James and Beverly Jenkins had been married for twelve years when they mutually agreed to end it and get divorced. After the divorce was granted, that same day, as they stood facing each other for what could be the last time, James asked Beverly if she would mind him asking one last question. "Not at all, go right ahead," she replied. "Well, their is one thing that has always bother me. We have five kids with brown hair but youngest one, little Jimmy, has blonde hair. So, please tell me, whose kid is Jimmy?" "I just can't tell you, James. The answer would hurt you too much." "I'll be fine. Now that we're divorced, finding out whoever Jimmy came from can't hurt me too much." "Well, if it's that important to you...Jimmy is your child."
An Arkansas Divorce
The Arkansas lad was obviously deeply troubled. "Why so glum, Chum?", asked the kindly stranger. "If my parents get divorced...will they still be brother and sister?"
Professional Lemon Picker
Sally Mullihan of Coral Springs, Florida decided to take one of the jobs that most Americans are not willing to do. The woman applying for a job in a Florida lemon grove seemed to be far too qualified for the job. She had a liberal arts degree from the University of Michigan and had worked as a social worker and school teacher. The foreman frowned and said, "I have to ask you, have you had any actual experience in picking lemons?" "Well, as a matter of fact, I have! I've been divorced three times, owned 2 Chryslers and voted for Obama."
My missus packed my bags and as I walked out the front door, she screamed, "I wish you a slow and painful death, you bastard!" "Oh," I replied, "so now you want me to stay!”
It had promised to be a sensational divorce case, with the wife accused of incredible escapades. Testifying before her own attorney, she projected an image of sweet innocence, told a tale of wifely fidelity and sacrifice, and was quite believable. When it was time for cross-examination though, the husband's lawyer arose and said, "Isn't it true that on the night of June 12, driving in a rainstorm, you had sexual intercourse with a certain circus midget on the handle bars of a careening motorcycle as it raced across a private golf course reaching speeds in excess of seventy-five miles per hour?"
She turned pale but retained her remarkable self-control and composure. Her voice was almost serene in its innocence as she asked, "What was that date again?"