The census taker is driving out in the boondocks of Arkansas on assignment and pulls up in front of a small farm. He approaches an old farmer rocking in his chair on the porch.

“What are ye sellin’, sonny?” the farmer asks.

“I’m not selling anything,” the census taker replies. “I’m here to ask you some questions for the census.”

“The what?”

“The census. We’re trying to find out exactly how many people live in the United States.”

“Then you’re wastin’ yer time comin’ here, son. I ain’t got the faintest idea.”