Blonde Analyst

Norma Jean, the Senior Credit Risk Analyst at Lehman Brothers--Senior in her case since she was the only person in the department--is shown right looking up in disbelief after a quick look at the Company's balance sheet while being pink-slipped at this very moment back on The Street.

This is unfortunate because, not unlike many of the hard-chargers at Lehman's, her monthly standing charges, just to keep the Soho pad and the cottage in The Hamptons going, not to mention the cost of pharmaceuticals which have been skyrocketing in both price and quantity of late, are $24,387.32.

Her interview at Lehman's had been memorably brief inasmuch as Credit Risk Analysis was not the firm's number one rainmaker.

The Senior VP for Human Resources had adjusted the tumescence within his bespoke trousers with the nonchalance of a Street veteran and then asked the prospective executrix a random question just to establish her credentials:

"Norma Jean, are you familiar with Roe vs. Wade? Your answer is meaningless, it's a totally random question, you've already got the job, but just for the record--"

Norma Jean pondered the question; then finally said, 'Roe vs. Wade? Wasn't that the decision George Washington had to make before he crossed the Delaware?'"

Bombed Blondshell Withdrawal Preview

Speaking on behalf of global media conglomerates everywhere, The Journal would like to wish Hillary Rodham Clinton the best of luck and good hunting in her future endeavors on the occasion of her withdrawal from the 2008 Democratic Presidential Primary.

Hard fought though the campaign may have been, and taking into account the considerable disagreement The Editorial Waterboard took to the fair sex's choice of mud catapultation techniques unseen since The Punic Wars, we now extend the hand of compassion and reconciliation to the ex-candidate in profound appreciation for what in the final analysis was the unprecedented vacuum of either humanity or principle in the candidate's electoral re-enactment of Genghis Khan's final campaign in hold-out regions of Lower Manchuria, all in the context of a kinder, more feminine Democratic Party.

The former candidate is shown above in the context of 22 vodka tonics and a Botox overdose during happier times soon after the Pennsylvania primary.

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Blind Drunk

A blind drunk stumbles into an all-female biker bar by mistake.

Somehow he finds his way to a bar stool and orders a boilermaker.

After sitting there for awhile, he yells to the waiter, "Hey, you wanna hear a blonde joke?"

The bar immediately falls silent.

In basso profundo, the woman next to him says, "Before you tell that joke, Mister, I think it only fair to warn you--given that you're blind--that you should know five things:

One, the bartender is a blonde girl with a baseball bat.

Two, the bouncer is a blonde girl who thinks Hillary needs to be President.

Three, I'm a 6 foot tall, 175 lb. blonde woman with a black belt in karate.

Four, the woman sitting next to me is blonde and bench presses 250 lbs.

Five, the lady to your right is a 350 lb. blonde whose period just started.

Now, think about it, Mister, do you still wanna tell that joke?"

The blind man thinks for a second then shakes his head.

"Not if I'm gonna have to explain the sonofabitch five times."

Blonde on Fire

On their honeymoon, the blonde bride slipped into a sexy nightie and, with great anticipation, crawled into bed--only to find that her new Catholic husband had settled down for the night on the couch.

When she asked him why he wasn't going to make love to her, he replied, "It's Lent."

In tears, she cried, "That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! Who did you lend it to and for how long?"

Blonde on Ice

A blonde wanted to go ice fishing. She'd seen many books on the subject and finally getting all the necessary tools together, she made for the ice.

After positioning her comfy footstool, she started to make a circular cut in the ice.

Suddenly, from the sky, a voice boomed: "THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE."

Startled, the blonde moved further down the ice, poured a thermos of cappuccino and began to cut yet another hole.

Again from the heavens the voice bellowed: "THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE."

The blonde, now worried, moved away--clear down to the opposite end of the ice.

She set up her stool once more and tried again to cut her hole. The voice came once more:

"THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE."

She stopped, looked unto the heavens and inquired, 'Is that you, Lord?"

The voice replied: "NO. THIS IS THE MANAGER OF THE HOCKEY RINK."

A Merry Christmas Blonde

A gorgeous young redhead walks painfully into the doctor's office and says that her body hurts wherever she touches it.

"Impossible!" exclaims the doctor in disbelief. "Show me."

With her finger the redhead pushes on her left shoulder and moans.

Then she pokes her elbow and the moan is twice as loud.

When she pushes her knee-cap, she involuntarily throws her head back in a terrible spasm and shatters the air with a piercing scream.

Nearly delirious with pain, she then pushes her ankle and lets loose a blood-curdling howl to make Lassie cringe.

When the scream has stopped ricocheting around the office, the doctor says, "You're not really a redhead, are you?"

"Well, no," she says, "I'm actually a blonde."

"I thought so," says the doctor. "Your finger is broken."