Children

He stepped on the gas but at 50 miles per hour. The chicken was still keeping up. After about a mile of running the chicken ran up a farm lane and into a barn behind an old farm house.

The salesman had some time to kill so he turned around and drove up the farm lane. He knocked at the door and when the farmer answered he told him what he had just seen.

The farmer said that he was a geneticist and had developed this breed of chicken because he, his wife and his son each like a drumstick when they have chicken and this way they only have to kill one chicken.

"That's the most fantastic thing I've ever heard," said the salesman. "How do they taste?"

"I don't know," said the farmer. "We've never caught one."

He wanted to see time fly.

Looking over the dead-beat Dad's file, St. Peter frowned and shook his head sadly. 'Your record looks fine, except for one glaring item. Why the hell didn't you pay child support for your six kids?'

The man jumped up. 'Child support?! All God said in Genesis was 'Be fruitful and multiply.' He didn't say nothin' about supporting them!'

St. Peter smirked: "That part of Genesis was God's Italian wife's recipe for marinated steak, buddy-- Beef, fruit, fuel, and a mallet apply.'

One but he has to get it drunk first.