'A string walked into a bar, hopped on the barstool, and said, 'Bartender, gimme a beer.' The bartender said, 'I'm sorry, sir, we don't serve strings here.' Disappointed, the string hopped down from the stool and went to the next bar. He hopped on the barstool and said, again, 'Bartender, gimme a beer.' The bartender said, 'I'm sorry sir, we don't serve strings here.' The string continued down the row of bars in this fashion. At every bar, he hopped on the barstool and said, 'Bartender, gimme a beer.' The bartender at every bar in turn said, 'I'm sorry sir, we don't serve strings here.' Finally he got to the last bar in the area. He was tired, he was sweaty, all he wanted was a beer. He trudged inside, climbed on the barstool, and said, 'Bartender, gimme a beer.' This bartender, too, said, 'I'm sorry, sir, we don't serve strings here.' Tired and angry, the string walked outside to think. He was a hard-working string. He deserved a beer. Finally, he came up with an idea. He had a passerby tie him up into a bow and frazzle his ends. Then he went back into the bar, and climbed up on the barstool. 'Bartender, gimme a beer!' he said loudly. The bartender looked him over critically, and finally yelled, 'Hey, aren't you that string that was in here a few minutes ago?' The string replied coolly, 'Nope, I'm a frayed knot.''
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'A string walked into a bar, hopped on the barstool, and said, 'Bartender, gimme a beer.' The bartender said, 'I'm sorry, sir, we don't serve strings here.' Disappointed, the string hopped down from the stool and went to the next bar. He hopped on the barstool and said, again, 'Bartender, gimme a beer.' The bartender said, 'I'm sorry sir, we don't serve strings here.' The string continued down the row of bars in this fashion. At every bar, he hopped on the barstool and said, 'Bartender, gimme a beer.' The bartender at every bar in turn said, 'I'm sorry sir, we don't serve strings here.' Finally he got to the last bar in the area. He was tired, he was sweaty, all he wanted was a beer. He trudged inside, climbed on the barstool, and said, 'Bartender, gimme a beer.' This bartender, too, said, 'I'm sorry, sir, we don't serve strings here.' Tired and angry, the string walked outside to think. He was a hard-working string. He deserved a beer. Finally, he came up with an idea. He had a passerby tie him up into a bow and frazzle his ends. Then he went back into the bar, and climbed up on the barstool. 'Bartender, gimme a beer!' he said loudly. The bartender looked him over critically, and finally yelled, 'Hey, aren't you that string that was in here a few minutes ago?' The string replied coolly, 'Nope, I'm a frayed knot.''
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A good writer is not necessarily a good book critic. No more so than a good drunk is automatically a good bartender.
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Because it is in the nature of things that they become extreme, we have passed down from manliness to cruelty. If I had been told when I was 20 that there was a tavern in the town where the brave and the cruel were gathered together, I would have run all the way and I would have gone up to the largest and leatheriest of the denizens and said: If you truly love me, kill the bartender.
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Only one marriage I regret. I remember after I got that marriage license I went across from the license bureau to a bar for a drink. The bartender said, What will you have, sir? And I said, A glass of hemlock.
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