Surprised, the man in front turned and snarled, “Just what the heck do you think you are doing?”

“Well”, said the guy, “you see, I am a chiropractor and I could see that you were tense, so I had to massage your back. Sometimes I just cannot help practicing my art!”

“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard, the guy replied. I work for the IRS. Do you see me fucking the guy in front of me?”

Anyone who could squeeze one more drop of juice out would win the money.

Many people had tried over time( weightlifters, longshoremen, etc.) but nobody could do it.

One day this scrawny little man came in, wearing thick glasses and a polyester suit, and said in a tiny, squeaky voice, “I’d like to try the bet.” After the laughter had died down, the bartender said OK, grabbed a lemon, and squeezed away. Then he handed the wrinkled remains of the rind to the little man.

But the crowd’s laughter turned to total silence as the man clenched his fist around the lemon and six drops fell into the glass. As the crowd cheered, the bartender payed the $1000, and asked the little man, “What do you do for a living?”

The man replied, “I work for the IRS.”

The friend responds, “I’m going to tell you what I told my niece when she was getting married. She came to me and asked if she should wear the most beautiful dress she could find, of if she would be better off wearing a plainer, more subtle dress. I told her, “It doesn’t matter what you wear, you’re going to get screwed either way.”

Fluorescent tubing was dimmed in light trading. Knives were up sharply.

Cows steered into a bull market. Pencils lost a few points.

Hiking equipment was trailing.

Elevators rose, while escalators continued their slow decline.

Weights were up in heavy trading.

Light switches were off.

Mining equipment hit rock bottom. Diapers remain unchanged.

Shipping lines stayed at an even keel.

The market for raisins dried up.

Coca Cola fizzled.

Caterpillar stock inched up a bit.

Sun peaked at midday.

Balloon prices were inflated.

And Scott Tissue touched a new bottom.

And batteries exploded in an attempt to recharge the market…

Version 2:
How many stockbrokers does it take to change a light bulb?

Two all up. One to take out the bulb and drop it, and the other to try and sell it before it crashes (knowing that it’s already burned out).

Saint Peter addresses this guy, “Who are you, so that I may know whether or not to admit you to the Kingdom of Heaven?”

The guy replies, “I’m Joe Cohen, stockbroker, of Noo Yawk City.”

Saint Peter consults his list. He smiles and says to the stockbroker, “Take this silken robe and golden staff and enter the Kingdom of Heaven.”

The stockbroker goes into Heaven with his robe and staff, and it’s the minister’s turn. He stands erect and booms out, “I am Joseph Snow, pastor of Saint Mary’s for the last forty-three years.”

Saint Peter consults his list. He says to the minister, “Take this cotton robe and wooden staff and enter the Kingdom of Heaven.”

“Just a minute,” says the minister. “That man was a stockbroker– he gets a silken robe and golden staff but I, a minister, only get a cotton robe and wooden staff? How can this be?”

“Up here, we work by results,” says Saint Peter. “While you preached, people slept; his clients, they prayed.”

“I have just the thing,” says the barber taking a small wooden ball from a nearby drawer. “Just place this between your cheek and gum.”

The client places the ball in his mouth and the barber proceeds with the closest shave the man has ever experienced. After a few strokes the client asks in garbled speech.

“And what if I swallow it?”

“No problem,” says the barber. “Just bring it back tomorrow like everyone else does.”

“Why?”

“Because every time I talk to a beautiful woman my wife appears out of nowhere.”

“Seems like all Alfred and I do anymore is fight. I’ve been so upset I’ve lost 20 pounds.”

“Why don’t you just leave him then?” asked her friend.

“Oh! Not yet.” the first replied, “I’d like to lose at least another fifteen pounds first.”