A lawyer's dog, running about
A lawyer's dog, running about unleashed, b-lines for the local butcher shop and steals a roast off the counter. The butcher goes to the lawyer's office and asks, ''if a dog, running unleashed, steals a piece of meat from my store, do I have a right to demand payment for the meat from the dog's owner?''

''Absolutely,'' the lawyer responded.

The butcher immediately shot back, ''Good! You owe me $7.99 for the roast your dog stole from me this morning.''

The lawyer, without a word, writes the butcher a check for $7.99. A few days later, the butcher, browsing through his mail, finds an envelope from the lawyer.

The contents read ''Consultation Fee: $25.00.''

A final diagnosis
Thought I'd let my doctor check me,
'Cause I didn't feel quite right. . .
All those aches and pains annoyed me
And I couldn't sleep at night.

He could find no real disorder
But he wouldn't let it rest.
What with Medicare and Blue Cross,
We would do a couple tests.

To the hospital he sent me
Though I didn't feel that bad.
He arranged for them to give me
Every test that could be had.

I was fluoroscoped and cystoscoped,
My aging frame displayed.
Stripped, on an ice cold table,
While my gizzards were x-rayed.

I was checked for worms and parasites,
For fungus and the crud,
While they pierced me with long needles
Taking samples of my blood.

Doctors came to check me over,
Probed and pushed and poked around,
And to make sure I was living
They then wired me for sound.

They have finally concluded,
Their results have filled a page.
What I have will someday kill me;
My affliction is old age.