Money Jokes

Q: What do you say when you see your television floating at night?

A: "Drop it nigga."

Once there was a guy that went in a whorehouse and says, "What can I get for five bucks?" The madam says, "Second door on the right and fuck whatever is there." He goes, sees a pig, figured "Whaddya want for five bucks?" and fucks it.
The next week he comes back and asks what he can get for $20. The madam says, "Second floor, second door on the right, watch what happens." He goes in, sits down and looks down, he sees a glass floor with a view of a guy fucking a chicken on the first floor. He says to the man next to him, "Look at him with the chicken. That's crazy." The guy responds, "You shoulda been here last week -- some guy was fucking a pig!"

One day, a wife goes up to her husband and asks for twenty dollars to buy meat. "Are you crazy?" says the husband, who pulls her over to a mirror. "Let me show you something? This twenty-dollar bill is mine. The one in the mirror is yours. Get it?" The wife nods. The next day, the husband returns home to find a freezer full of meat. Angry, he asks his wife about it. She pulls him over to the mirror and lifts up her skirt. "See the one in the mirror? That's yours. This one is the butcher's."

The following is supposedly a true story. To be included, besides being true, the story is most likely strange, weird, surprising, or funny.

Los Angeles Times, December 9: A man walked into a branch of the Antelope Valley Bank and handed a teller a note demanding money. The man had one hand in his pocket, as if holding a gun, so the teller began handing over the contents of her cash drawer. When she had forked over $7,000 the robber said, "That's enough" and walked out the door. It's hard to find a bank robber who knows when he's had enough.

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