A man walks into a bar.
He has a face like a Mr. Potato Head if you were to somehow shove a brick up its ass and make it really angry looking all the time.
Sauntering up to the bartender, he slams a canned-ham fist full of dollars down and mumbles something incoherently low in a voice like broken glass.
The barkeep nods and takes the wadded lump of cash gingerly to the register.
"Drinks on the house!" Mr. Potato Head bellows, to the astonished delight of the surrounding patrons.
The room quickly empties in an avalanche of drunken flailing limbs, all scrambling for the stairs leading to the roof.
"Works every time." Says Mr. Potato Head, sliding into his favorite booth.
No comments:
Post a Comment