Day Forty: The Last Giraffe

As this is the last post, I wanted to end on a really exciting topic, and dazzle anyone reading this with my punning prowess so you could see just how far I’ve come.  I wanted to create some kind of amalgamation of all the puns I’ve so far written, like in the last task of the Triwizard Tournament when Harry has to utilise all the skills he’s gained, coming up against both old enemies and new challenges.  I couldn’t, however, think of a way of doing this, so we’ll end how we started – on  a low.

I can’t honestly say I’ve enjoyed writing every entry, and the general response from friends and family who have read this blog has been a kind of despairing half-laugh, half-sob.  Overall, I’ve written about 16,000 words which, incidentally, is twice the length of my still incomplete dissertation.  The response to this blog has also confirmed that I am the only person in the world that will ever laugh at my jokes. But I do laugh at them a lot.  It’s been a long journey, and next year I think I will just give up chocolate instead.

To anybody that read any of the entries, thanks for taking a bit of time out your day to indulge me – whether it was through a sick desire to torture yourself, or because of the threatening emails I’ve been sending to your family members, I really appreciate it.

Though I’d say 80% of the puns featured in this blog were my own, I’d be lion if I didn’t admit I’d sought the occasional bit of help from the internet.  I hope this doesn’t make me a cheetah, I just didn’t want this blog to be boaring, and without any inspiration it would have been such haard vark to mink of enough puns – maybe even impossumble.  I don’t think of it as fowl play, and I never said everything was entirely original, so I’m not a hippocrite.  It’s good to get that birden off my chest. 

Telling jokes is an hawkward thing to do, there have been several times that, by sharing my favourite one liner, I’ve just made myself look pretty sealy.  Bat I believe that, although obviously not poultry in motion, jokes are an important part of being British.  I’m not saying I feel particularly parrotriotic when I tell one, but owl admit that I think a dry sense of humour otter count for something. 

There were days when this blog was rushed and dingo to plan, when I thought it was a load of bull and that if I had to write anymare puns I might just end it all.   But, although at times it was unbearable, and I can hardly put it on a job application as a ‘relephant koalaification’ , I’m still glad I did it, and I at least found it vaguely emusing.  I think all I needed was a bit of determination – I just had to keep telling myself ‘toucan do it!’.  It’s mice to know I saw it through.

Okay, that was the last pun, I promise shrew.  Sorry, that one was – I seriously apeologize.

Joke.  My favourite of all time:

Two cows in a field.  

One cow says to the other cow:  ‘Are you worried about that mad cow disease?’

The other cow shrugs and says: ‘Why should I care?  I’m a chicken.’

Hahahaha ha ha ha.  Ha. 



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