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"Economist"

An Economist opened the door of his BMW, when suddenly a car camealong
and hit the door, ripping it off completely.

When the police arrived at the scene, the lawyer was complaining bitterly about the damage to his precious BMW.
"Officer, look what they've done to my Beeeeemer!" he whined.
"You Economist's are so materialistic, you make me sick!" retorted the officer.

"You're so worried about your stupid BMW, that you didn't even notice that your left arm was ripped off!""Oh my God," replied the Economist,
finally noticing the bloodyleft shoulder where his arm once was.
"Where's my Rolex?!?"
 

Farmer's Daughters
There once was a farmer who had three beautiful daughters. He was very protective of his girls, and always insisted on meeting the boys they went out with before allowing them to do so.
On one particuler, all three of the farmers daughters had dates. So the farmer sat in the living room, rifile in habd, and waited for the three boys to arrive.
After a bit, the doorbell rang. The farmer took his gun and answered the door. "Who the Hell are you?" he demanded to the young man at the door.
The young man replied; "Hi, I'm Joe! I'm here for Flo! We're going to a show. Is she ready to go?"
The farmer was a little perplexed by this rhyming answer, but he went ahead and let his daughter go.
A little while later, the doorbell rangfor the second time. The farmer grabbed his gun and answered the door. "Who the Hell are you?" he demanded of the second young man.
The second young man replied; "Hi I'm Eddie! I'm here for Betty! We're going for spaghetti. Is she ready?"
Again, the farmer wasn't too impressed by the poetry, but he was in a good mood, and allowed his daughter go out on her date.
Finally, a bit later, the doorbell rang for the third time. The farmer graabed his gun and opened the door. To the third young man the farmer demanded "Who the Hell are you?"
The young man replied; "Hi, I'm Chuck.."
The Farmer shot him.
 

18 bottles of whiskey

I had eighteen bottles of whiskey in my cellar and was told by my

sister to empty the contents of each and every bottle down the

sink, or else...

I said I would and proceeded with the unpleasant task.

I withdrew the cork from the first bottle and poured the contents

down the sink with the exception of one glass, which I drank.

I then withdrew the cork from the second bottle and did likewise

with it, with the exception of one glass, which I drank.

I then withdrew the cork from the third bottle and poured the

whiskey down the sink which I drank.

I pulled the cork from the fourth bottle down the sink and poured

the bottle down the glass, which I drank.

I pulled the bottle from the cork of the next and drank one sink

out of it, and threw the rest down the glass.

I pulled the sink out of the next glass and poured the cork down

the bottle. Then I corked the sink with the glass, bottled the

drink and drank the pour.

When I had everything emptied, I steadied the house with one

hand, counted the glasses, corks, bottles, and sinks with the

other, which were twenty-nine, and as the houses came by I

counted them again, and finally I had all the houses in one

bottle, which I drank.

I'm not under tha affluence of incohol as some tinkle peep I am.

I'm not half as thunk as you might drink. I fool so feelish I

don't know who is me, and the drunker I stand here, the longer I

get.

ASK THE BLONDE!

Two tourists were driving through Louisiana. As they approached
Natchitoches, they started arguing about the pronunciation of the town.
They argued back and forth until they finally stopped for lunch.
As they stood at the counter, one tourist asked the blonde employee,
"Before we order, could you please settle an argument for us? Would you
please pronounce where we are... very slowly?"
The blonde girl leaned over the counter and said, "Burrrrrrrr, gerrrrrrr,
Kiiiiing."