The last 50 jokes entered

The poet had been droning on at the party about his various sources of inspiration. “Yes, he told the young girl. “I’m at present collecting some of my better poems to be published posthumously.” “Lovely,” said the girl. “I’ll look forward to it.”

The census taker knocked on Miss Gibson’s door. She answered all his questions except one. She refused to tell him her age. “But everybody tells their age to the census taker,” the man said. “Did Miss Mary Hill and Miss Patty Hill tell you their ages?”
“Certainly.” Well, I’m the same age as they are,” she snapped. “As old as the Hills,” the man wrote on his form.

The trumpet player had been blasting away all day, when there was a knock on his door. “I live next door to you,” he explained. “Do you know I work nights?” “No,” said the trumpet player, “but if you hum a few bars, I’ll get the melody.”

Harry came home from Sunday school and asked his mother, “Do people really come from dust?” “In a way said,” said his mother. “And do they go back to dust?” “Yes, in a way.” She replied. “Well, mother, I looked under my bed, and somebody’s either coming or going.”