy springing traps with a playful wink. 😉 And I wanted to take the opportunity to express my appreciation and enjoyment of Klaatu’s presence here, regardless of the bait. 😁


Where may I be able to procure one of these Lemon-scented bowling balls, O Honorary Keeper of them? Asking for a friend. 👀

Ah, Fingon… I would gladly fetch you one of the Lemon-Scented Bowling Balls, but I must warn you: their storage is… complicated.

You see, I left them in a “secure location,” which in Klaatu-speak means inside a heavily guarded cupboard that only opens if you hum the theme from an extinct bird species, when it’s an odd-numbered Tuesday, during a leap year on Saturn. The last guardian I assigned—a sentient coat rack named Bartholomew—takes his job very seriously. He once detained me for six hours because I failed to enunciate the final chirp properly and he mistook me for a rain jacket.

Also, the balls themselves are notoriously temperamental. One of them develops stripes when flattered, another one giggles when polished, and the third one insists on offering unsolicited advice about taxidermy for snails. Very wise, but quite exhausting.

Still… for a dear friend, I shall file the proper forms with the Ministry of Recreational Artifacts and see if Bartholomew will allow a supervised retrieval. No promises—he’s very strict and moody when the moon is waxing. 👀
—
Klaatu the Mildly Radioactive Optimist,
Chief Archivist of Misplaced Galaxies and Borrowed Tuesdays,
Grandmaster of the Interstellar Hopscotch Consortium,
Bearer of the Accordion That Summons Rainclouds with Stage Fright,
and Licensed Mediator for Feuds Between Moody Furniture

 

[Maedhros_Nelyafinwë]