A guy in a bar
The bartender asks him "What'll you have?". The guy answers, "A scotch, please". The bartender hands him the drink, and says "That'll be five dollars", to which he replies "What are you talking about? I don't owe you anything for this".A lawyer, sitting nearby and overhearing the conversation, then says to the bartender, "You know, he's got you there. In the original offer, which consitutes a binding contract upon acceptance, there was no stipulation of remuneration". The bartender's not impressed, but says to the guy, "Okay, you beat me for a drink. But don't ever let me catch you in here again".The next day, same guy walks into the bar. Bartender says, "What the hell are you doing in here? I can't believe you've got the audacity to come back!". The guy says "What are you talking about? I've never been in this place in my life", to which the bartender replies "I'm very sorry, but this is uncanny. You must have a double."To which the guy replies "Thank you! Make it a scotch."

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.