Jokes and Giggles

This one is compliments of Jerry

President Barack Obama, surrounded by his normal retinue of Secret Service agents, walks into the

Chicago branch office of a regional bank to cash a check.

"Good morning, ma'am," he says to the cashier. "I'd like to cash this check."

"Of course, sir," she replies. "Do you have your drivers license?"

"Actually, no," Obama says. "I didn't drive myself and, honestly, I didn't think I'd need to show any ID. I mean, I am the president."

"Yes, sir, I know who you are. But I'm afraid that, federal banking regulations being what they are, I'll need to see a photo ID."

Obama sighs in consternation.

"But just ask anyone at the bank," he says.

"They all know who I am. Everybody knows who I am."

"I'm sorry, Mr. President, but rules are rules."

"Please, there must be something you can do. I need to cash this check so I can buy Michelle a

Valentine's Day present."

The cashier thinks for a minute.

"I'll tell you what, Mr. President. Two weeks ago, Tiger Woods was here and in the same situation. He proved who he was by making an amazing putt all the way across the bank lobby into a coffee cup.

"Then, just last week, Andre Agassi had to prove who he was, so he used his tennis racket and lobbed a ball all the way across the bank lobby into that same coffee cup.

"In both cases, we took that as identification and cashed their checks," she explained.

"So, Mr. President, is there something you can do that would prove that you are, indeed, Barrack

Hussein Obama, president of the United States?" she asked.

Obama stands in front of her for a moment, frowning in thought.

"You know, he says, I can't think of a thing.

My mind is a total blank. I have absolutely no idea what to do in this situation," he says.

"Seriously. No clue at all."

The cashier smiles.

"Will that be large or small bills, Mr.

President?" she asks.

This little on is compliments of Paul

When the dwarf fortune teller escaped from the jail the other day the police alert said they were looking for a small medium at large.

This one is compliments of wyden

Here's one for you...

I saw an ad for an expensive weight loss program that said they would guarantee that I would lose

40 pounds in 4 weeks or my money back.

What the hell! Why not give it a shot? What did

I have to lose?

After I signed in, they told me to go in this room and take off all my clothes, so I go in there and it looks like a normal steam room. Big deal!

I was about to get dressed and leave when the door opened and an incredibly beautiful blonde opens the door and comes in buck naked.

As soon as I could get my eyes up high enough to read the sign, I saw that it said, "If you catch me, my ass is yours."

I was off like a shot, but so was the girl and, damn, she was fast. However, I eventually caught her and took what was mine. We whammed and blammed and thankyou ma'ammed all over that damned steam room.

She left me as limp as a noodle--all over. When I weighed up, I had lost 15 pounds. Well, sheeeit!

If this is the method, I'm up for it. Not only that, but if I stop at 39 pounds I don't have to pay. Right?

Next week, it was a redhead. We whammed and blammed and thankyou ma'ammed all over that damned steam room.

Next week, it was a brunette. We whammed and blammed and thankyou ma'ammed all over that damned steam room.

I had lost just under 40 pounds when the fourth week rolled around and had made up my mind to simply ignore whoever they threw at me this week so I could get a free ride. Even if they brought out the twin cheerleaders, I was determined to go solo.

When the door opened and Mean Joe Green opened the door with a sign that said, "If I catch you, your ass is mine", I managed to lose 18 pounds that week. No refunds for me.