It was his worst day ever. Or was it?
My friend, Roy, sent me this e-mail funny. You may or may not like it, but I thought it was comical.
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, what are you 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 grown 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 in the capsule that will end it all. Then, I sit here watching the poison dissolve; and you show up and drink the whole doggone thing!
“But hey, enough about me. How are you doing?”