Today’s Grandpa’s Groaner

Welcome to Grandpa’s Groaners, where the jokes are clean, the puns are corny, and every punchline comes with a complimentary eye roll.

Whether you enjoy classic dad jokes, silly riddles, clever wordplay, or the kind of humor that makes the whole family groan, you’ll find plenty to laugh about here. Share a favorite with the grandkids, spring one on an unsuspecting friend, or keep it handy for the next time the conversation becomes far too serious.

New groaners are added regularly, so pull up a chair and prepare yourself. Around here, a good groan counts as a standing ovation.

Latest Groan

• Without Geometry…

  

  Of course, it also lacks direction, has no angles, and never quite adds up. But Grandpa never lets a few missing dimensions get in the way of a perfectly good groaner.

• What Does A Baby Computer Call His Father?

  

  What does a baby computer call his father?

  Data.

  Some jokes are carefully programmed for maximum laughter. Others simply show up, press a few buttons, and hope for the best. This one belongs to the second group.

  A baby computer has a lot to learn. First, it must master its ABCs, which naturally means learning Apple, Bluetooth, and Ctrl-Alt-Delete. Then it has to stop putting sticky fingerprints on the screen, quit asking why the Wi-Fi goes to bed during thunderstorms, and remember that cookies are not always something you can eat.

  Fortunately, Data is there to help. He can teach the little computer how to save its work, avoid suspicious downloads, and never open an email from a foreign prince offering a large inheritance. That is what good fathers do. They pass along wisdom, offer tech support, and occasionally unplug the whole operation when nothing else works.

  Yes, this joke is outdated before you finish reading it. But unlike most technology, a good groaner never needs an upgrade.

  R.G. Elliott

• I Only Seem to Get Sick on the Weekends

  

  I only seem to get sick on weekdays. I must have a weekend immune system.

  My immune system apparently keeps the same schedule I wish I had. It shows up Monday morning, takes one look at the week ahead, and immediately calls in sick.

  By Tuesday, it is complaining about the workload. On Wednesday, it starts watching the clock. Thursday is spent making weekend plans, and by Friday afternoon, it has mentally checked out altogether.

  Then Saturday arrives, and suddenly I feel fine. My energy returns. My nose clears up. I am ready to tackle projects, run errands, and enjoy the day. Apparently, my immune system is willing to work weekends, but only if the work involves relaxing, eating snacks, and avoiding anything that resembles responsibility.

  Come Monday morning, the sniffles return right on schedule. Doctors might call it a coincidence. Employers might call it suspicious. I prefer to think my body simply understands the importance of work-life balance.

  Of course, this condition has no known cure. The only recommended treatment is two days of rest, followed by five days of complaining until the next weekend arrives.

  R.G. Elliott