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The Art of Discretion.

Six retired Floridians play high stakes poker in the condo clubhouse.

A member of the group, Meiers, loses $5,000 on a single hand, clutches his chest and drops dead at the table.

Showing respect for their fallen comrade, the other five finish playing the hand standing up.

Finkelstein looks around and asks, “So, who’s gonna’ tell his wife?”

They cut the cards, and Goldberg “wins” the duty. They tell him to be discreet, be gentle, not to make a bad situation any worse.

“Discreet? I’m the most discreet person you’ll ever meet. Discretion is my middle name,” he says. Leave it to me.”

Goldberg goes over to the Meiers’ apartment and knocks on the door. Mrs. Meiers wife answers and asks what he wants.

Goldberg declares, “Your husband just lost $5,000 playing poker, and is afraid to come home.”

“Tell him to drop dead!” says the wife.

“Will do,” he says.

Is it funny?

A reporter hears of a woman in his town that has the highest welfare payments, and he was curious as to why.

So he went to her house to interview her.

He got to a little house and after she opens, introduces himself and asks her, “How old are you?” He asked.

“27.” she said.

“And how many children do you have?”

“Ten,” she replied.

“Wow, ok that explains a lot.” He said, taken a back.

“And what are their names?” he asked.

“Well there’s Bob, then there’s Bob, and Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, and of course Bob.”

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The Florist's Mix-Up.

“They’re ALL named Bob?” he asked, even more bewildered. “What if you want them to come in from playing outside?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” she explained, “I just call ‘Bob,’ and they all come running inside.”

“And if you want them to come to the table for dinner?”

“I just say, ‘Bob, come eat your dinner,’ and they do.” She answered.

“But what if you want just ONE of them to do something?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s easy,” she said. “I just use their last name.”

 

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