The disparate desperadoes who comprised the Hole-in-the-Wallet gang were running low on cash, as usual. They were also almost out of bullets and didn’t have enough six-shooters to go around.
“We’ll have to be creative,” their leader said. “We’ll send Curly in first with a finger pistol to take a hostage.”
“How do I do that?” Curly wondered out loud.
“You poke your trigger finger in the ribcage of a submissive-looking customer and say, ‘Stick ’em up!’ We’ll do the rest.”
Curly squared his shoulders and swaggered into the lobby of the financial institution.
The remaining outlaws tied bandannas over the lower parts of their faces and were waiting patiently outside the entrance to the bank when they heard a muffled, “Bang! Bang!”
A few anxious moments later, Curly came swaggering out through the door blowing imaginary smoke away from the tip of his extended index finger.
“I had to shoot her,” he announced. “Instead of reaching for the ceiling, she laughed in my face.”
“Why do you suppose she did that?” the leader asked.
“For a couple of reasons I reckon,” Curly said. “All she had to do was look down to see that I didn’t have a real pistol… and she was ticklish.”
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