Not too long ago, I posted all of my bad bar jokes on Facebook. Here are a few:
A man walked into a bar and fell unconscious on the floor. It was a chin-up bar.
A man walked into a bar and ordered a Godiva chocolate liqueur. The bouncer threw him out. It was a Hershey bar.
A man walked into a bar with his collar open. The bouncer threw him out. It was a tie bar.
A man walked into a bar to pay off his tab but his bank account was on hold, so the bouncer threw him out. It was a no-holds bar.
A miserably depressed man walked into a bar and the bouncer threw him out. It was a gay bar.
A man walked into a bar, twirling an absurdly long mustache and the bouncer threw him out. It was a handlebar.
A mime walked into a bar, but the bouncer threw him out. It was a karaoke bar.
A lactose-intolerant man walked into a bar, but shortly thereafter threw up before finishing what he’d ordered. It was an ice-cream bar.
(They were all jokes about a man who had failed to enter the kind of bar where he would fit in and find refreshment and camaraderie and I was going somewhere with it, but I forgot where.)
A mildly-forgetful man walked into a bar and … no, wait. That was me.
Probably because of a recent head injury.
A man walked into a bar and hurt himself. He should have used the door.
I saved the very worst until last, for this post:
A man walked into a bar and ordered a beer. “We don’t serve beer; we serve customers,” the marketing manager told him. He asked, “What happened to the bartender?” The CEO replied that the position was right-sized for economic reasons. So the man asked, “What happened to the beer?” The vice president of finance responded that the costs of purchase, transportation, cold storage and distribution were prohibitive, and it was decided to move that part of the operation online. But, the marketing manager added, the firm was doing very well promoting the idea of beer and the experience of beer; in fact, at the bar and in a couple of the booths there were usually several people each week discussing how thirsty they were and how much they would enjoy a beer right then … and there was, of course, free wi-fi. “But how do you make any money?” the man asked. They all chorused: “Volume!”
It was a foobar.
(“Foobar”, in computer programming, is the name for a variable which has no relevant meaning – and it should be distinguished from its acronymal cousin, fubar. At least a little distinguished.)
And that was not so much a joke as it was a sad commentary on the current state of American commerce. After all, imagine:
Sort of like a church without Christ.
– But I digress.