November 19, 2004

So, This Guy Goes Into A Bar

A businessman, wearing a suit and tie and carrying a briefcase sits down at the bar and orders a beer. The bartender pours him a cold one in a frosty glass, and goes back to his crossword puzzle - it's a slow afternoon. After a while, the bartender notices that this guy is holding out his left palm, examining it, poking it repeatedly with his right index finger, laying it alongside his face, and muttering at it. The bartender thinks, "oh, great, another fucking nutjob" and decides to keep a surreptitious eye on his customer. You got to watch the strange ones, after all. The bartender learned this during a particularly stressful night in the Cook County lockup, but that's another joke.

Before long, the customer calls the bartender over and orders another beer. Just like that, no fuss, and he certainly doesn't act crazy in any other way...the bartender, puzzled, watches the man out of the corner of his eye while he wipes down the bar. Soon, the man starts the palm routine over again - holding it up, eye level, punching it with his right index finger. After a short pause, he mutters something into his hand, makes a fist, then leans back for a long swig of his beer.

Well, curiosity got the better of our barkeep. He just couldn't stand not knowing what this guy's damage was, so he walked right over to the businessman and asked him.

"Hey, buddy. You doin' allright?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine."

"Uhh...I hope you don't mind me asking, but, uhh, what exactly is it that you're, uhh, doin' with your hand, there?"

A smile breaks across the businessman's face. "Oh! This! Yeah," he laughs, "I forget how crazy I look to people who don't know. See, I travel all the time, but I have to stay in touch with the office." He made a broad gesture, indicating his briefcase. "I have a bad habit of leaving my cell phones in trains and planes and rental cars," he said sheepishly. "So, I had this surgeon friend of mine implant a cell phone in my hand! Now, I'm always in touch, and I don't have to worry about lugging a cell phone around with me."

The businessman turned his palm to face the bartender, and there our barkeep could clearly see all the usual buttons on a cell phone, as well as a tiny hinged antenna that seemed to fold up and down whenever the businessman made a fist.

"Ohh. Well, um, I guess that's cool," the bartender said. "I was just wonderin'...heh, um, you looked pretty crazy." He smiled at the businessman tentatively, hoping not to offend the guy - after all, he hadn't tipped yet. The businessman smiled at the bartender as a little digital beeping began.

"Excuse me," said the businessman, "I have to take this."

The bartender moseyed back over to his bar and started cutting up lemons and limes and oranges for the garnish tray, chuckling to himself over the guy with the cell phone hand. A few minutes later, the businessman walked by on his way to the Men's room and asked if the bartender would mind keeping an eye on his briefcase while he attended the call of Nature. The bartender replied that it would be no problem, and went to the stock room to pull out a fresh can of maraschino cherries.

Ten minutes go by, then fifteen, then twenty. The businessman still isn't back from the bathroom, and the bartender is starting to pity the guy, thinking, "damn, he was haulin' a load". Ten more minutes go by, and the barkeep gets worried. Another five, and he goes in to check on the businessman, to make sure he's all right in there.

The bartender opens the door to find the businessman buck naked and spreadeagled on the bathroom floor. He's arching his ass up slightly - elevating it - and from the distended asshole protrudes an entire roll of toilet paper.

The businessman hears the door open, cranes his neck a little, and shoots the bartender a nasty look. "Do you mind?" he says. "I'm trying to send a fax."

Posted by Queenie at November 19, 2004 11:09 PM
Post a comment

Remember personal info?