The worst day of my life
There I was is sitting at the bar staring at my drink when a large, troublemaking 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 suddenly burst into tears.
“Oh, 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 say. “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 in bed with the gardener, 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 and sit here watching the poison dissolve; then you, you jerk, show up and drink the whole thing! But enough about me, how’s your day going?”
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