The first guy tried to pick up these three girls at a bar by flexing his muscles. They politely declined.
The second guy tried singing. They booed him away.
The third guy simply said, “You girls raise the bar.” And they left with him.
Girls just want to have pun.
He had had it with this infestation. The weevils had completely decimated his crops. Shaking his fist at his desolate fields, he vowed revenge.
The following year, a friend told him, “Just use poisoned honey to trace a path to a trap.”
“Honey is the route of all weevils.”
“Check out the sight,” said the salesman. Actually, the automated sight somehow always zeroed-in on the target’s buttocks. “Usually makes for a good target. Just wait until the meter reaches twenty, then fire.” I’d forgotten about that, when I fired it without a target. I guess hindsight really is twenty-twenty.