I'd start a lot of jokes like this:
Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar.
They sit. They drink. They leave.

A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.

A dangling modifier walks into a bar. After finishing a drink, the bartender asks it to leave.

A question mark walks into a bar?

Two quotation marks "walk" into a bar.

The bar was walked into by the passive voice.

The past, the present and the future walked into a bar. It was tense.

A synonym ambles into a pub.

A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to drink.

A hyperbole totally ripped into this bar and destroyed everything.

A run on sentence walks into a bar it is thirsty.

Falling slowly, softly falling, the chiasmus collapsed to the bar floor.

A group of homophones wok inn two a baa.

I'd let him make me a sammich every day.  This post was edited by Art Lover at December 8, 2020 6:56 AM MST

You'd end up on our doorstep every second day asking for advice about how to deal with the weeds that overgrow your running tracks, block the light from your house, reduce the airflow and increase the mould.

It's like that for anyone who moves to this area without first knowing it.

You'd find us good friends because we'd never refuse to help.

Ar, um - everything's changed.

We discovered that the new place was a smaller acreage than we were told, and not enough grazing for my three remaining horses - plus a bad problem with termites. We backed out.

We realised that, with the horses, we can't afford to buy a house in this area with the money we'd get for our land. We have no house on it, only a demountable.

So we're staying put, probably for the next ten years until the horses are old enough that no one would object if I have them euthanised. I still love them, and still love riding. So in the meantime, I must find work, and find a way to make the land pay its maintenance and rates.

It will mean less time for writing - but I will still write.