You have two cows. You sell one, and buy a bull. Your herd multiplies, and the economy grows. You sell them and retire on the income.
You have two cows. You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by your brother-in-law at the bank, then execute a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer so that you get all four cows back, with a tax exemption for five cows. The milk rights of the six cows are transferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Island company secretly owned by the majority shareholder who sells the rights to all seven cows back to your listed company. The annual report says the company owns eight cows, with an option on one more. Sell one cow to buy a new president of the United States, leaving you with nine cows. No balance sheet provided with the release. The public buys your bull.
You have two cows. You sell one, and force the other to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when the cow drops dead.
Ya gots two cows. One is your wife. The other, which is actually a cow, is your outlet for sexual relief. In case either cow dies, your daughter is always there. Your herd grows geometrically through incest. Because all of these cows won't fit in your mobile home, you periodically introduce some of them to your methamphetamine lab where you coerce them into overdosing. You then stash the bodies under your mobile home.
You have two cows. Both are mad.
You have two cows. You have 300 people milking them. You claim full employment, high bovine productivity, and arrest the journalist who reported the numbers.
You have two cows. You go on strike because you want three cows.
You have two cows. You reengineer them so they live for 100 years, eat once a month, and milk themselves.
You have two cows. You redesign them so they are one tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk. You then create clever cow cartoon images called Cowkimon and market them worldwide, making millions off the perverted geeks who actually buy that shit.
You have two cows. Germany invades, annexing off the rear of the cow on the left. You do nothing, acknowledging that such activity is a national pastime in Germany.
You have two cows. You count them and learn you have five cows. You count them again and learn you have 42 cows. You count them again and learn you have 12 cows. You stop counting cows and open another bottle of vodka.
Soviet Russian Capitalism Two cows have you. Cows count you and learn that they have (a) eight you. Cows stop counting Jews and another bottle of vodka open you.
You have two cows, but you don't know where they are. You break for siesta.
You have two cows and you can't say where you got them. You happily fill your house of cheese.
New Zealand Capitalism
You have two cows and the one on the right is looking pretty sexy...
You have two cows, business is good so you decide to close up and have a few beers.
4What man of you, having an hundred cow, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?
5And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing.
6And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my cow which was lost.
You have 2 cows and tons of oil.
You have two cows. You worship them. Black Market salesmen sell the cow urine in exchange for lamb testicles. People laugh at you.
You have 2 cows. You sell one, buy a bull. Your neighbor takes his two cows, kills them both, and blames you. You move to a different farm. Your neighbor tells his neighbor that you stole all his cows, and together they steal all your cows save 2.
You have 2 cows...