A old lady goes into a bank
An old lady goes into a bank.
Count’s Bank, to be exact, and asks to open an account.
She is told, politely but coolly, that they are a very exclusive bank and have stringent requirements for prospective clients.
“I know,” she says. “May I see the manager, please?”
She is shown into the manager’s office and repeats her request to be allowed to open an account, and the manager explains that they very rarely take new customers, and she would need to have at least a million pounds in invest able assets, not including real estate.
But she says that is not a problem as she has over a million pounds in cash on her, and hands over a briefcase.
While the manager delegates the task of counting the money to an underling, he asks how she comes by so much cash.
“Oh, I make bets,” she says. “For instance, I am willing to bet £50,000 that by lunchtime on Monday your testicles will have turned square.”
The manager, of course, takes the bet at once, and on learning that the briefcase did indeed hold over a million pounds, he gives his approval for her account to be opened.
She bids him a good day and makes an appointment to see him again at noon the following Monday.
When she returns she is accompanied by a smartly dressed man, and explains to the manager that this is her lawyer, whom she has brought along as a witness.
The bank manager smiles and says that he can understand this, but she is going to find she is out of luck.
“Well, maybe,” she says,
“But considering the money involved, I’m sure you’ll agree that I am entitled to put you to the test.”
She takes a large tablespoon from her handbag and says “Be so kind as to drop your trousers and underpants, please,” and when he does so she cups his scrotum in the tablespoon and sighs sorrowfully.
Meanwhile however her lawyer has begun silently banging his head on the bank manager’s desk.
“Oh dear,” says the manager, a little patronizingly, “I fear my learned friend is dismayed at your reckless gambling away of your wealth.”
“Oh no,” says the old lady, “it’s just that last Thursday I bet him a hundred thousand pounds that I’d have your balls in a tablespoon before the banks shut on Monday.”