A man lies on his deathbed, surrounded by his family: a weeping wife and four children.
Three of the children are tall, good-looking and athletic, but the fourth and youngest is an ugly runt.
“Darling wife,” the husband whispers, “assure me that the youngest child really is mine. I want to know the truth before I die, I will forgive you if-”
The wife gently interrupts him.
“Yes, my dearest, absolutely, no question, I swear on my mother’s grave that you are his father.”
The man then dies, happy.
“Thank God he didn’t ask about the other three.” Muttered the wife.
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.”
“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.”