A man dressed head-to-toe in a realistic frog costume hopped into a busy downtown bank. He bypassed the queues and marched straight up to the counter, locking eyes with a loan officer named Patricia Whack.
“Hello, Patricia,” the man said, adjusting his webbed mask. “I need to secure a personal loan for $50,000.”
Patricia blinked, completely bewildered. “Sir, you’re in a frog costume.”
“Yes, well, let me explain,” the man replied smoothly. “My name is Kermit Jagger, and my father is none other than Mick Jagger. I also happen to know your branch manager, Mr. Jones, incredibly well. I’m positive he will approve my request.”
Patricia sighed, rubbing her temples. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jagger, but fifty grand is an exceptionally large sum. Without a stellar credit history, we absolutely require some form of collateral to issue a loan of that size.”
Without missing a beat, the man reached deep into his green pocket, pulled out a tiny, shiny porcelain elephant, and placed it gently on the counter. “Will this do?”
Patricia stared at the tiny figurine. “Please wait here while I consult with the manager.”
The Manager’s Office
Patricia marched into the back office, slammed the porcelain elephant onto the manager’s desk, and threw her hands up in the air.
“Mr. Jones, you won’t believe what’s happening out there,” Patricia gasped. “There’s a man dressed as a giant frog in the lobby. He claims his father is Mick Jagger and is demanding a $50,000 loan. When I asked for collateral, he handed me this little elephant figurine! I mean, seriously, what even is this thing?!”
Mr. Jones looked at the figurine, looked at Patricia, and burst into a massive grin. He cleared his throat and sang out cheerfully:
“It’s a knickknack, Patty Whack, give the frog a loan. His old man’s a rolling stone!”
A married man and woman were sound asleep in their bed deep in the middle of the night. Suddenly, a loud, heavy thud echoed from the downstairs hallway, shattering the silence of the house.
Waking up in a total panic, the wife violently shoved the man, rolled over, and hissed in a terrified whisper, “Oh my God! It’s my husband! You have to get out of here right now!”
Adrenaline instantly coursing through his veins, the man bolted out of bed in total darkness. Without thinking, he leaped headfirst out of the open second-story window, crashed violently through the rose bushes below, scrambled over the garden fence, and sprinted down the pavement.
He ran two full blocks in his underwear before he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks under a streetlamp. He took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes, and realized something mind-boggling.
“Wait a minute…” he muttered to himself. “I AM her husband!”
Furious and completely bewildered by his own sheer stupidity, he marched all the way back to the house, stomped up the stairs, and burst into the bedroom. He glared at his wife and yelled, “What the hell was that all about?! I’m your husband!”
