On this particular day a rich tourist from back west is driving thru town.
He stops at the motel and lays a $100 bill on the desk saying he wants to inspect the rooms upstairs in order to pick one to spend the night.

As soon as the man walks upstairs, the owner grabs the bill and runs next door to pay his debt to the butcher.
The butcher takes the $100 and runs down the street to retire his debt to the pig farmer.
The pig farmer takes the $100 and heads off to pay his bill at the feed store.

The guy at the Farmer’s Co-op takes the $100 and runs to pay his debt to the local prostitute, who has also been facing hard times and has had to offer her services on credit. She, in a flash rushes to the motel and pays off her room bill with the motel owner.
The motel proprietor now places the $100 back on the counter so the rich traveler will not suspect anything.

At that moment the the traveler comes down the stairs, picks up the $100 bill, states that the rooms are not satisfactory, pockets the money & leaves.

Now, no one produced anything… and no one earned anything… however the whole town is out of debt and is looking to the future with much optimism.
And that, ladies and gentlemen is precisely how the U.S. and Canadian Governments are conducting business today!

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As the plane prepared to descend, he came swishing down the aisle and told us “Captain Marvey has asked me to announce that he’ll be landing the big scary plane shortly, so lovely people, if you could just put your trays up, that would be super.”

On his trip back up the aisle, he noticed an extremely well-dressed and exotic young woman hadn’t moved a muscle. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me over those big brute engines but I asked you to raise your trazy-poo, so the main man can pitty-pat us on the ground.”

She calmly turned her head and said, “In my country, I am called a Princess and I take orders from no one.”

To which the flight attendant replied, without missing a beat, “Well, sweet-cheeks, in my country I’m called a Queen, so I outrank you. Tray up, Bitch.”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Carmen,” she replied.

“That’s a nice name,” he said. “Did your mother or father name you that?”

“Neither,” she said. “I changed my name when I was 18 from Sharon to Carmen.”

“Why did you do that?” he asked.

“Well,” she explained, “I like men and I like cars, so that is how I got my name. What’s your name?”

“Beertits,” the man replied.

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