JOKE OF THE DAY
Three Convicts Were on the Way to Prison…
Three convicts were on the way to prison, sitting side by side in the back of a rattling old transport van that smelled like diesel fuel, bad decisions, and yesterday’s regret. The road stretched endlessly ahead, and the silence inside the van was thick enough to chew—until, as silence often does, it broke.
“Well,” he said, adjusting the cuffs on his wrists, “since we’ve got a long ride ahead, I guess we might as well get to know each other. Name’s Alfred. Banker.”
The second convict raised an eyebrow. “Banker?” he repeated. “You don’t look like the criminal mastermind type.”
Alfred sighed. “That’s what I kept telling the judge.”
The third convict chuckled quietly from the corner. He was calm, almost relaxed, as if he were on a bus headed to a beach vacation instead of prison. “Go on,” he said. “This should be good.”
Convict #1: Alfred the Banker
Alfred straightened up as best he could in the cramped seat. “I worked at the same bank for twenty-five years. Never missed a day. Never stole a penny. Never even took an extra pen home.”
“Rookie mistake,” the second convict muttered.
Alfred ignored him. “One day, the bank introduces a new computer system. Complicated thing. Training takes weeks. They tell us, ‘Don’t worry, the system flags mistakes automatically.’”
“Well, one day I accidentally hit an extra zero. Just one. Transferred ten thousand dollars instead of one thousand.”
The third convict whistled. “That’ll do it.”
“I fixed it immediately,” Alfred continued. “Or at least, I thought I did. Turns out I fixed it the wrong way. Long story short, the system flagged it as fraud.”
The second convict leaned forward. “So… prison?”
“Yes,” Alfred said bitterly. “Five years.”
“For a typo?” the third convict asked.
“For a typo,” Alfred confirmed.
Convict #2: Benny the Businessman
The second convict cracked his neck. “Alright, my turn. Name’s Benny. Entrepreneur.”
“Let me guess,” Alfred said. “Tax issues?”
Benny grinned. “You could say that.”
He launched into his story with the confidence of a man who had told it many times before—probably to lawyers.
“I started a small import-export business. Nothing fancy. Phones, electronics, parts. I followed the rules. Mostly.”
“Mostly,” Alfred repeated.
“Well,” Benny continued, “turns out there are a lot of rules. And some of them contradict other rules. And some of them only apply on Tuesdays during leap years.”
The third convict laughed. “Sounds about right.”
“So one day, I get audited. Then re-audited. Then audited again. Next thing I know, I’m accused of tax evasion.”
“Did you evade taxes?” Alfred asked.
Benny shrugged. “I prefer to call it creative accounting.”
“And the judge?” the third convict asked.
“Didn’t appreciate my creativity,” Benny said. “Seven years.”
Alfred shook his head. “Seven years for paperwork.”
Benny nodded. “Paper cuts are dangerous.”
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