60 Covid Puns That Are Sickeningly Funny
I’ve been sitting on a folder of covid puns since like 2020 and honestly they’ve aged better than most of us have.
So you searched for “example of a pun,” which means one of two things. Either you’re trying to understand what puns actually are, or you’re in a desperate bid to win an argument about whether something you said counts as one. Either way, I’m here for you.
Let’s start with the basics and then get weird with it.
A pun is a joke that exploits the fact that some words sound alike, look alike, or have multiple meanings. That’s it. That’s the whole trick. You take a word, you twist it, and if you’re lucky, someone laughs. If you’re unlucky, they groan. Honestly, the groan is also a win.
The formal definition is “a play on words,” which is both accurate and incredibly unhelpful. It’s like defining music as “organized sound.” Technically correct, but it doesn’t tell you why “Bohemian Rhapsody” slaps.
Here’s a dead simple example of a pun: “I used to be a banker, but I lost interest.” The word “interest” means both financial interest (the banker kind) and personal engagement (the human kind). Your brain processes both meanings at once, and that little collision is where the humor lives.
That’s the mechanism. Two meanings enter. One joke leaves.
Not all puns work the same way, and knowing the difference is kinda like knowing the difference between a fastball and a curveball. Same sport, different technique.
Homophonic puns rely on words that sound the same but have different meanings or spellings. These are the most common type you’ll encounter in the wild. “Only true pun-dits can appreciate good wordplay” is a homophonic pun, because “pun-dits” sounds like “pundits” (meaning experts) while sneaking the word “pun” in there. Is it groan-worthy? Absolutely. Does it work? Also absolutely.
Another one: “Be careful, too many pun examples can cause a pun-demic.” You hear “pandemic,” but you see “pun.” Your brain does a little hiccup, and that hiccup is the joke.
Homographic puns use words that are spelled the same but have different meanings. These are sneakier. “Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.” The first “flies” means to move through the air. The second “flies” refers to the insects. Same spelling, totally different meaning. This is, honestly, one of the most elegant examples of a pun in the English language, and I will not be taking questions on that opinion.
Compound puns (sometimes called complex puns) pack multiple wordplay elements into a single phrase. They’re the show-offs of the pun world. “I could pontificate all day about the best examples of puns” becomes “I could pun-tificate all day,” which layers the word “pun” into a word that already means “to talk at length about something.” It’s doing double duty, and honestly, it’s working harder than most of us do on a Monday.
Here’s the thing nobody tells you: a pun’s quality has almost nothing to do with cleverness and almost everything to do with timing and context.
A pun that arrives naturally in conversation, where the double meaning feels almost accidental, is comedy gold. A pun that’s clearly been constructed with the subtlety of a brick through a window? That’s the “groan-worthy” kind. (Or, if you prefer, the “groan-up” kind, which is itself an example of a pun that’s trying too hard but somehow still charming.)
The best puns have what I call “earned inevitability.” The setup creates a situation where the double meaning feels like it was always supposed to be there. “I’m reading a book about anti-gravity. It’s impossible to put down.” You couldn’t NOT make that joke. The universe demanded it.
The worst puns are the ones where you can see the scaffolding. Where someone has clearly reverse-engineered the whole sentence just to get to the wordplay. You know the type. They’re “pun-ishing” to sit through. (See what I did there? And see how you hated it a little? That’s the scaffolding showing.)
If you think puns are just for dad jokes and bumper stickers, I have some news about William Shakespeare. The man was absolutely obsessed with wordplay. He couldn’t help himself.
In Romeo and Julietthe dying Mercutio says, “Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.” He’s dying. He’s about to be in a grave. And he’s also being serious (grave). It’s a pun delivered by a man who is literally bleeding out, and it’s been making English students gasp for over 400 years. That’s the power of a well-placed double meaning.
Oscar Wilde was another serial offender. In The Importance of Being Earnestthe entire plot is a pun. The name “Ernest” and the adjective “earnest” (meaning sincere) drive the whole story. The title itself is an example of a pun so good it became the foundation for an entire play. Wilde understood that wordplay isn’t just decoration. It can be architecture.
James Joyce took it even further. Finnegans Wake is essentially one long, multilingual pun that spans 628 pages. The title alone drops the apostrophe from “Finnegan’s” so it can mean both “Finnegan’s wake” (a funeral) and “Finnegans, wake!” (a command to rise). Joyce was operating on a level that, tbh, most of us can only admire from a distance.
And then there’s Charles Dickens, who named a undertaker in Oliver Twist “Mr. Sowerberry.” Sour berries. For a guy who deals with dead bodies. Dickens wasn’t subtle about it, and he didn’t need to be.
