This is one of my favorite jokes ever:
One afternoon a traveling salesman happens across a well kept house in a suburban neighborhood; he knocks on the door and waits patiently. No answer. A loud jazzy tune is coming from inside, so someone is obviously home but might not have been able to hear the knock so after a moment, he decides to knock again. This time he hears some shuffling in the house and the door opens. Behind the door is a boy who looks to be about eight years old, in one hand he’s holding a scotch on the rocks and in the other a large cigar. He’s dressed in a pair of plain white briefs, tube socks, a cape and a fedora. The salesman taken back by the boys appearance stammers, “Ex-excuse me Son, is your Mother or Father home?”
The kid takes a long draw on his cigar and takes a long look at the sales guy before briefly taking stock of himself, then looking back at the sales guy before replying incredulously, “What the F*^% do you think?”
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