Three guys go into a bar…

An employed suburbanite, an unemployed suburbanite, and a desert hermit. They each order a beer and have a seat.

A housefly falls into the beer stein of the employed suburbanite. He grimaces at the waste and orders another beer.

A housefly falls into the beer stein of the unemployed suburbanite. He looks right and left, mutters “oh, gross” and picks the fly out of the beer, hoping nobody sees.

A housefly falls into the beer stein of the desert hermit. He grabs the fly by the wings, shakes it over the stein and yells “Spit it out! Spit it out!”

We’ve been getting these big dust devils that blast up the wash and past the Lair, sometimes carrying absurd quantities of sand and grit right into whatever they hit. A moderate one slammed into the Lair just as I had poured myself an early afternoon beer.

Grit now covers everything. But I never considered discarding my one cold beer. When you live close to the ground in the desert, dirt is the square root of your whole life. I eat more than that in a average day; I’m not averse to drinking it.

About Joel

You shouldn't ask these questions of a paranoid recluse, you know.
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6 Responses to Three guys go into a bar…

  1. Kentucky says:

    Off-topic, but . . . howcum your pictures are so HUGE lately?

  2. Judy says:

    “I eat more than that in a average day; I’m not averse to drinking it.” Keeps you regular, don’t ya know.

    Would hanging damp towels (muslin) in the open windows like they did during the Dust Bowl slow down some of the dirt?

  3. Joel says:

    Dunno. Mine show regular size.

    Anybody else?

  4. suz says:

    Normal size here.

  5. Kentucky says:

    OK . . . got my wife to log onto your site on her ‘puter and click on your pics, and they just come up to “fullscreen” as they should.

    Apparently, I have something wrong in my ancient ‘puter.

    Sorry about that.

  6. There’s a parallel version of that joke from Vietnam.

    Guy gets drafted into the Army, assigned to the Infantry right after his six month training, and sent to The Nam..

    First day in country he goes into the Enlisted Mens’ Club and orders a beer. He starts to drink, stops, and complains to the bartender “Hey, there’s a fly in my beer! Pull me a fresh one!”

    After a couple of months in the field he’s in the Division Base Camp EM club, orders a beer and spots the inevitable fly. Muttering scornfully, he uses a finger to dip it out, and drinks the beer.

    Six months in country, back at the bar … but this time he just carefully drinks around the fly.

    At the end of his one-year tour of duty, waiting for his Freedom Flight home … just time to grab a beer before he reports for the flight. His eyes light up when he spots a fly in his beer:

    “Aha! Fresh Meat!” he exclaims … and chugs it down.

To the stake with the heretic!