Slay.me

An old guy walks into  a bar and asks for a bottle of forty-year old Scotch.  The bartender, not wanting to give up the good liquor, pours a shot of ten-year Scotch and figures that the guy won’t be able to tell the difference.  The guy downs the Scotch and says: “This Scotch is only ten years old!  I specifically asked for forty-year old Scotch.”

Amazed, the bartender reaches into a locked cabinet underneath the bar and pulls out a bottle of twenty-year old Scotch and pours the man a shot.  The guy drinks it down and says, “That was twenty-year old Scotch.  I asked for forty-year old Scotch.”

So the bartender goes into the back room and brings out a bottle of thirty-year old Scotch and pours the guy a drink.   By now a small crowd has gathered around the man and is watching anxiously as he downs the latest drink.  Once again the guy states the true age of the Scotch and repeats his original request for forty-year old Scotch.

The bartender can hold off no longer and disappears into the cellar to get a bottle of prime forty-year old Scotch. Soon, the bartender returns with the bottle and pours a shot. The guy downs the Scotch and says, “Now this is forty-year old Scotch!”  The crowd applauds his discriminating palate.

An old drunk who had been watching the proceedings with interest, raises a full shot glass of his own and says, “Here, take a swig of this.”

The guy takes the glass and downs the drink in one swallow. Immediately, he chokes and spits out the liquid on the barroom floor. “My God!  That tastes like piss,” he yells.

“Great guess,” says the drunk.  “Now, how old am I?”

A string walks into a bar with a few friends and orders a beer. The bartender says, “I’m sorry, but we don’t serve strings here.”

The string goes back to his table. He ties himself in a loop and messes up the top of his hair. He walks back up to the bar and orders a beer.

The bartender squints at him and says, “Hey, aren’t you a string?”

The string says, “Nope, I’m a frayed knot.”

One night, two Eskimos are sitting in a bar in northern Alaska, when they are accosted by a young man from the Mainland. The fellow has obviously been drinking. He slurs, “Hey, ya know, I’ve always admired you Eskimos. I REEAAALLLY like Eskimos. I’ve ALWAYS WANTED to be an Eskimo. Tell me how ta BE an Eskimo, huh?”

The Eskimos wink at each other. One tells the guy, “Okay, to become an Eskimo, there are only three things that you have to do. First, you’ve got to drink a whole bottle of Yukon Jack at once, then you’ve got to kill a polar bear with your bare hands, and, finally, you have to make love to an Eskimo woman.”

The guy takes this in. He ticks off three fingers to himself. Then he heads over to the bar, and orders a bottle of Yukon Jack. Already drunk, he drinks the whole thing down. This has a bad effect on his balance. The fellow staggers out of the bar, muttering something like “Polar bear, Polar bear…”

Several hours pass.

Finally, the door to the bar opens, and the drunk is back. He looks a fright. His parka is ripped, one of his arms is dangling at a crazy angle, and he’s got blood all over his face. He staggers over to the Eskimos, and says, “ALL right. I’ve got the Yukon Jack. I’ve got the polar bear. Now WHERE’S THIS ESKIMO BITCH I’VE GOTTA KILL?”