It's A Punderful Life

I can't stop making puns. The affliction started when I wrote for Countdown for two years, and only got worse from there. It wasn't my fault - first I had to come up with a set of "alternative dictionary definitions":

affable: fifty per cent of a male cow
bigotry: the larger of two sturdy plants
category: your moggy after it's been in a fight
definite: the more hard-of-hearing of a pair of headlice

And now I've descended to this kind of level:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/cif-green/2009/apr/28/do-fish-feel-pain

Rendering myself truly punfit to be called a writer.

I'd like to change, I really would. I'd like to write poems instead (though some would say they're verse) but I don't have the rhyme. Still, to prove that I can produce punfree pieces, here's one I wrote a long time ago for Richard Whiteley:

I'm sorry to say that your ties
Do terrible things to my eyes
It's the colours I think
With the purple and pink
Of the set - on the whole, most unwise

Overall Dick you dress like a pro
With a sharp dapper suit for each show
But those things round your neck
Make me think "Flipping heck!
"Why did someone not say to him 'no'?!"

So: I can do without them, but it's not quite as pun. But does wordplay leave you pungry like the wolf, or do you think writers should be punished for resorting to it? I'd really like your opunion...