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PURE SOCIALISM: You have two cows. The government takes them and puts them in a barn with everyone else's cows. You have to take care of all the cows. The government gives you as much milk they think you need.
BUREAUCRATIC SOCIALISM: You have two cows. The government takes them and puts them in a barn with everyone else's cows. They are cared for by ex-chicken farmers. You have to take care of the chickens the government took from the chicken farmers. The government gives you as much milk and eggs the regulations say you should need.
FASCISM: You have two cows. The government takes both, hires you to take care of them, and sells you the milk.
PURE COMMUNISM: You have two cows. Your neighbours help you take care of them, and you all share the milk.
RUSSIAN COMMUNISM: You have two cows. You have to take care of them, but the government takes all the milk.
CAMBODIAN COMMUNISM: You have two cows. The government takes both and shoots you.
DICTATORSHIP: You have two cows. The government takes both and drafts you.
PURE DEMOCRACY: You have two cows. Your neighbors decide who gets the milk.
REPRESENTATIVE DEMOCRACY: You have two cows. Your neighbors pick someone to tell you who gets the milk.
BUREAUCRACY: You have two cows. At first the government regulates what you can feed them and when you can milk them. Then it pays you not to milk them. Then it takes both, shoots one, milks the other and pours the milk down the drain. Then it requires you to fill out forms accounting for the missing cows.
PURE ANARCHY: You have two cows. Either you sell the milk at a fair price or your neighbors try to take the cows and kill you.
ANARCHO-CAPITALISM: You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull.
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So the Irishman stands up to leave and falls flat on his face. He tries to stand one more time, same result. He figures he'll crawl outside and get some fresh air and maybe that will sober him up.
Once outside he stands up and falls flat on his face. So he decides to crawl the four blocks to his home and when he arrives at the door he stands up and falls flat on his face. He crawls through the door into his bedroom. When he reaches his bed he tries one more time to stand up. This time he manages to pull himself upright but he quickly falls right into bed and is sound asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
He awakens the next morning to his wife standing over him shouting at him.
'So, you've been out drinking again!!'
'What makes you say that?' he asks, as he puts on an innocent face.
'The pub called...you left your wheelchair there again.'
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The son was so overcome with grief that he didn't remember slipping the note into his pocket. At the funeral, he reached into the pocket of his coat and immediately felt the note. He excitedly read it thinking it might be something he could recite during the service. It said:
YOU WANKER -- GET OFF MY OXYGEN PIPE!!!
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Interviewer: How did you get that pegleg?
Pirate: Arrr. I got me leg shot off during the first world war.
Interviewer: How did you get that hook?
Pirate: I got me hand cut off by a big knife.
Interviewer: What about your eyepatch?
Pirate: It was a rainy afternoon and I looked up into the sky and a bird crapped in me eye.
Interviewer: And that put your eye out?
Pirate: No, it was the day after I got me hook.
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