As Mr. Smith was on his death bed, he attempted to formulate a plan that would allow him to take at least some of his considerable wealth with him.
He called for the three men he trusted most - his lawyer, his doctor, and his clergyman.
He told them, "I'm going to give you each $30,000 in cash before I die.
At my funeral, I want you to place the money in my coffin so that I can try to take it with me."
All three agreed to do this and were given the money. At the funeral, each approached the coffin in turn and placed an envelope inside.
While riding in the limousine to the cemetery, the clergyman said "I have to confess something to you fellows.
Brother Smith was a good churchman all his life, and I know he would have wanted me to do this.
The church needed a new baptistery very badly, and I took $10,000 of the money he gave me and bought one.
I only put $20,000 in the coffin."
The physician then said, "Well, since we're confiding in one another, I might as well tell you that I didn't put the full $30,000 in the coffin either.
Smith had a disease that could have been diagnosed sooner if I had this very new machine, but the machine cost $20,000 and I couldn't afford it then. I used $20,000 of the money to buy the machine so that I might be able to save another patient.
I know that Smith would have wanted me to do that."
The lawyer then said, "I'm ashamed of both of you. When I put my envelope into that coffin, it held my personal check for the full $30,000."
A man was getting a haircut prior to a trip to Rome.
He mentioned the trip to his barber who responded…
“Rome? Why would anyone want to go there?
It’s crowded and dirтy and full of Italians.
You’re crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?”
“We’re taking American Airlines,” was the reply. “We got a great rate!”
“American Airlines?” exclaimed the barber.
“That’s a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly and they’re always late.
So, where are you staying in Rome?”
“We’ll be at the downtown International Marriott.”
“That dump? That’s the worst hotel in the city.
The rooms are small, the service is surly and they’re overpriced.
So, whatcha doing when you get there?”
“We’re going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope.”
“That’s rich,” laughed the barber. “You and a million other people trying to see him.
He’ll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You’re going to need it.”
A month later, the man again came in for his regular haircut.
The barber asked him about his trip to Rome.
“It was wonderful,” explained the man, “not only were we on time in one of American Airlines s brand new planes, but it was overbooked and they bumped us up to first class.
The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a beautiful 28-year-old stewardess who waited on me hand and foot.
And the hotel - it was great! They’d just finished a $25 million remodelling job, and now it’s the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us the presidential suite at no extra charge!”
“Well,” muttered the barber, “I know you didn’t get to see the Pope.”
“Actually, we were quite lucky, for as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder and explained that the Pope likes to personally meet some of the visitors, and if I’d be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me.
Sure enough, five minutes later the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand!
I knelt down as he spoke a few words to me.”
“Really?” asked the barber. “What’d he say?”
He said, “Where’d you get the сrаррy haircut?”
In a saloon in the old West, a large crowd of cowboys was drinking and carousing with the dance hall girls. In walked a greenhorn Easterner, a dry goods supplier from New York. He sat down at the bar and ordered a вееr. Just then a boy ran in from outside through the swinging doors, completely out of breath. The crowd stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

“Big John’s in town,” the boy said, gasping.

In less than a minute, the entire crowd, except for the greenhorn, tumbling over one another, rushed out, including the bartender and everyone else who worked at the saloon, leaving the place completely empty and in disarray. The greenhorn realized that he should probably go, too. So he quickly downed the remainder of his вееr, grabbed ahold of his sample case and started for the door.

Unfortunately, before he could reach it, another cowboy walked in, blocking his way. The man was huge, almost seven feet tall and muscular, with a face that was menacing, rugged and scarred. Hanging from his belt were two large six-shooters that had obviously seen plenty of action. The Easterner, frozen in fear, stood glued to the spot, unable to speak.

The huge man, towering over him, then glared at the greenhorn and said in a, deep, gravelly voice, “You drink with me.”

The greenhorn saw this as an order, not an invitation. So he walked over with the man, his heart pounding, fearing for his life, then sat down at the bar next to the cowboy, who then proceeded to pour each of them a whiskey. The massive cowpoke quickly downed his drink, wiped his face with his sleeve then stood up and started walking towards the door.

“Can’t stay,” he said, “ Big John’s in town.”