I wrote an awful, horrible pun a while ago. Here it is:

Once upon a time, in an ancient Swedish village, there lived an old man, Marten Senburg. He was no ordinary old man though; he was the Orchard King, and all the fruit growers of the land bowed down to his wisdom. His birthfruit was the Banana, and he was popularly known as The High Marten Senburg, or King Banana for short. He had three sons, Jens, Lars and Sven, each born a year apart, and they were known as Prince Grapefruit, Prince Apple, and Prince Orange.

Jens was a reliable and traditional prince, who could be counted on to always do what was expected of him, to be in the right place at the right time, and be an upstanding pillar of the community. Sven was similarly well respected, and together, they effectively ruled the groves while their father’s health declined. Lars, however, was different. Being the middle son had left him struggling to find an identity, and being somewhat smaller than his brothers, he had been unfairly picked on for most of his life. He had rejected the ways of fruit farming, and had left town to become a ballet dancer.

Meanwhile, back home, in the local school, Olof and Carl were talking to their teacher about their fruity royal family…

“Sir, could you help me and Carl settle an argument? ” asked Olof.
“Of course,” said Mr Hendrick. “About what?”
“Prince Apple” said Olof. “I heard he’s in Stockholm, although I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing there.”
“You’re wrong!” said Carl. “I heard he’s given up ballet, and is going to law school, but nobody knows where!”
“Calm down lads,” said Mr Hendrick. “You could both be right!”
“I doubt it.” said Olof.
“Why’s that?” enquired Mr Hendrick.
“Don’t you know? He’s High Senburg’s son, sir: dainty Prince Apple.”

Ba-da boom-chi!

Update 26/10/2004: Since so few people seem to understand this, here’s a hint.