Happiness Is A Warm Pun

My favorite part about telling a pun is not the act of coming up with and saying the pun itself, though that does give me much joy. My favorite part is the reactions I get from others after the pun is said. There are five reactions, archetypes if you will, that people fall under, no, fall punder, when they hear a pun.

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Halloween circa 2014

First, there are The Cheerleaders. These are the people who will always laugh at your puns, generally people you don’t know very well who haven’t been beaten down by your caustic punning away. They will encourage you to keep telling puns and often egg on your punning by sharing punny gifs and memes on your social media pages. These are the ones who will often give you pun paraphernalia as gifts for holidays and birthdays.The greatest cheerleader I ever had was my friend’s boyfriend. He met me once and insisted on exchanging phone numbers with me for the sole purpose that I text him puns. That was a hilarious, beautiful, slightly awkward and jarring task that I wholeheartedly took on.

Next, there is the Awkward Silence Squad. These are the people you encounter who will not understand your pun or find it to be too much of a stretch to make sense or even be called a pun. They may offer up a forced half laugh out of pity, but don’t be fooled; they were not drinking the pun Koolaid. It’s not that they dislike puns in general or dislike you. They simply did not get your pun. Maybe you made a King Henry VIII pun that you thought was Anne Boleyn but ended up being Anne BoleOUT. Maybe showing up to a pro Second Amendment rally wearing a bear suit and exercising your right to bear arms was seen by some as a little extra. Maybe your pun about spices was poorly thymed. Whatever the issue, your pun went unappreciated.

Then we come to The ComPUNtition. These are the people who also like to tell puns just like you. These people can be both blessings and curses in disguise. These pun enthusiasts can be blessings because you can pun back and forth with them for hours, volleying your best word play back and forth. They will always be there to validate and solidify your love for puns. However, this can backfire. When you tell puns as often as I do, it almost becomes your identity. You become the pun dealer who everyone comes to with all their pun pick me up’s. When someone else starts telling puns too it can make you feel like your puns are no longer number ones. I have felt this feeling before. I’ve had those moments when everyone is praising the other punster in the room and I’ve felt like chopped liver. While spreading the pun love and encouraging others to pun is always something I am for, once in a while I will feel a sense of envy for those who jumped on the pun first or whose puns garnered more laughs than mine. It’s petty, I know. But it can be discouraging feeling like no one cares about or wants to listen to your puns, that you are the pun has-been, or that someone else has word plays much wittier than yours. Of course the best cure to this setback is of course, to keep telling more puns.

Next comes the Fake News Gang. I say this in jest to make fun of our current Commander Cheeto but also because these people are often liars. They will groan and boo at your puns. They will tell you that pun you just made was terrible. But you know they secretly don’t mean it. They often cannot conceal the small and slight grin that spreads on their face. These may be my favorite group of people. Knowing my puns can potentially reach even the bitterest of curmudgeons and get a positive reaction out of them, no matter how much they might deny it, gives me purpose. It feels good to know I have possibly brightened the day of someone who probably hasn’t laughed in a while and is taking life a little to seriously.



Meet my friend Nick, your typical member of the Fake News Gang. This was him reacting to a pun I told last spring. Don’t be fooled by his troubled exterior. He was pretty placid.

The last group are the Haterade Drinkers. These people are not to be confused with the Fake News Gang. These folks are the ones who will not only groan at your puns but will also try to silence them. They will tell you that punny headline you want to run on in the newspaper is not professional enough. They will tell you your pun t-shirts are childish. They will tell you that puns are the lowest form of comedy. Unlike the Fake News Gang, who just refuse to admit they enjoyed your pun but actually thought it was clever, this group will go to the end of the earth to get you to stop punning. But for all you pun enthusiasts out there combating a Haterade Drinker, tell them to switch to a new beverage, maybe some PUNch. Puns are a valid, creative, and artistic form of humor and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.


The Pun Will Come Out Tomorrow

A typical day includes me walking around Truman’s campus, my bespectacled eyes with darkened circles underneath, my lanky body flowing like spaghetti noodles from class to class, adorned in a pun t-shirt, jeans, a pair of dusty and faded Converse, and a headband with a floral aesthetic I have attempted to make match my shirt and shoes. At college I’m often sleep deprived. I’m often stressed. I’m often busy. My mind is often in a thousand different places. But I’m also usually happily trudging through life anyway, because that’s what I do. As my dad has said before, I am “Fechter tough,” which basically means I keep smiling, I keep laughing, I keep punning, even when I’m in my darkest of hours. That’s all I can do sometimes.