Puns aren’t just a literary device. They’re a cultural phenomenon, and different cultures have wildly different relationships with them.
In Chinese culture, puns are deeply embedded in everyday life and superstition. The number four is considered unlucky because the word for “four” (四, sì) sounds like the word for “death” (死, sǐ). That’s a homophonic connection that has real, tangible consequences. Buildings skip the fourth floor. Phone numbers with fours sell for less. It’s a pun that shapes architecture and economics.
In Japanese, puns (called “dajare”) are a staple of comedy, and they’re both beloved and groaned at in roughly the same ratio as English puns. There’s even a cultural concept of “oyaji gag” (dad jokes), which, comfortingly, suggests that dads everywhere are united by their commitment to terrible wordplay.
In English-speaking countries, puns occupy this fascinating middle ground where they’re simultaneously the lowest and highest form of humor, depending on who you ask. Samuel Johnson called them the lowest. But then, Johnson also wore a powdered wig and had strong opinions about oats, so maybe we shouldn’t let him have the final word.
Let me break down what makes a specific example of a pun work, because understanding the mechanics is actually pretty satisfying.
Take “every good example of a pun has a double meaning, it’s like two jokes for the price of one.” This is what I’d call a self-referential pun. It’s explaining the mechanism of a pun (double meaning) while also being a pun (the “two for one” framing implies a deal, like shopping, while also literally describing how puns function). It’s meta. It’s clean. It works.
Now compare that to something like “this example of a pun is the pick of the pun-kin patch.” That’s a homophonic pun where “pun-kin” stands in for “pumpkin.” Does it work? Barely. It’s cute. But it’s doing that thing where the word substitution feels forced, like jamming a puzzle piece into the wrong slot. You can see the shape of the joke, but the fit isn’t quite right.
The difference between those two examples is the difference between a pun that emerges from meaning and a pun that’s just sound-matching. The best puns do both. They sound right AND they mean something on both levels.
Here’s a confession: bad puns are, in many situations, funnier than good puns.
This is the entire engine behind dad humor. The joke isn’t the pun itself. The joke is the commitment to delivering a pun so terrible that it becomes its own kind of performance art. When someone says “I’m feeling a bit pun-der the weather” after telling too many puns, the humor isn’t in the wordplay. The humor is in the audacity of saying it out loud, making eye contact, and refusing to apologize.
There’s actually a psychological term for this. Researchers call it “benign violation theory,” which argues that humor comes from something that’s simultaneously wrong and harmless. A bad pun violates your expectations of what a joke should be, but it’s so harmless that you can’t help but react. The groan IS the laugh. They’re the same response wearing different outfits.
If you’ve read this far, you probably want to deploy some puns yourself. Here’s what I’ve learned from years of studying (and, ngl, inflicting) wordplay on others.
Don’t announce it. The moment you say “no pun intended” or “pardon the pun,” you’ve already weakened it. If the pun is good, it doesn’t need a disclaimer. If it’s bad, the disclaimer makes it worse. Just say it. Let it land. Let the silence do the work.
Context is everything. “I used to be a banker but I lost interest” works at a dinner party. It does not work at an actual bank where someone is telling you about their foreclosure. Read the room.
One is plenty. A single well-timed pun is a gift. Twelve consecutive puns is a hostage situation. The only exception is if you’re doing it deliberately, in which case you’ve crossed from “joke teller” into “comedian” territory, and different rules apply.
The best puns are found, not built. When a double meaning just appears naturally in conversation, grab it. When you have to construct an elaborate setup to reach a pun, you’re usually better off letting it go. Usually. Sometimes the elaborate setup IS the joke, but you have to be really confident to pull that off.
I’ve been thinking about this for longer than I’d like to admit, and I keep coming back to Groucho Marx: “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”
It’s a homographic pun (“outside of” meaning “apart from” vs. literally outside; “inside of” meaning within the physical interior). It’s surprising. It’s visual. And it rewards you for thinking about it for even a half second longer than you need to. That’s everything a great pun should be.
But honestly, the best example of a pun is whichever one makes you laugh right now, today, in whatever weird situation you’re in. Puns are alive. They’re responsive to context and mood and timing. A pun that kills at 2 AM with your friends might completely die in a conference room at 9 AM. That’s not a flaw. it’s a feature.
They’re the most democratic form of humor we have. You don’t need timing like a standup comic. You don’t need a writer’s room. You just need one word that means two things and the willingness to say it out loud.
And if it doesn’t land? Well. That’s your pun-ishment.
I’ve been sitting on a folder of covid puns since like 2020 and honestly they’ve aged better than most of us have.
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