Willing Lawyer

"You must make a will," the lawyer said treading meaningfully on my little toe.

"Will?" I gasped as I gingerly extracted my bruised toe from underneath his size ten shoes.

"Certainly," he replied earnestly.

"Will?" I asked.

"Will," he replied.

"But I already have a will," I told him.

"Who is that rascal?" he demanded.

"My will," I told him, "is very strong and certainly not like my false teeth."

"Your dentist made your will?" he asked aghast, "he must have chloroformed you silly and then obtained your consent with his forceps."

"That's a lot of gas," I pointed out.

"Did he use laughing gas? I thought that was a scene in 'Pink Panther'!" the lawyer guffawed.

"I was speaking about plain gas," I said.

"Not the one that turns pink in water? I did it once in the chemistry lab in school and was thereafter sent to another one meant for juvenile delinquents."

"What did you learn while there besides the law?" I asked.

"Picking brains and pockets," he replied.

"But not about wills?" I asked.

"That too," he said nodding his head vigorously, "I graduated in making wills for the soon to be departed."

"I will depart soon, I think," I told him.

"So very nice of you, but you must make a will before you kick the bucket," he insisted.

"But I have a will, I already told you that," I said patiently.

"But you did not reveal the name of the one-legged shyster who drew it up for you," he replied.

"I meant I have willpower," I said patiently.

"Then you must make a will," he said earnestly.

"I have already thought of whom to leave my money to," I said.

"That's quite all right, but I get twenty-five per cent," he said happily.

"You don't look like a mugger," I said amazed, "Who would have thought to be mugged by a fellow in a black coat!"

"I wear a gown to court," he said snobbishly.

"I bet you wear it to ball dances too," I said.

"Then I wear a tuxedo," he said informatively.

"You also wear it when you go mugging innocent lambs?" I asked.

"Then I wear a mask and put on kid gloves," he replied.

"You mug innocent lambs to make their wills?" I asked.

"Willing lambs," he corrected me.

"Then what do you do?"

"I watch 'The Silence of the Lambs'.

"How many times have you seen it," I asked.

"Every time I make a will," he said bashfully.

"Do you intend to see Anthony Hopkins and Jodie Foster again?" I asked.

"Yes, if they let me make their wills," he replied shrugging his shoulders.

"You will go to Hollywood?" I asked surprised.

"I am not yet out of the woods," he confided, "I am trying to find lambs to write their wills, I will think of expanding to Hollywood later."

"And charge a twenty-five percent fee?" I asked.

"For lamb, it's fifty-five per cent because their lives are short and they invariably land up on my dinner plate," he said smugly.

"You eat your clients?" I asked horrified.

"You can also suck them like a lozenge or swallow them whole," he replied proudly.

"Are you a cannibal?" I asked fearfully.

"Sort of," he said.

"Oh!"

"Those who can't pay my fees get canned and I throw away the can opener," he said with an evil smile.

"You could get Dracula as your client," I suggested.

"Wouldn't bother about him, he stays mostly in his coffin and there are no trains to Transylvania," he said dismissively.

"But just think of the twenty-five percent you will make before he turns bloodsucker," I said.

"I could teach him a thing or two about blood sucking," he said contemptuously.

"But you don't have fangs," I said looking closely at his teeth.

"I don't need to, I use a straw," he replied.

"You clutch at all straws?" I asked.

"No, I steer clear of those who stick straws in their hair," he said.

"I won't make a will even if you stick straws up your left nostril," I said adamantly.

He leant on my foot a bit and then leant some more.

"Ow! I give up! I will make a will!" I said wheezing.

"Here is pen and paper," he said taking them out of his pocket.

"Let me think," I said thoughtfully tapping my forehead.

"It's going tick tock, maybe you should get a cuckoo clock," he said grinning.

"I can't be cuckoo, that's my neighbour who lives next door to the gentleman with the bats in his belfry," I said stiffly.

"More clients," he said gleefully, "now make your last will and testament."

"Why last?"

"I don't want another scoundrel rewriting it," he said.

"Are you calling me a scoundrel?" I asked warmly.

"No, I mean if you go to another lawyer," he replied.

"I can always take a second and third opinion," I reminded him.

"That will cost you," he warned, "Fifty percent for a second opinion and seventy-five percent for a third opinion."

"All right, I will settle for the original twenty-five percent," I said reluctantly.

"It just went up to thirty-five percent," he said.

"What is that for?" I asked amazed.

"For dithering," he said swiftly, "Time is money."

"I've been timed out," I said regretfully.

"Do you want to confess your sins before I write your will?" he asked.

"How much will that be?" I asked concerned.

"We will come to that later, who will be the beneficiary of your will?" he asked businesslike.

"The doggie that sleeps on my doorstep," I said.

"A dog?" he asked amazed.

"I always wanted to leave my all to an orphaned orangutan, but a homeless doggie will do just as well," I said happily.

"You must be bananas!" he ejaculated.

"Do I look like a banana?" I asked annoyed.

"The banana has a perfect figure, 19-19-19," he remarked.

"That would make it a teenager," I said incredulously.

"Can't a banana be a teenager?" he demanded pinching my bottom.

"Ow! But a banana can't make a will!" I exclaimed.

"Anyone and everyone can make a will and I get 25 percent," he said, "All right, what will the mongrel get?"

"All my immovable and movable properties and the cash at the bank," I said.

"Anything other things that you have in mind?"

"I forgot the goat that is always baying at the moon and keeps me up at night," I said.

"How much does he get?" the lawyer inquired.

"He doesn't get anything," I snickered.

"What about donating something for the lambs?" he asked hopefully.

"I can donate a dozen bananas for them or a castrated bamboo, whichever they prefer," I replied.

"Will you leave something in charity for dumbasses then? I run a charitable institution for them," the lawyer said.

 "You can bet your bottom half that I will not do that," I said strongly.

"I don't gamble," he retorted, "and my bottom is not generally known to bookies."

"You can leave it for dissection after you kick the bucket," I suggested.

"I won't have anyone carving up my posterior," he said indignantly.

"Then you can leave it in your will to the Abominable Snowman, Bigfoot and the sundry, anonymous bottoms!" I said and walked off in a huff.