This happened back in the 1980s, when I was a young teen. My friend had told me of a great April Fool’s joke which involved soaking an egg in vinegar for about a day, to the point that the shell would go soft. Handling the egg, I was told, was really weird. As we always had boiled eggs for breakfast, I thought that would be a brilliant gag to play on Mum.

I shelled out for some vinegar — it didn’t seem right to waste Mum’s supply — and put it in a sealed box in my bedroom. The night before, I took it out, and my friend was absolutely right; it really did go squishy without cracking! So, I snuck it downstairs and put it with the eggs ready for the morning.

And what happened? Mum managed to avoid picking up that egg! In retrospegged, I should have made sure there were only enough eggs for breakfast and no spares, something which Mum did also say when I pointed out the egg she didn’t use.

But I really did want to do that gag, so I filed it away for future use, to maybe hatch this plot another day.

Several years later, I decided it was time to have another go. Whilst I could remember most of the details, what I couldn’t remember was the length of time required for soaking. As the Internet was not yet available, I had to go by memory. But as it transpired, my memory was not all it was cracked up to be. Instead of doing it for about a day, I soaked the egg for about three. 

When I came to take it out of the box, the shell had completely dissolved. The egg was held together by the membrane, and osmosis must have caused the egg to swell to the point of nearly bursting. No point in doing the joke now. But the egg looked so amazing, I had to show it!

You’d eggspect me to carry the egg down in the box to show my parents, but that would be far too sensible. Instead, I lifted it out of the box and placed it on the lid, and used it like a tray. And I did manage to carry it down the stairs and into the lounge without any trouble.

At this point, I’d like to introduce you to the lid. My parents always bought margarine in catering-sized plastic containers and always kept them as they were of good sturdy quality. The lids were also good quality and could withstand being pulled off the box repeatedly. This meant that they could flex. Also, as they were moulded plastic, they had the remnants of a small sprue, where the plastic was injected into the mould during manufacture. 

As I carried this makeshift tray and fragile load into the lounge, my grip must have changed slightly, as the lid flexed. This caused the egg to roll onto this oh-so-small but oh-so-significant sprue, where the egg promptly burst. And as to where the remnants of this hen grenade went? They flowed off the lid and straight down the armchair where my dad was sat!

I apologised profusely and helped dad clean up the mess I’d made. Fortunately, the cleaning was thorough enough, as there were no lingering odours.

Did I try this prank ever again? No way; I’d had un oeuf!

This story is part of the International Joke Day roundup! This is the last story in the roundup, but we have plenty of others you might enjoy!

14 Stories About Puns That Are So Bad They’re Good

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My husband and I are lying in bed, having our usual pre-sleep recap of our days.

Husband: “[Boss] was giving us an overview of the candidates coming in for interviews. He said one of them gave him a bad vibe, said he came across as condescending.”

Me: “Ahh, condescending. The opposite of gentleman-ascending.”

Husband: *Long pause* “Shut up.”

Me: *Giggling wildly* “Hey, honey? What do you call a patronizing criminal going down a set of stairs? A condescending con descending!”

He rolled over in bed and pretended to fall asleep. I continued giggling. Unfortunately, I can’t even say my horrible jokes were due to a late hour; this is just my sense of humor. You’d think he would be used to it after eight years together.

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Dad: “Do you like New England clam chowder?”

Me: “No.”

Dad: “It’s good.”

Me: “I don’t like seafood.”

Dad points at the sandwich in my hand.

Me: “This is turkey.”

Dad: “Yeah, but you see it. See-food.”

Me: “…why?”

A Yeoman in the navy is a person that performs office duties, whether a man or a woman. During the 1980s, most offices used IBM Selectric type typewriters; they use a font ball to type letters, and if you want to change font, you change the font ball.

I am sitting in the ship’s office one day with a couple of others waiting to go over our annual evaluations with my division officer. There are two yeomen working in the office typing reports. One is male and the other female.

Male Yeoman: *To the other yeoman* “Do you have an OCR font ball?”

Female Yeoman: “No, I think we have just the two balls between us.”

I work for a small engineering business. The company is run by a couple of directors who have a small office off of the open-plan office where we designers work. One of the directors looks after the finances and manufacturing side, whilst the other director looks after the engineering and technical side of the business. It is fair to say that their sense of humour is heavily innuendo-based, and at times, I have gone into the office for some engineering reason but left after watching a “Beavis And Butthead”-style performance. 

For example, this morning, I have to make some amendments to a drawing after the engineering director requests a minor cosmetic change. I make the changes and bring in the modified drawings to be attached to the manufacturing route card — the all-important bit of paper that gives the machinist the instructions to make the item. The route cards are then passed on to the finance director who orders material, etc., and sends them on for manufacture. This particular item is a shaped dowel that provides support for the part when it is clamped in place on a mitre saw. This part is called a button. I give the engineering director the drawing.

Engineering Director: “Thanks.”

He starts searching his paperwork-strewn desk for the route card.

Engineering Director: “Have you got the card?”

Me: “No, you didn’t give that to me.”

Engineering Director: “Are you sure? I haven’t got it here.”

Me: “I’m pretty sure I haven’t, but you’ve got me doubting myself now. I can go and check my desk. Did you give it to [Finance Director]?”

Engineering Director: *With a grin* “Have you got saw buttons?”

The finance director responds loudly with a huge smile on his face.

Finance Director: “Sore buttons! Have I got sore buttons! How can you tell? Is it the huge grimace on my face?”

Anyway, that was this morning. Fast forward about half an hour, and I’m sat at my desk doing drawings and manning the phones whilst I wait for my lunch to start. My technical manager is having his lunch. The finance director comes out of his office making a jokey comment about how much work he has to do.

Technical Manager: “In a bit, is it okay if I come and see you before [Vendor] arrives?”

Finance Director: “Sure.”

Technical Manager: “I’ll come in when I’ve finished my yoghurt.”

Finance Director: “Finish the yoghurt? Is that some kind of euphemism?”

I try to insert a comment.

Me: “Clearly he is a man of culture!”

But I am largely ignored.

Finance Director: “I need to see my wife so I can finish my yoghurt!”

I realise that I am not going to be able to join in, so I decide to listen and enjoy the floor show whilst I work. I pick up my mug of tea and take a swig. Just then…

Technical Manager: “Very creamy and peachy.”

My half-mouthful of tea exits my mouth. Fortunately, as my mug is still in my mouth, the tea just returns to the mug. I swallow back a coughing fit, and with mock indignation, I call out:

Me: “Don’t say things like that! I very nearly sprayed my keyboard!”

Technical Manager: *Very suggestively* “Sprayed it with what?”

And my reaction to that? Let’s just say I had to wait a minute or two before I was able to finish my drink.