Enter any 11-digit prime number to continue…
Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow they take away your credit card.
A man goes into a bar and seats himself on a stool.
The bartender looks at him and says, "What'll it be buddy?"
The man says, "Set me up with seven whiskey shots and make them doubles."
The bartender does this and watches the man slug one down, then the next, then the next, and so on until all seven are gone almost as quickly as they were served.
Staring in disbelief, the bartender asks why he's doing all this drinking.
"You'd drink them this fast too if you had what I have."
The bartender hastily asks, "What do you have pal?"
The man quickly replies, "I have a dollar."
Why is money called dough?
Because we all knead it!
Q: What did the fool do with his first 50 cent piece?
A: He Married Her
Vote:
Why did the millionaire count his money with his toes?
So it wouldn't slip through his fingers!
Harry to Tom: ‘My uncle died last week. Left me sod all.’ Tom: ‘Wow. Sod Hall.
How many rooms has it got?’
Think nobody knows you’re alive?
Try missing a payment.
The town’s local council remarks that the best lawyer in town never made a donation to charity tendency.
To convince him, the mayor calls him in his office:
Sir, I remarked that you’re revenue reached a number of $600.000.
With all these, you never made a donation to the charity...
If you looked into my files, did you also remark that my mother is sick, and the medicaments she needs exceed her funds?
No... answers mayor.
In second place, my brother, war veteran, is condemned in a wheelchair and he’s blind.
The mayor started apologizing, but was interrupted:
And more, my sister died into a car accident and left tree children orphans.
Stunned, the mayor says:
I didn’t know, please accept my apologies...
But the lawyer continues:
I don’t see why I should give you any money, if I don’t ever give them money...
The proprietor of the general store at the cross-roads had his place overrun by rats, and the damage was such that he offered a hundred dollars reward to anyone who would rid him of the pests.
A disreputable-appearing person turned up one morning, and announced that he was a professional rat-killer.
"Get to work," the store-keeper urged.
"I must have a pound of cheese," the killer declared.
When this had been provided:
"Now give me a quart of whiskey."
Equipped with the whiskey, the professional spoke briskly:
"Now show me the cellar."
An hour elapsed, and then the rat-catcher galloped up the cellar stairs and leaped into the store.
His face was red, the eyes glaring, and he shook his fists in defiance of the world at large, as he jumped high in air and shouted:
"Whoopee! I'm ready! bring on your rats!"