In lieu of anything else to blog about today, I'll tell a joke:
These three ropes walk into a bar. They sit down at one of the small, round tables and wait for the waitress to come by. She eventually does: blonde hair, blue eyes, big breasts, wearing a tiny little uniform that showed a great deal of leg and cleavage.
"What can I get you guys?" she asks.
"Three beers, please," one of the ropes says.
She looks at them with a curious gaze. "Are you guys ropes?"
"Yeah, we're ropes," the same one answers.
She smiles sadly. "I'm sorry, we don't serve ropes."
One of the other ropes gets mad and stands up. "I demand to speak with the manager."
"Okay," she breathes, and leads the rope behind the bar to a hallway.
The manager comes out, about six foot five, 300 pounds, wearing a wife beater and jeans, he growls, "What's going on here?"
The rope stands tall and says, "My friends and I come in here and order three beers and your waitress won't serve us."
The manager glares at the rope. "Are you a rope?" he demands.
The rope almost withers in the gaze. "Yes, we're ropes."
Sneering, the manager simply states: "We don't serve ropes."
The rope slinked back to the table and told his friends what happened.
The third rope was the smartest of the three (he was nylon). "I'll get us the beers," he said confidently. The other two were not so sure.
He borrowed a comb and frayed his ends. Then he tied himself into a knot. Going up to the bartender he said, "Barkeep, three beers, please."
The bartender looked him over and said, "Are you a rope?"
And he replied . . .
"I'm a frayed knot."