The Pharaoh was dictating, and his scribe was busily chipping away at the stone tablet. "I have plans . . . to form," the monarch said slowly, "a personal bodyguard . . . of stalwart . . .and virile . . . young men."
The chips flew, but then suddenly ceased flying, and the perspiring chiseler looked up inquiringly, "Excuse me, your Majesty, but is virile spelled with one or two testicles?"
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A big, burly man visited the pastor's home and asked to see the minister's wife, a woman well known for her charitable impulses.
"Madam," he said in a broken voice, "I wish to draw your attention to the terrible plight of a poor family in this district. The father is dead, the mother is too ill to work, and the nine children are starving. They are about to be turned into the cold, empty streets unless someone pays their rent, which amounts to $800."
"How terrible!" exclaimed the preacher’s wife. "May I ask who you are?"
the sympathetic visitor applied his handkerchief to his eyes. "I'm the landlord," he sobbed.
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