As the sun rose one fine morning, the rancher headed out on his customary journey to view the herd of cows that roamed the great expanse of his farm. He casually informed Amy, his trustworthy companion, of the impending visit by the insemination expert.
“Our bovine visitor is soon to receive the attention of the insemination maestro,” he said, a purposeful twinkle in his eye. To ensure a seamless experience, I drove a strong nail into the sturdy 2×4 wood, just a hair’s breadth above the stall where the lucky cow resides.
Could you, dear Amy, please assist us in leading the guy to the cow’s house once he arrives?” After delivering his message, the rancher entered the fertile fields, eager to tackle the day’s tasks.
In due course, the specialist in the art of artificial insemination announced his arrival with a knock on the ranch’s welcome front door. He revealed his professional mission, “I’ve come to facilitate the intricate process of cow insemination.” Amy, well-versed in her duty, led him to the barn, where the bovine subjects waited.
“Tell me, lady, ’cause I’m dying to know,” the man says, figuring he’s dealing with an airhead blonde. “How do YOU know this is the right cow to breed?” “That’s simple,” she explained. “By the nail over its stall,” she confidently says.
The man laughs angrily at her and asks, “And what, pray tell, is the nail for?” The blonde walks away and politely whispers, “I guess it’s to hang your pants on.”
(It’s great to see a blonde win now and then.)
