Hell of a Day

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 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 and sit here watching
the poison dissolve; and then you show up and drink the whole
darn thing!

“But, enough about me, how are you doing?”

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