Since my last post was this past Wednesday, perhaps you're wondering why it took so long for this next guy to find his way into the bar. Well, he's old. (Or maybe he just sells old shoes. I didn't ask.)
Anyway, today's suggestion comes courtesy of Lynn Proctor:
An old shoe salesman walks into a bar. As he takes a seat, the bartender says, "Jeez, you stink."
The old man sizes him up. "I advise you to bite your tongue, sir."
"But your odor will drive away my business."
"Tread lightly. Now I would like—"
"Perhaps you'd enjoy a seat on our patio? Honestly, your stench is beginning to clog my nasal passages."
"Sir, my patience with you is wearing thin. Now, I've been straight-laced my whole life, but I've been told I must try your signature drink."
The bartender arches one eyebrow. "The Steel Toad?"
"That's the one. My stepson recommends it highly. It's my sole reason for coming here."
"Stepson, huh? Wow, with your smell I'd have pegged you as a bachelor."
"Lord, you're such a heel. The converse is true. I'm married, with children."
"Let me level with you. It's an expensive drink, and not only do you stink, but you're shoddily dressed to boot. You sure you can foot the bill?"
The old man socks the bartender in the mouth and walks out.
With this subject matter, you probably expected at least one footnote, didn't you? Well, as they say, expect the unexpected.1 And come back soon; the alliterative trio of barista, barrister, and barbarian are barging in next.
1 Although, in this case, perhaps you should have unexpected the expected. Then again, I've ruined things by adding this, haven't I? Drat. That is so like me.