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 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 old lady 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 jack-ass, show up and drink the whole thing! But enough about me, how’s your day going?”
A Bad Day
