Some IRS Jokes
The finals of the National Youth Poetry Contest last year came
down to two finalists. One was the child of a hard-working parents
who had instilled in him their traditional values. The other kid's
parents were both IRS employees, so they had no values to instill in
their kid.
The rules of the contest required each finalist to compose a
four-line poem in one minute or less, and the poem had to contain
the word "Timbuktu."
The kid with the hard-working parents went first. About thirty
seconds after the clock started he jumped up and recited the
following poem,
"'Slowly across the desert sand
Trekked the dusty caravan.
Men on camels, two by two
Destination – Timbuktu"
The audience went wild! How, they wondered, could the IRS kid top
that?
The clock started again and the IRS kid sat in silent thought.
Finally, in the last few seconds, he jumped and recited,
"Tim and me, a-campin' we went.
Met three taxpayers in a pop-up tent.
They was three, we was two,
So I bucked one and Timbuktu"
***
The IRS decides to audit Roger, and summons him to the IRS
office. The IRS auditor is not surprised when Roger shows up with
his attorney.
The auditor says, "Well, sir, you have an extravagant lifestyle and
no full-time employment, which you explain by saying that you win
money gambling. I'm not sure the IRS finds that believable."
"I'm a great gambler, and I can prove it," says Roger. "How about a
demonstration?"
The auditor thinks for a moment, then agrees to it.
Roger says, "I'll bet you a thousand dollars that I can bite my own
eye."
The auditor thinks a moment and says, "It's a bet."
Roger removes his glass eye and bites it. The auditor's jaw drops.
Roger says, "Now, I'll bet you two thousand dollars that I can bite
my other eye."
The auditor can tell Roger isn't blind, so he takes the bet. Roger
removes his dentures and bites his good eye. The stunned auditor now
realizes he has wagered and lost three grand, with Roger's attorney
as a witness. He starts to get nervous.
"Want to go double or nothing?" Roger asks. "I'll bet you six
thousand dollars that I can stand on one side of your desk, and pee
into that wastebasket on the other side, and never get a drop
anywhere in between."
The auditor, twice burned, is cautious now, but he looks carefully
and decides there's no way this guy could possibly manage that
stunt, so he agrees again. Roger stands beside the desk and unzips
his pants, but although he strains mightily, he can't make the
stream reach the wastebasket on the other side, so he pretty much
urinates all over the auditor's' desk.
The auditor leaps with joy, realizing that he has just turned a
major loss into a huge win. But Roger's attorney moans and puts his
head in his hands.
"Are you okay?" the auditor asks.
"Not really," says the attorney. "This morning, when Roger told me
he'd been summoned for an audit, he bet me twenty-five thousand
dollars that he could come in here and piss all over your desk and
that you'd be happy about it."
***
The local bar was so sure its bartender was the strongest man
around that they offered a standing $1000 bet. The bartender would
squeeze a lemon until all the juice ran into a glass, and hand the
lemon to a patron. Anyone who could squeeze one more drop of juice
out would win the money.
Many people had tried over time, including the professional
wrestlers and bodybuilders, but nobody could do it. One day a
scrawny little man came in, wearing a tie and a pair of pants hiked
up past his belly button.
He said in a squeaky annoying voice, "I'd like to try the bet." Even
the hillbilly chicks burst into laughter.
After the laughter had died down, the bartender said, "Ok," grabbed
a lemon, and squeezed away. He then 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 paid the $1000, and asked the little
man, "What did you do for a living? Are you a lumberjack, weight
lifter, or what?"
The man replied, "I work for the IRS."
***
Dear Abby,
We are expecting a baby boy. I want to name our son Enos, after his
grandfather who was a war hero. My husband is concerned about how
the enormous national debt and other problems will make it hard for
our boy to find work and support himself. He thinks that instead of
naming the boy Enos, we should name him Anus to guarantee him a job
at the IRS.
I was aghast that my husband would even consider such a thing. When
a parent envisions his child growing up to be a murderer, rapist,
drug dealer, or IRS worker, isn't there something seriously wrong?
And if our son eventually takes a job at the IRS, does that mean we
have utterly failed as parents? I've hardly slept since my husband
suggested such a terrible future for our child.
Concerned Parent
***
Last wish
An old pastor lay dying. He sent a message for an IRS agent and his
lawyer to come to the hospital. When they arrived, they were ushered
up to his room.
As they entered the room, the pastor held out his hands and motioned
for them to sit on each side of the bed. The pastor grasped their
hands, sighed contentedly, smiled, and stared at the ceiling.
For a time, no one said anything.
Both the IRS agent and lawyer were touched and flattered that the
old man would ask them to be with him during his final moments. They
were also puzzled because the pastor had never given any indication
that he particularly liked either one of them.
Finally, the Lawyer asked,
"Pastor, why did you ask the two of us come here?"
The old pastor mustered all his strength, then said weakly,
"Jesus died between two thieves, and that's how I want to go, too."
***
IRS T-Shirts
IRS T-shirts
IRS:
Organized crime
Backed by govt
IRS:
Power without conscience
IRS:
Darth Vader never had it so good
IRS:
It's not about taxes.
It's about power.
IRS:
Useless but lethal
IRS:
Where terrorism is legal
IRS:
Your pain is our gain
IRS:
We stole 4300 computers from
our own offices
IRS:
Mental illness on steroids
IRS:
New frontiers in anal sex
IRS:
Eat your heart out, Hitler
IRS:
What rights?
IRS:
To err is human
To steal is divine
We do both
IRS:
To us, you're just another target
IRS:
Sick fantasies made real
IRS:
Morals be damned
IRS:
Because torturing small animals
Is no longer enough
Free prostate massage
With every tax return
IRS:
Sadism on steroids
IRS:
When ordinary crime isn't enough
IRS:
Setting new standards in abuse
IRS:
Absolute idiots with absolute power
IRS:
Personal trainer, no.
Personal terrorist, yes.
IRS:
Setting new standards in sadism
***
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