Recreating the censored Knatz.com: / Personal / Chat / Jokes /
For starters I feature my favorite essence of business joke.
Archangel Michael comes to visit St. Peter at the Gate. Peter is frazzled. Souls are standing all over the lawn. Peter’s gofers are tizzied, sweating, running in circles.
“Everything’s going wrong,” Peter complains. “We’re half way through the morning and we don’t even have all the names and addresses. At this rate we’ll still be at it at midnight and in no shape for tomorrow’s lot.”
Michael says he hopes he can make himself useful then. Here. Peter. Take a rest. Go lie down. Have a soda. Relax with a cherubim. Just first: give me a quick run down on what you do here so I can fill in for you.
“Well, first we ask them their name. Then we ask them where they come from. Then we ask them what they did for a living. Then … I don’t know: the gofers do that part. Anyway, then we let them through the gate … Damn gate! Half off its hinge. Won’t even open all that way. It was bad yesterday and it’s worse today.”
Go take it easy. I think I know how to speed this up. Don’t worry about a thing.
Peter takes a nap but comes back after lunch. Whole place is transformed. The lawn is empty of souls except for a trio of guys and just a few isolated stragglers. “Wow. Thanks, Michael. This is a miracle. But wha’ djya do?”
I analyzed the situation and quality re-engineered it. You were asking for name and address. I went out onto the lawn and asked all the doctors to step forward. Then I said who’s from the north, who’s from the south? Then who’s from New York, who’s from New Jersey. Then the same with the lawyers and so forth. Each platoon I brought up to the gate had questions three and two already answered. We batched the paper work. Bingo. All the major professions are already processed. You finish these couple of independents and go play golf.
“Oh, man,” Peter says. “I’ll be playing golf every afternoon from now on. I feel great. I’ll take these three guys myself.”
Answer three, Michael says, is: they’re all contractors. The skinny guy is from Mexico City but worked out of Sheboygen. The Italian guy worked out of Fort Lee. The Jew had an office in Manhattan.
Paper work’s half done, Boss, pipes a gofer.
“Great. I’ll take it from here. This is a tickle. I don’t usually see them after the first two questions. So: tell me guys: what’s a contractor?
You want something beeld, I beeld, says the Mexican. You want something feex, I feex.
Oh, it’s more than that, says the Italian. Say you want a drive way put in, a bigger patio around the pool … you gotta …
“No, wait a minute. You’re saying you fix things?”
All three chorus that that’s right.
“Take a look at this gate,” Peter says. Could you fix something like that?”
Si. Yes. And so forth.
“This is very interesting to me. Fascinating,” Peter confesses. “The fact is that this gate really does need to be fixed. Show me the steps. How you I get you to fix it?”
You let us give you an estimate, says the Italian. Then you hire the offer that sounds right to you.
Three t’ousan’ dolla, says the Mexican. I feex.
“Fascinating,” repeats Peter. “You just look at it and just like that you know a price? What made you say that price?”
Furs’ they’s materials need: welding torch, solder, rivets, paint. T’ousan’ dollar right there. They’s labor, help, someone hold the ladda’ … ‘nodda t’ousan’. ‘N I beesniss man. T’ousan’ to do beesniss.
May I talk to you in confidence? the Italian asks St. Peter. Don’t listen to the Mexican. It’ll work for a week or so and you’ll need it fixed again next month. He got his license in a flea market. He uses cheap foreign labor …
“How much would you estimate the job for?” Peter asks.
Six thousand dollars and I guarantee the work. Good as new. Carefree for years.
“And how did you come up with that price?”
Materials, labor, and business, just like the Mexican said. But I use only the best materials. I hire only quality labor: union. And business: I’ve got administrative costs … and I’ve gotta make a profit. I don’t work for nothin’.
“And what do you say?” St. Peter asks the Jew who’s said little and is just standing there, smiling and looking at him pityingly.
The Jew takes St. Peter’s arm and guides him aside. One hand he leaves on his arm, the other he puts on his shoulder.
Nine thousand dollars. I guarantee you like it better than new.
“Just like that?” Peter asks. “No pencil and paper? Nine thousand dollars? All figured in your head? How did you arrive at that figure?”
Those two, the Jew shakes his head, they understand nothing. The math is simple: three thousand for me, three thousand for you, and three thousand for the Spick to do the work.
That could be classified as a Heaven joke, a business joke, a “Jew” joke, a “Spick” joke … A dime a dozen. To me it’s the classic business joke.
Some of my Miscellaneous Jokes are also great business jokes, great Jewish jokes …
Seems to me that some modicum of honesty is requisite to intelligence.
If we look in the mirror and see not kleptocrats but Christians, we’re still in the same old trouble.