So no art today -- but I will give you my two favorite puns. Not in the world; out of the ones with which I came up. (Grammer is a harsh mistress.) For a long time in my early years I was a compulsive punster. This came to a stop in high school when a recitation of a Feghoot ending in, "A gritty pearl is Micheal, LL.D," got me stuffed into the trunk of an abandoned car. (I am not joking. We were Californians but we sure as shit were not mellow.)
I've come to regard puns as signifiers of a particular type of pathology. Talk to your schizo friends or read The Face That Must Die by Ramsey Campbell if you want to know what I mean.
I've also come to feel that puns are like farts. Your own aren't as bad as other people's. Still, from time to time a little amusement value is achieved.
Back in the seventies, my mom climbed into our flame-painted van and said, "I'll be back shortly."
I said, "So you'll just be gone for a couple of midgets?"
Back in the nineties my buddy Paul was fond of a local band called The Naked Barbies. When their lead singer and eminence grise split, they changed their name to The Vagabond Lovers. When Paul told me about that, I said, "That's not right. They should call themselves The Hobosexuals."