For many of those who know me, puns come to mind as a defining characteristic of mine. I always mange to sprinkle them into everyday conversation, much to the chagrin of those friends and family members constantly around me.


When you’re already booked for most of the semester! 

A typical meal may consist of me picking up a slice of pizza and asking “who wants a pizza me?” A typical trip back home usually includes me telling my cats how much I “pawsitively love them.” A typical day consists of someone complaining that they are tired and me saying,“Hi tired, I’m Rachel!”

The puns that come out of my mouth are constant and omnipresent. But puns have not always been such a big part of my life though.

My love for puns started in high school.

High school was when I silently and secretively battled my worst enemy; myself. During my sophomore year I began to experience symptoms of depression and anxiety that I often suppressed, denied, and ignored. I told myself this didn’t happen to happy people. I told myself I was happy.

These feelings went on for almost two years before I told anyone. My friends at school had no idea this was happening. My family didn’t know until much later. The feelings I had would come and go. Creep in at odd times. Suffocate my mind for hours then tease me with liberation.

I’d hold in these feelings all day at school and at home then late at night when I knew everyone was asleep, let tears silently trickle out of my eyes onto my pillow. I’d often turn to the internet to take my mind off these terrible thoughts on these terrible nights. Somewhere along the road I found puns, maybe in an article I read, or on a Facebook post, or carefully crafted inside a meme.

Though the rest of high school these negative thoughts plagued my mind, but I smiled through the pain and kept telling puns to myself and others. Making myself and other people laugh didn’t heal the problems I was dealing with, but they made the dark moments a little bit lighter, at least for a moment or two.

At my worst, when the anxiety and depression began to pick up and I had to ask my mom for help, I was still punning away.

While pulling my third all nighter in a row on a school night, battling my anxiety induced insomnia, I was able to take my mind off of how tired and panicked I felt the next day by make my friend Katie laugh with a pun. I said “Oh, whale” encouraging her to brush off a bad situation and holding up a picture of a whale. To this day, the whale pun is favorite of hers. You’re whalecome, Katie.

When some girls in my neighborhood decided to follow me, harass me, and make fun of the clothes I was wearing, I decided to take to my angsty poetry google drive folder and wrote something along the lines of “even though my Goodwill t-shirt was baggy and blue, I’m more sad and blue for you.”

When I wasn’t eating because food felt like a pointless chore in the mess of all my horrible thoughts, the next day I made a pun in the PE class I was forced to take while running laps during the dreaded Pacer Test thinking “exercise more like what-the-heck-cercise” chuckling to myself.

One day while I was at home sick because the new antidepressant I was taking made me feel like throwing up, I watched Shrek while bed ridden and typed “It’s not ogre until its ogre,” into my Twitter drafts, intending to post it later for all my friends to see.

After I was driving home from school one day in rush hour traffic and pondered how easy it would be to swerve into the oncoming lane, I came home and thought about how Manchester Road, sometimes harder to sift through than the Wal-Mart five dollar DVD bin, “drives me crazy” and relaxed my mouth into a small smile before the terrible thoughts of hating myself and hating life came back.

But I never swerved into the oncoming lane of traffic. I kept driving all the way home. I kept going. I kept punning.

During my senior year of high school I was getting help. I was taking anti-depressants that didn’t make me feel sick. I was seeing a counselor. I was talking to my mom more when I felt down. I  had a greater appreciation for the little moments, like the times at school where my friends and I sat in a circle on the dirty tile floor during lunch and talked about our days. I was sleeping better and sometimes not even having to take Melatonin to knock myself out for the night. I was eating like a human being again. The constant tension in my muscles occasionally relaxed. I felt okay.

Four years later, I’m still telling puns all the time. When my fellow Truman Media Network coworkers and I are sleep deprived and stressed on a Tuesday night at 4 a.m. putting the newspaper out for press, I’m usually the one to make a snarky comment about how we have a lot of “issues.” When a friend gets out of a tough exam I ask if they’re feeling “testy” to make them smile. In a tense argument between friends when drama ensues I’ll be the one to awkwardly interject “Why is everyone so salty?” pointing to the nearest spice rack to lighten the mood.

Now when the negative thoughts creep into my head, telling me I’m a worthless waste of space, I remind myself how many smiles I’ve put on people’s faces, strangers and loved ones alike, by telling, writing, and wearing puns. I think about this and I feel a little more alive, a little more grateful, a little more hopeful, and a little more happy. If I’m able to take something as simple as a play on words and brighten someone’s day with it, maybe someone who is plagued by the same terrible thoughts and feelings that captivated me for so long, I will keep punning.