![](https://cdn.amomama.com/78e1aa11dd6d7fd0e33de2e40093309e770131521215686.jpeg)
The name was the game, and the boy was to blame
My Name's Joe...
There once was a farmer whose wife had died and left him with three beautiful teenage daughters. Every weekend, when they went out on dates, the farmer would stand at the door with his shotgun, making it clear to their dates he wanted no trouble from them.
![Source: Flickr](https://cdn.amomama.com/05d6b8d6f0eeae2663c2ac43e781c14c581921521218182.jpeg)
Source: Flickr
Another Saturday night came around. About 7 p.m., there was a knock on the door. He answered and the young man said: "Hi, my name's Joe. I'm here for Flo. I'm taking her to the show. Is she ready to go?"
The farmer thought he was a clever boy and wished them a good time.
A few minutes later, another knock was heard. A second boy appeared and said: "Hi, I'm Eddie. I'm here for Betty. I'm taking her for spaghetti. I hope she's ready."
![Source: Pixabay](https://cdn.amomama.com/29a57e11c716668eee5df58966db1c2a1268111521218226.jpeg)
Source: Pixabay
He thought that he must know Joe, but bade them off as well with his best wishes.
A few minutes after that, a third knock was heard.
"Hi, I'm Chuck..." The farmer shot him.