Pumpkin Pumper

Police arrested Joe Bloggs, a 27-year old white male and resident of Wimbledon UK, in a pumpkin patch at 11:38pm Friday. Bloggs will be charged with lewd and lascivious behavior, public indecency, and public intoxication at the County courthouse on Monday. The suspect allegedly stated that after a night of drinking, as he was passing a pumpkin patch, he decided to stop. "You know, a pumpkin is soft and squishy inside, and there was no one around here for miles. At least I thought there wasn't," he stated in a phone interview from the County courthouse jail. Bloggs went on to state that he pulled over to the side of the road, picked out a pumpkin that he felt was appropriate to his purposes, poked a hole in it, and proceeded to satisfy his alleged "need." "I guess I was just really into it, you know?" he commented with evident embarrassment. In the process, Bloggs apparently failed to notice the Wimbledon Municipal police car approaching and was unaware of his audience until Officer B.T. approached him. "It was an unusual situation, that's for sure." said Officer BT. "I walked up to (Bloggs) and he's... just working away at this pumpkin". BT went on to describe what happened when she approached Bloggs: "I just went up and said, 'Excuse me, sir, but do you realize that you are screwing a pumpkin?' He got real surprised as you'd expect and then looked me straight in the face and said, 'A pumpkin? Damn...is it midnight already?"

Father Worries

Father: Did Paul bring you home last night?  Daughter: Yes, it was late.  Daddy.  Did the noise disturb you?  Father:  No, My Dear, it wasn't the noise.  It was the silence.

Late Payment Letter

Gentlemen:
I have just received your letter in regards to the bill I owe you. You said the bill should have been paid long ago and you don't understand why it wasn't. Well, I will enlighten you.

• In 1957 I bought a sawmill on credit.
• In 1959 I bought an ox team, a timber cart and two ponies; a shotgun, a wine tester, a Colt revolver and five razorback hogs all on credit.
• In 1960 the sawmill burned down. One of my ponies died and the other I loaned to a son-of-a-bitch who starved him to death.
• In 1961 my father died and my mother was hung for horse rustling. A mechanic named Joe knocked up my daughter and I had to pay the doctor $88.32 to keep the bastard from becoming a relative of mine.
• In 1963 my son had the mumps and they went down on him; the doctor had to castrate him to save his life. That summer I went fishing and the boat turned over and I lost the biggest catfish you ever saw, and one of my sons drowned (not the castrated one).
• In 1966 my wife ran away with another feller and left me with the three small children as a souvenir. I married the hired girl to keep down expenses, but I had trouble getting her off, and the doctor told me to try to create some excitement just as she was beginning to get aroused. That night I pointed the shotgun out the window while we were in bed and just as she was beginning to orgasm I pulled the trigger. Well, she shit the bed, I ruptured myself and killed the best damn milk cow I ever had.
• The next year my troubles really started. My wife caught the clap from the ice man, my son wiped his ass with a corn cob with poison ivy on it, and someone de-nutted my best bull.
• In 1970 I decided to go into another business on my own. I ordered six bee hives from Sears, Roebuck, and Company. I bought a swarm of bees and a queen bee all on credit on the installment plan. The queen bee died and I ordered another one. She turned out to be a whore and started running around with a horsefly. The honey tasted like shit so I couldn't sell it.

So now, gentlemen, you say if I do not pay you, you will cause me trouble. Right now if it costs two cents to shit, I'd have to puke. Getting money out of me would be like trying to poke butter up a wildcat's ass with a hot trowel, but you are welcome to try.
Yours for more credit,
Max