So this guy goes into a bar, after having the most horrible day of his entire life. I mean, really, really bad–he got layed off at work, then as he pulled into his driveway, he ran over his dog, killing it at and the same time, wrecking his car. When he ran in to tell his wife the dog was dead, he found out she was cheating on him, and, by the way, his goldfish died, too.
Anyway, it was a bad day. So he goes into this bar, sits down, and says to the bartender, “Man, I have had the shittiest day imaginable. I want the strongest, hardest hitting drink you can pour, now.”
The bartender says “You want a Fireball? Uh, sorry buddy, but no one drinks a Fireball and lives to tell the story.”
Guy says “No, you don’t get it. Want to hear about a shitty day? I got fired, accidentally killed one of my own dogs, wrecked my car, found out my wife is banging the mailman, and my goldfish, Finny, he was belly-up, too. Now pour me the fucking drink.”
So the bartender says “Wow. Thats… quite a story. Alright, but I am not going to be responsible for the consequences.” And he pours the guy a Fireball.
The guy slams it down. Bangs the glass on the bar. Blinks for a second, looks at the bartender, and says “pour me another one.”
The bartender says “No fucking way, buddy, no one drinks two Fireballs. You’ll puke all over my bar, and yourself, and your car, and anyone who tries to help you. No.”
The guy says “Look, my wife’s cheating on me, and Finny is dead. I can handle it. Now pour the goddamned drink.”
So the bartender sighs and pours him a Fireball. The guy slams it down and immediately falls off the back of the barstool, hits the ground, and passes out. Some of his friends were there, and they settled his tab and dragged him out the door.
Two days later, the guy comes dragging into the bar, sits down, and says to the bartender “Man, you were right. No one should ever drink more than one of those things. God, I went home, and I blew chunks right there on my front lawn. Then I did it again on the front porch, in the kitchen, in the living room, in my backyard, I blew chunks in the hallway, god I probably even did it on the roof, for all I know.”
The bartender laughs and says “I knew it! No one can take two Fireballs, I told you you’d throw up.”
The guy says “No man, you don’t understand… Chunks is my dog.”
For some reason, women always bust their ass laughing, and guys always look a little repulsed. Heh.