16 October 2016 – Amusements

A man goes to consult a specialist about his medical problem. After the visit the man asks, “How much do I owe you?”

“My fee is five hundred dollars,” replies the physician.

“Five hundred dollars? That’s impossible. No one charges that much!”

“In your case,” the doctor replies, “I suppose I could adjust my fee to three hundred.”

“Three hundred dollars? For one visit? Ridiculous.”

“Well, then, could you afford two hundred?”

“Who has that kind of money?”

“Look, replies the doctor,” growing irritated, “Just give me a hundred and get out of my office, okay?”

“I can give you fifty,” says the man. “Take it or leave it.”

“I don’t understand you,” says the doctor. “Why did you come to the most expensive doctor in New York if you have no money?”

“Listen, Doctor,” says the patient, “When it comes to my health, nothing is too expensive!”


Once, a married man had an Italian lover over the course of several years, and one day she told him she was pregnant.

The man didn’t feel like tarnishing his reputation and destroying his years-long marriage, so he asked his lover if she could go back to Italy to give birth to the child in secret in exchange for a large sum of money. He also promised to provide her with funds until the child turned eighteen.

The woman agreed, and then asked him how he would know that the child had been born. To prevent any possible publicity, he asked her to send him a postcard saying ’Spaghetti’ when the time came. After some time, they bid each other goodbye, and she returned to Italy.

Then almost nine months passed…

One night, when the man came home, his wife met him with a surprised look in her eyes. ’Honey,’ she said, ’We got a very weird postcard today.’

’That’s interesting,’ he replied. ’Let me see it.’

His wife brought him the card and watched for his reaction. The man, having read a few lines, first went deathly pale, and then fainted. His spouse rushed to help him, and the postcard fell to the floor.

All it said was this: ’Spaghetti, spaghetti, spaghetti, spaghetti, spaghetti. Three with meat balls, two without them. Please send more sauce…’


From my friend Julie:

Mother’s Driver’s Licence

A mother is driving her little girl to her friend’s house for a play date.

‘Mummy’, the little girl asks, ‘how old are you?’

‘Honey, you are not supposed to ask a lady her age’, the mother replied. ‘It’s not polite’.

‘OK’, the little girl says, ‘what colour was your hair 2 years ago?’

‘Now really’, the mother says, ‘those are personal questions and are really none of your business’.

Undaunted, the little girl asks, ‘Why did you and Daddy get a divorce?’

‘That’s enough questions, young lady! Honestly!’

The exasperated mother walks away as the two friends begin to play.

‘My Mum won’t tell me anything about herself,’ the little girl says to her friend.

‘Well,’ says the friend, ‘all you need to do is look at her driver’s licence. It’s like a report card, it has everything on it.’

Later that night the little girl says to her mother, ‘I know how old you are. You are 32.’

The mother is surprised and asks, ‘How did you find that out?’

‘I also know that you used to have brown hair.’

The mother is past surprised and shocked now. ‘How in Heaven’s name did you find that out?’

‘And,’ the little girl says triumphantly, ‘I know why you and daddy got a divorce.’

‘Oh really?’ the mother asks. ‘Why?’

‘Because on your driving licence it says you got an “F” in sex’.


 

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