Twice Bitten
[Author's note: The original is my favourite joke ever.]
Having lost his poetic touch, W. B. Yeats works at a corporate office. A popular tabloid, finding that his fame has survived, telephones him and wonders if he would be kind enough to participate in a photo-session for their pages. Thrilled, he writes to his manager asking for (i) a day off and (ii) permission to attend the picture-taking.
In response, the manager informs, 'Both your requests need to be approved by a panda in the upper floor, specifically recruited for the purpose.'
'What! Why?', says W B.
'Look it up', replies the boss.
The former poet thumbs through the office catalogue to get wind of the job description of his mammalian colleague. Which reads thus:
"Panda: Yeats' shoots and leaves."
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A robin glides into a café. She orders a sandwich, eats it, then starts telling a joke over and over again till everybody dies of boredom.
'Why?' asks the confused, surviving waiter, as the robin gets airborne exitward. She produces a badly punctuated ornithology manual and tosses it over her shoulder.
'Well, I'm a robin', she says, at the door. 'Look it up.'
The waiter turns to the relevant entry in the manual and, sure enough, finds an explanation.
'Robin: Many-coloured species of bird. Native to Europe and North America. Eats, bugs and flies.'
Having lost his poetic touch, W. B. Yeats works at a corporate office. A popular tabloid, finding that his fame has survived, telephones him and wonders if he would be kind enough to participate in a photo-session for their pages. Thrilled, he writes to his manager asking for (i) a day off and (ii) permission to attend the picture-taking.
In response, the manager informs, 'Both your requests need to be approved by a panda in the upper floor, specifically recruited for the purpose.'
'What! Why?', says W B.
'Look it up', replies the boss.
The former poet thumbs through the office catalogue to get wind of the job description of his mammalian colleague. Which reads thus:
"Panda: Yeats' shoots and leaves."
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A robin glides into a café. She orders a sandwich, eats it, then starts telling a joke over and over again till everybody dies of boredom.
'Why?' asks the confused, surviving waiter, as the robin gets airborne exitward. She produces a badly punctuated ornithology manual and tosses it over her shoulder.
'Well, I'm a robin', she says, at the door. 'Look it up.'
The waiter turns to the relevant entry in the manual and, sure enough, finds an explanation.
'Robin: Many-coloured species of bird. Native to Europe and North America. Eats, bugs and flies.'