Trust


A man has spent many days crossing the Sahara without water.  His Trusty horse and camel, both long since died of thirst.  Drier than a Californian raisin, he is on all fours crawling through the sands certain that he has breathed his last.

All of a sudden he sees an object sticking out of the sand 2 yards ahead of him. He crawls to the object, pulls it out of the sand, and discovers what looks to be an old brief case.

He opens it and out pops a genie but this is no ordinary genie. He is a dull looking character, wearing an Inland Revenue (Tax Office) ID badge and a naff grey suit. There's a calculator in his pocket, and a pencil tucked behind one ear. OK," says the monotone genie. "You know how it works. You have three wishes.

" I'm not falling for that old chestnut!,says the weary man. "I'm not going to trust a tax inspector!" "What do you have to lose? You've got no transportation, and it looks like you're a goner anyway!" Sighing, the man thinks about this for a minute, and decides that the dull genie is right.

"Ok, I wish I were in a lush oasis with plentiful food and drink".

* * * P O O F * * * * *

The man finds himself in the most beautiful oasis he has ever seen and he is surrounded with carafes of vino superior and  platters of M&S delicacies.

"Ok sir, what's your second wish?"

"My second wish is that I were rich beyond my wildest dreams.."


* * * P O O F * * * * *


The man finds himself surrounded by treasure chests filled with rare gold coins, precious gems and a cheque which would keep the Beckhams for life.

Very well sir, you have just one more wish. Better make it a good one!"

After thinking for a few minutes, the man says:----
"I wish that no matter where I go beautiful women will want and need me."


* * * * P O O F * * * * *

He is turned into a tampon.


And the moral of the story ?...............

If the Inland Revenue offers you ANYTHING, there must be a string attached.

This man goes along to the Patent Office with some of his new designs.
He says to the clerk, "I'd like to register my new invention. It's a folding bottle."
"OK," says the clerk. "What do you call it?"
"A fottle, replies the inventor."
"A fottle? That's a stupid! Can't you think of something else?"
"I can think about it. I've got something else though. It's a folding carton."
"And what do you call that?" asks the clerk.
"A farton", replies the inventor.
"That's rude. You can't possibly call it that!"
"In that case," says the inventor...
"You're really going to hate the name of my folding bucket."