[426 words]

A Special License
A policeman looked up to see a woman racing down the center of the road at 100 m.p.h. He pulled her over and said, “Hey, lady, would you mind telling me why you’re going so fast down the middle of the road?”
“Oh, it’s okay, Officer,” she replied. “I have a special license that allows me to drive like that.”
“Oh, yeah?” Let’s see it.” The cop looked at the license and then concluded, “Ma’am, there’s nothing special about this. It’s just a temporary license.”
“Look at the very bottom, though,” the woman insisted. “See? It says ‘Tear along the dotted line.’”

Click It or Ticket
My husband was driving home from work when he was pulled over for not wearing a seat belt. Two days later—same ticket, same cop.
“So,” the officer said, “have you learned anything?”
“Yes, I have,” said my husband. “I’ve learned I need to take a different way home from work.”

Six Questions Lawyers
Actually Asked

“How many times have you committed suicide?”
“Were you alone or by yourself?”
“Was it you or your brother who was killed?”
“Without saying anything, tell the jury what you did next.”
“Was that the same nose you broke as a child?”
“Now, doctor, isn’t it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn’t know about it until the next morning?”

If I Had a Hammer…
A judge tells the defendant, “You’re charged with attacking your boss with a hammer.”
“You jerk!” yells a voice from the back of the courtroom.
“You’re also charged with attacking a bartender with a hammer,” says the judge.
“Jerrrrkkkk!” bellows the same man.
“Sir,” says the judge, “one more outburst, and I’ll charge you with contempt.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” says the man. “But I’ve been this jerk’s neighbor for ten years, and every time I asked to borrow a hammer, he said he didn’t have one.”

Unhappy Customers
The speaker at my bank’s drive-through window had been broken for weeks, and we tellers had to resort to miming or writing notes to communicate with our frustrated customers. One day a sweet elderly lady whom I would see every week pulled up to the window, leaned out of her car and smacked the glass in front of my face.
“Hope this is bulletproof,” she yelled.
There had just been a robbery at another bank nearby, so I was touched by her concern. “It is,” I yelled back.
“Good,” she said, “cause someone is gonna shoot you if you don’t get that speaker fixed.”

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