Pun contest entry

This got a 34 of 40 in the 29th Annual O-Henry Pun Contest:

The Half Naked Truth

Ladies wear and gentlemen, I?ll do my Sunday-breast to tell you the half-naked truth.

My first husband was Randy. That was also his name. Randy was a boxer, a buff, jocular strapping man from Down Under where life in
the Bush can be pretty hairy. We moved because prices went thigh-
hi and everything costume much.

He turned don and doff at the drop of a hat, but he was the cat?s pajamas. We?d lingerie around watching old shows on the boob tube like The Wonder Bra Years and I Love Lacey and even Leave it to Beaver.

When the NY Knickers were on, we?d go to Hooters for g-string beans with fetish cheese and fringe fries, or share a wedgie of pie and polish off a Knob Creek. Then we?d grab some Heinies and go skivvy dipping.

Of corset, not till we were fully divested. Though we apparel immature, we were just a pair of late bloomers.

Then the unmentionables happened. Randy was killed by a stiletto.
Actually two; they were mine and he was wearing them. I was charged with negligee homicide, though it was an accident: seams he fell head over Cuban heels and knocked his noggin against his drawers.

I called my slick stockings broker and hit a snag. I nude I could change his mind if we talked in private parts, so I padded into his office and implanted myself in a backless seat.

?Ah, the merry widow,? He said, ?I?ll help you, Babydoll, but you can?t give falsie testimony or try to pull the woollies over my eyes.?

?Cross my heart and anyway, it?s all a load of crepe!? Dropping his pretences he let me check out his briefs, then came up for a nightcap.

Oh, what a nightie! The long Johns and shorties of it is we made an unclad agreement to cleavage to one another in holey mattressmony.