>Olympic Village

>Here comes the joke you’re all going to hate me for today. It might not be the only one either, I’ve got a fair bit of mail to look at.

Three guys were trying to sneak into the Olympic Village to scoop souvenirs and autographs. The first says, “Let’s watch the registration table to see if there’s a crack in the security system that we can utilize to scam our way in.”

Immediately, a burly athlete walks up to the table and states, “Angus MacPherson.  Scotland.  Shot-put.”  He opens his gym bag to display a shot-put to the registration attendant.

The attendant says, “Very good, Mr. MacPherson.  Here is your packet of registration materials, complete with hotel keys, passes to all Olympic events, meal tickets, and other information.”

The first guy gets inspired and grabs a small tree sapling. He strips off the limbs and roots, walks up to the registration table and states: “Chuck Wagon.  Canada.  Javelin.”

The attendant says, “Very good, Mr. Wagon.  Here is your packet of registration materials, hotel keys, passes, meal tickets, and so forth.  Good luck!”

The second guy grabs a street utility manhole cover, walks up to the registration table and states: “Dusty Rhodes.  Australia. Discus.”

The attendant says, “Terrific, Mr. Rhodes.  Here is your packet of registration materials, hotel keys, a full set of passes, and meal tickets.  Enjoy yourself.”

The third guy, a simpleton from the hills of Vermont, walks proudly up to the table with a roll of barbed wire under his arm and states: “Foster Bean. Vermont. Fencing.”

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