If you were to cut through me I’d probably bleed puns,
well that’s not true, I’d probably, if not certainly die.

I love to savour the flavour of a pun, feel it swell in my brain until it pops out in a burst of expectant laughter, this however isn’t always the case, when I’m met with the look on the other persons face.

My quick witted lips quip bits quicker than a sonar, hoping to stroke that comedy boner, to pull the giggle trigger and tip the barrel of laughs, but most of the time I look around and people think I’m daft.

Now most people would give up at this point, most people would give up the gun, but there’s something that makes me keep going, I must land the perfected pun.

I twist words to fit my vernacular, I’ve merged things like it’s almost spectacular, but the essence is forced and the words get divorced and I’m left with a pain in my medulla.

So for now I will keep them under wraps, avoiding the meta, those parodic traps, puns are draining and I don’t have the time, to hit the nail on the head with that incredible line.