Bar Humor
A bar was walked into by the passive voice.
Two quotation marks walk into a “bar.”
A malapropism walks into a bar, looking for all intensive purposes like a wolf in cheap clothing, muttering epitaphs and casting dispersions on his magnificent other, who takes him for granite.
Hyperbole totally rips into his insane bar and absolutely destroys everything.
A question mark walks into a bar?
Papyrus and comic Sans walk into a bar. The bartender says, “Get out—we don’t serve your type.”
A mixed metaphor walks into a bar, seeing the handwriting on the wall but hoping to nip it in the bud.
A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.
A synonym strolls into a tavern.
At the end of the day, a cliché walks into a bar—fresh as a daisy, cute as a button, and sharp as a tack.
A run-on sentence walks into a bar it starts flirting. With a cute little sentence fragment.
A figure of speech literally walks into a bar and ends up getting figuratively hammered.
The subjunctive would have walked into a bar, had it only known.
The past, present, and future walked into a bar. It was tense.
A dyslexic walks into a bra.
A verb walks into a bar, sees a beautiful noun, and suggests they conjugate. The noun declines.
An Oxford comma walks into a bar, where it spends the evening watching the television getting drunk and smoking cigars.
A simile walks into a bar, as parched as a desert.
A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to forget.
A hyphenated work and a non-hyphenated word walk into a bar and the
bartender nearly chokes on the irony.
