The CIA has an opening for an assassin.
After all the background checks, interviews & testing were done, there were 3 women finalists…
a Navajo, an Ojibway and a Mohawk.
For the final test, the CIA agent took the Navajo woman & handed her a gun…
“We must know that you will follow your instructions, no matter what the circumstances. Inside this room you will find your husband sitting in a chair. Kill him.” The Navajo woman said, “You can’t be serious. I couldnever shoot my husband.” The agent said, “Then you’re not the right woman for this job. Take your husband and go home”
The second woman, an Ojibway, was given the same instruction. She took the gun & went into the room. All was quiet for about 5 minutes. Then she came out with tears in her eyes, “I tried, but I can’t kill my husband”. The agent said, “You don’t have what it takes. Take your husband and go home.”
Finally, it was the Mohawk woman’s turn. She was given the same instruction to kill her husband. She took the gun & went into the room. Shots were heard… one shot after the other. They heard screaming, crashing, banging on the walls. After a few minutes, all was quiet, the door opened slowly and there stood the Mohawk woman. She wiped the sweat from her brow….
“This gun is loaded with blanks!!” she said, “so I had to beat him to death with the chair.”
It was autumn, and the Indians on the remote reservation asked their new Chief if the winter was going to be cold or mild. Since he was an Indian Chief in a modern society, he had never been taught the old secrets and, when he looked at the sky, he couldn’t tell what the weather was going to be.
To be on the safe side, he replied to his tribe that the winter was indeed going to be cold and that the members of the village should collect wood to be prepared. Being a practical leader, he decided to seek advice from experts.
He went to the phone booth, called the National Weather Service and asked, “Is the coming winter going to be cold?” “It looks like this winter is going to be quite cold indeed,” the meteorologist responded.
So the Chief went back to his people and told them to collect even more wood in order to be prepared. A week later he called the National Weather Service again. “Is it still going to be a cold winter?” he asked.
“Yes,” the man again replied, “it’s going to be a very cold winter.
The Chief again went back to his people and ordered them to collect every scrap of wood they could find. Two weeks later he called the National Weather Service again. “Are you absolutely sure that this winter is going to be very cold?” he asked for a third time.
“Absolutely,” the weatherman replied. “In fact, it’s going to be one of the coldest winters ever!”
“How can you be so sure?” the Chief asked.
The weatherman replied, “The Indians are gathering wood like crazy.”
The old man was on his deathbed. He had only hours to live when he suddenly smelled the scent of bannock wafting into his room.
Aaahhhh… He loved bannock more than anything else in the world.
With his last bit of energy, he pulled himself out of bed. Down the stairs and into the kitchen he went. There was his beloved wife, kneading the dough for a new batch. As he reached for one, he got smacked across the back of his hand with the wooden spoon his wife was holding.
“Leave them alone!” she said. “They’re for the funeral!”
Three Indian women died and were brought before the Great Spirit for judgment. The Great Spirit said,”I will let you into paradise if the beliefs you lived by were proper. Tell me what you believed when you were alive.
“The Cree woman said, “I have always believed in the Grandfathers and the Generations, and that is how I lived my life.” “Fine,” said The Great Spirit. “You may enter paradise and sit beside me.”
What did you believe?” he asked of the Ojibway woman “I have always believed in Goodness, and I have tried to live my life in a good way.”
“Fine! You may also enter paradise and sit beside me.”
Then he turned to the third woman, a Mohawk. “And what do you believe?” The Mohawk woman said, “I believe you’re sitting in my chair!”
An eccentric billionaire wanted a mural painted on his library wall, so he called in an artist. Describing what he wanted, the billionaire said, “I am a history buff, and I would like your interpretation of the last thing that went through Custer’s mind before he died. I am going out of town on business for a week, and when I return I expect to see it completed.
Upon his return, the billionaire went to the library to examine the finished work. To his surprise he found a painting of a cow with a halo. Surrounding this there were hundreds of Indians in various stages and different positions of making love. Furious he called the artist in.
“What the h*** is this??” screamed the billionaire.
“Why, that’s exactly what you asked for,” the artist said smugly.
“No! I didn’t ask for a mural of pornographic filth, I asked for a mural of the interpretation of Custer’s last thoughts!”
“And there you have it,” said the artist, “I call it ‘Holy cow, look at all those f***ing Indians.'”
A friend of mine who lives in Saskatoon called 911 the other day. The voice on the message answering said:
“If you’ve been assaulted by an ndn press 1”
“If you’ve been robbed by an ndn press 2”
“If you’ve been robbed and assaulted & don’t know who did it, PLEASE come down to the station and we will find the ndn that did it & we will have a detailed sketch of that individual!”