The string named Slim growls. "I'm gettin' a drink!" He pushes past the doors, but a few seconds later comes flying out to land in the dusty street. An angry barkeep appears in the doorway. "Can't ya read? We don't serve yer type here!" He stomps back inside.
Another string, a twisted old man, shoves his Stetson back. "We'll see about that!" He saunters inside. A few seconds later a fight starts; tables bust, men and women yell, a chair hits the wall, glass breaks. The second string flies over the swinging doors to land, disheveled, in the street by his bruised, dazed friend. The barkeep appears in the doorway again, yells, "NO STRINGS!" points at the sign, glares at the third string and stomps back inside. A few feet in he stops and hollers over his shoulder. "We don't serve your kind! Go away."
The third string, a strong string, practically a small horsehair rope, glances at the sign, at his friends baking under the Arizona sun in the dirt, and into the saloon at the bar. He ponders a second, removes his hat, loops around himself a few times, and messes up his top end so threads stick out everywhere. He hangs his hat on a nearby nail and moseys inside.
A furious shriek from the bar greets him. "Hey! Don't your type ever learn? We don't want no strings here!"
"I'll have a beer."
Apoplectic, the barkeep throws a glass on the floor. "We! Don't! Serve! Strings!"
"Ain't a string. Now where's my beer?"
The barkeep just stares. "Not a string?!?!?"
"Nope. I'm a frayed knot."
3 comments:
hahahaha! not a string!
have you heard the one about the cowboy whose horse is stolen at the bar?
...A cowboy rode into a strange town and stopped at a saloon for a drink. Unfortunately, the locals always had a habit of picking on strangers. When he finished his drink, he found his horse had been stolen.
He went into the bar, handily flipped his gun into the air, caught it above his head without even looking and fired a shot into the ceiling.
Which one of you sidewinders stole my horse?
No one answered.
All right, Im gonna have another beer, and if my horse aint back outside by the time I finish, Im gonna have to do what I dun in Texas! And I dont like to have to do what I dun in Texas!
Some of the locals shifted restlessly. The cowboy, true to his word, had another drink, walked outside, and his horse had been returned to the post.
He saddled up and started to ride out of town. The bartender wandered out of the bar and asked, Say partner, before you go: what happened in Texas?
The cowboy turned back and said, I had to walk home.
Bwahahaha! Thanks, I love it!
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