A Man Walks Into A Bar

A man walks into a bar …

… and the dog says, “Should I have said DiMaggio?” … and the duck says, “Yeah, you can get this guy off my butt” … and the man says, “that’s not a lion, it’s a giraffe” … and the barman says, “It’s the peanuts, they’re complementary” … and the woman says, “That’s not my dog” … and the guy says, “They gave me a Chihuahua?” … and the barman says, “I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to the duck” … and the guy says, “Beats me. Do you think I asked for a twelve-inch pianist?” …

… He plans only to have a drink or two, but several hours later, fully loaded, he takes a cab home, thinking this (and the hour he shaved off work) will make it seem like he spent less time at the bar than he did. But it doesn't matter: the kids are already in bed, and his wife goes to bed as soon as the doors are locked. So he gets a few cans of beer from one hiding hole or other and switches on a program he may or may not have watched before and drinks himself to sleep right there on the sofa. This way he doesn’t have to reflect on any of the resentments that made him walk into the bar today and adds just enough to his reserves of self-loathing to ensure he will walk back in again tomorrow.