A local bar was so sure that its barman was the strongest man in the Village that they offered a standing £1000 bet.
The barman would squeeze a lemon until all the juice ran out and challenge any man to squeeze out another drop.
Weightlifters, arm wrestlers, they all tried and lost the bet.
Then one day, a scrawny wee man, (if he stood sideways you would not see him) wearing scratched glasses, a ten-year-old polyester suit, walked in and said, “I’d like to take on the bet.”
After the laughter had died down, the barman said, “Okay,” grabbed the lemon and squeezed away.
Then he handed the wrinkled remains of the lemon rind to the little man.
But the crowd’s laughter turned to total silence as the wee man clenched his little fist around the lemon and squeezed it, and a drop fell into the glass.
Then he squeezed some more, and another drop fell from the lemon.
Without a word, the wee man squeezed some more, and a third drop fell into the glass.
The crowd in the bar were astonished and speechless.
As the barman paid the £1000 bet, he asked, “What do you do for a living? Are you a lumberjack, a metal worker, a weight-lifter, or what?”
The little man quietly replied: “I’m a tax collector.”