As the winder over at The Talking Clock says, "So, what the hell is going on here?" You've obviously noticed, as has The Talking Clock, how our various investigative, thirsting for truth, news media are all over this story, right? Right?
After that little, nay, big puzzle, if you’re heading out to your favourite watering hole this evening and, later, chance to see a rabbit further along the bar enjoying himself, then, A) You need to get home quick, or, B) he’s the little guy in the old story below;
A rabbit walks into a pub and says to the barman, “Can I have a pint of beer please.” The barman is amazed but gives the rabbit a pint of beer.
The rabbit drinks his beer then orders a pint of larger.
The rabbit drinks the larger and orders a glass of red wine and asks the barman if they serve food.
“We only serve toasted sandwiches. Would you like one?”
“Sounds good. What’s in ‘em then?”
“Anything you want.”
“I’ll have a ham and carrot toastie then please. An' a glass of white wine."
A little bit after a while ago, the rabbit says to the barman, “That toastie was great. Can I have a carrot toastie please, and a gin and tonic.”
Yet still later the rabbit is back asking for a Scotch on the rocks and another toasted sandwich, this time cheese, pickle, onion and carrot.
The evening progresses with ol' cotton tail drinking himself along the optics and savouring all the toasted sandwiches on offer plus a few of his own 'design'.
Come closing time the rabbit staggers out the bar door having finished his night with a couple of brandies and a chicken, cheese, onion, olives, tomato and carrot toastie.
Next day the the barman opens the door to see a very sick looking rabbit standing there waiting it get in.
“Man, you look a mess. I warned you what’d happen if you kept mixing you’re drinks!”
“It's not mixing ma drinks,” babbles the bilious bunny, “it’s mixing ma toasties.”
Is that groaning I can here hear?
Now that stories so old that while typing it my head did another one of it's, 'Whoa, how far back are we going this time?' things. My head came to a halt with the memory of me remembering a US malt beer called Colt 45 which was available over here in a few places back in the day, not sure about now, and the great fun it was to enter a pub thusly;
“Could I have a Colt 45 please?”
“That malt beer? Sorry, we don’t stock it.”
“Oh, shame. I’ll have a Luger and lime then.”
Is that groaning I can here hear getting louder?
It's all a tad sad isn't it? But this post is really just for me in an attempt to jolly me up before I plumb the mysterious depths of plumbing next week.
Quote; Colin Firth.
“My singing voice is somewhere between a drunken apology and a plumbing problem.“
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