A blonde is speaking to her psychiatrist.
Blonde: "I'm on the
road a lot, and my clients are complaining that they can never reach
me."
Psychiatrist: "Don't you have a phone in your
car?"
Blonde: "That was a little too expensive, so I did the next best
thing. I put a mailbox in my car."
Psychiatrist: "Uh ... How's that
working?"
Blonde: "Actually, I haven't gotten any letters
yet."
Psychiatrist: "And why do you think that is?"
Blonde: "I
figure its because when I'm driving around, my zip code keeps changing."
[Mother Shiptons Prophecy] [Poetry]
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