A lawyer, a doctor and an engineer have all been sentenced to
die for crimes that they have committed.

The Lawyer is brought up in shackles and placed in the
guillotine. The executioner pulls the lever to activate the
device and the blade starts to fall but jams. The Lawyer is
spared and released to go free.

The Doctor is brought up in shackles and placed in the
guillotine. The executioner pulls the lever to activate the
device and the blade starts to fall but jams. The Doctor is
spared and released to go free.

The Engineer is brought up in shackles and placed in the
guillotine. The executioner reaches for the lever to activate
the device and the engineer shouts, “Wait! Stop everything! I
think I’ve figured out your problem!”

What’s the difference between a catfish and a lawyer?

One’s a slimy scum-sucking scavenger, the other is just a fish.

What’s the difference between a lawyer and God?

God doesn’t think he’s a lawyer—

A tourist wanders into a back-alley antique shop in San Francisco’s
Chinatown. Picking through the objects on display he discovers a
detailed, life-sized bronze sculpture of a rat. The sculpture is so
interesting and unique that he picks it up and asks the shop owner
what it costs.

“Twelve dollars for the rat, sir,” says the shop owner, “and a
thousand dollars more for the story behind it.”

“You can keep the story, old man,” he replies, “but I’ll take the
rat.”

The transaction complete, the tourist leaves the store with the
bronze rat under his arm. As he crosses the street in front of the
store, two live rats emerge from a sewer drain and fall into step
behind him. Nervously looking over his shoulder, he begins to walk
faster, but every time he passes another sewer drain, more rats
come out and follow him. By the time he’s walked two blocks, at
least a hundred rats are at his heels, and people begin to point
and shout. He walks even faster, and soon breaks into a trot as
multitudes of rats swarm from sewers, basements, vacant lots, and
abandoned cars. Rats by the thousands are at his heels, and as he
sees the waterfront at the bottom of the hill, he panics and starts
to run full tilt.

No matter how fast he runs, the rats keep up, squealing hideously,
now not just thousands but millions, so that by the time he comes
rushing up to the water’s edge a trail of rats twelve city blocks
long is behind him. Making a mighty leap, he jumps up onto a light
post, grasping it with one arm while he hurls the bronze rat into
San Francisco Bay with the other, as far as he can heave it. Pulling
his legs up and clinging to the light post, he watches in amazement
as the seething tide of rats surges over the breakwater into the
sea, where they drown.

Shaken and mumbling, he makes his way back to the antique shop.

“Ah, so you’ve come back for the rest of the story,” says the owner.
“No,” says the tourist, “I was wondering if you have a bronze lawyer.”

Its been a while since I picked on lawyers.
Maybe I can make up for lost time with the report of a
conversation during a convention of biological scientists, one
prominent researcher remarked to another, “Did you know that in
our lab we have switched from mice to lawyers for our experiments?”

“Really?” the other researcher replied. “Why did you switch?”

“Well, for three reasons. First we found that lawyers are far
more plentiful. Second, the lab assistants don’t get so attached
to them, and thirdly there are some things even a rat won’t do.”

One day, a lawyer died. He went to the gates of Hell to receive his
eternal punishment. The Devil called his servant and told him too
take the lawyer to the deepest, hottest pit, get the heaviest
sledgehammer and the hardest rocks, and put him to work. The servant
did as he was told.

The servant decided to check on him an hour later. When he got there,
the lawyer was smiling and whistling while he worked. Confused, he
asked the man, “Are you enjoying this?”

The lawyer replied, “When I was a child I worked on a farm with my
father. This actually brings back a lot of good memories.”

The servant thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers and the
deep, hot pit turned into an arctic environment.

“Maybe this will be a little less satisfying!” said the servant
happily.

An hour later, the servant went to check on the lawyer and saw that
he was still smiling and whistling! “Why are you still happy?” he
asked.

“Well,” replied the lawyer, “it’s cold day in Hell, the Rams must
have won the Superbowl!”

A lawyer and a Pope die at the same time and go up to
heaven together. After they’ve been there awhile, the
Pope notices that the lawyer gets a little better
treatment than he does. So he calls St. Peter over to
ask him why.

He says, “You know that lawyer I came up here with?
Well, I’m not complaining, but he seems to be treated
a little better than I am … he’s got a better house
and more servants. I don’t understand. I was a Pope and
served God all my life; this guy was just a lawyer. What
gives?”

St. Peter responded, “You have to understand - we get
Popes all the time; this is the first lawyer we’ve
ever had.”

A secretary, a paralegal and a partner in a city law firm
are walking through a park on their way to lunch when they
find an antique oil lamp. They rub it and a Genie comes
out in a puff of smoke. The Genie says, “I usually only
grant three wishes, so I’ll give each of you just one.”
“Me first! Me first!” says the secretary. “I want to be in
the Bahamas, driving a speedboat, without a care in the
world. Poof! She’s gone.
“Me next! Me next!” says the paralegal. “I want to be in
Hawaii, relaxing on the beach with my personal masseuse, an
endless supply of pina coladas and the love of my life.”
Poof! He’s gone.
“You’re next,” the Genie says to the partner.
The partner says, “I want those two back in the office after
lunch.”

Ms. Quisenberry, receptionist at a noted law firm, answered
the phone the morning after the firm’s senior partner had
passed away, quite unexpectedly.

“Is Mr. Smith there?” asked the client on the phone.

“I’m very sorry, but Mr. Smith passed away last night,” Ms.
Quisenberry replied.

“Is Mr. Smith there?” repeated the client.

The receptionist was perplexed. “Perhaps you didn’t understand
me. I’m afraid Mr. Smith passed away last night.”

“Yes. Is Mr. Smith there?” asked the client, yet again.

“Really, sir! Do you understand what I’m saying?” queried the
exasperated receptionist. “Mr. Smith is dead.”

“I understand you perfectly,” sighed the client. “I just can’t
hear it often enough.”

A group of terrorists burst into the conference room at the
4 Star Hotel where the American Bar Association was holding
its Annual Convention. More than a hundred lawyers were taken
as hostages.

The saavy terrorist leader announced that, unless their demands
were met immediately, they would release one lawyer every hour.