Puns Redux (Ouch!)

In the talk.origins newsgroup certain scalawags indulge themselves in punfests. Here for your delectation is an excerpt from a typical exchange. Names have been changed on the off chance that the guilty parties may some day reform their wicked ways. If perchance they do it would be best if there were no official record of their misdeeds. Think of it as the equivalent of sealing the records of juvenile offenders.

Guilty Party 1:
I just don't have the dough to get a rise of Acker and that's a real pita, particularly when he does such floury puns. Oven I must concede he has more crust than anyone -- eLeaven times more. But his backwards tao goes against the whole grain. What can I say, I'm an old sourdough, yeast fermenting with puns. They are a real crime, a torte, and all I can do is rice to the occasion, barley my head in the sand, and say "Let them eat cake."


Guilty Party 2:
While it shouldn't amaize me, this particular pun sequence is getting corny. If we don't all hops to it, we'll all mead some refreshment pretty soon. I have to admit, Richard really frosted me with his last effort, too. Kicked my buns. I certainly muffined it on this one. Since it's eclair that I've been the target of a cereal killer, and since I'm not Danish, I'm tempted to make that pilgrimage to the Fertile Croissant that I've been thinking about for awhile. But I donut know if I can afford it.


Guilty Party 1:
Yep, Acker is the Napoleon of puns, a pie in the sky guy. Beer with me in the tuMalt and the milleting around. Nan is the woman for this, butter puns are worse than mine. However she's off watching BayGulls. Oh, Leo, check out this jam session, it's spread all over the place. I've got to quit waffling, my bran of puns is too flakey. The cook,he don't like them. That Acker guy, he amaizes me, he stalks me, but he's got my ear, so I've got to quit shucking and jiving this corn while I'm still on a roll. I just want a pizza the action. No meteors for me, I'll back lava as the dinosaur killer.


Guilty Party 2:
Though I might come off sounding half-baked --- Alaska if you plan to continue? I won't mince words, mon cherry; mayhap you'll deny it, but I think you've been pecan, so make no misteak and kidney yourself not, I've got the key, lime won't help you now. You'll rhubarb the day I found this out, boss -- tons of screams will only earn you scone. You won't even be able to bialy 911 for help, but I don't think you'd biscuit. Kaiser luck goodbye. I've had my phyllo this, I tell you. You've set a fast pastry, but I'm headed for the end calzone faster than a flash in the pancake. You might as well stop off for an Irish soda. Sorry you came up short -- bread-er luck next time. If you're raisinable, since we've both endurumed so much, we might be able to put the pasta behind us and see mo' line a-bout some real science. I know, that sounds coconuts -- cream on, right?


Guilty Party 1:
I'm clearly outclassed here -- I'm just a hacker, not an Acker. I always enjoyed puns. I was much batter at them when I was small, but I haven't been petite four quite a spell. My dad is the man you want; I would back my pop over anyone. I'm just his dim son, given to wonton ways. He has a real filling for them. Puns are the sort of verbal pomp kin of mine enjoy. Let's not mince words here; I've been squashed. I was caught loafing and have been crust. I said I wanted a pizza the action and Acker kept topping me. He peppered me with puns and chovynistic mots I relli couldn't match. I never sausage a mess before. Two may toe the line, but if one is a sub the other is a hero. It's been a gruel experience and I mush concede defeat -- and Denise.


Guilty Party 2:
My grain vocabulary is exhausted, and I've got a headache. Though this thread is long and sweet -- potato flour hasn't been mentioned yet! I admit it, though I'd like to go on, I'm whipped. Creamed. However, a more fruitful area, berry promising in fact, might be to cultivate exotic and organically-grown grains favored by the stars in Hollywood -- a L.A. mode that could provide more grits for the mill. Let me extend my palm, kernel, in admiration of your efforts. I'd even be tempted to buss you in the formal European manner, but my lips are chaffed.