There I was sitting at the bar staring at my drink when a large,
trouble-making biker steps up next to me, grabs my drink and gulps it
down in one swig.
“Well, whatcha’ gonna do about it?” he says, menacingly, as I burst
into tears. “Come on, man,” the biker says, “I didn’t think you’d CRY.
I can’t stand to see a man crying.”
“This is the worst day of my life,” I said. “I’m a complete failure. I
was late to a meeting and my boss fired me. When I went to the parking
lot, I found my car had been stolen and I don’t have any insurance. I
left my wallet in the cab I took home. I found my wife with another
man… and then my dog bit me.”
“So, I came to this bar to work up the courage to put an end to it
all. I buy a drink, I drop a capsule in it and I sit here watching the
poison dissolve. And then you show up and drink the whole damn thing!
But, hell, enough about me, how are you doing?”