Leroy

A woman walked into the welfare office, trailed by fifteen kids.

"Wow," said the social worker, "are they all yours?"

"Yes, they're all mine," the tired mother sighed, having heard that question a thousand times.

"Well," said the social worker, "you must be here to sign up. I'll need their names."

"This one is my oldest -- he's Leroy," she began.

"Okay, who's next?"

"Well, this here's Leroy, too."

The social worker raised an eyebrow, but continued.

"This is my daughter, Leroy."

The social worker interrupted, "I'm seeing a pattern here. Are they all named Leroy?"

"Yep."

"Isn't that rather, uh, inconvenient?"

"Not at all. When it's time for dinner, I just yell 'Leroy!' and they all come running. And if I need to stop the kid who's running into the street, I just yell 'Leroy' and the kid, whoever he is, stops."

The social worker thought a moment and then asked, "But what if you just want one kid to come and not all of them?"

"Ah, that's easy, too," answered the proud mother. "Then I just call them by their last names!"