What’s Your Pleasure?

Two old farmers had hauled a truckload of squirming hogs eighty miles from their west Akransas farm to the nearest market. On the long haul: the old truck had overheated twice; the hogs were keeping the truck rocking, even when it was stopped; and the hot summer Arkansas wind was drying the hogs (and the farmers) out fast. Within three miles of the market, they passed a tavern and pulled in for a couple of icy cold draft beers. The place was dimly lit and air conditioned.

After about 10 minutes, one says to the other, “Mighty comfortable here. It’s gonna be hard getting back on that hot road, but I recon we ought to get our boots in gear.” About that time, a vivacious vixen strolls up to the bar, works her way in between the two farmers, and says, “You guys look about ready for some action. I’ll do anything you want me to do for $60.”

Without missing a beat, one of the farmers pulls three $20 bills out of his pocket and says, “Here you go, Ma’am; drive that load of hogs to the Maple Street auction barn.”