“Give me jigger, nigger,” the man says.

The bartender, shocked and offended, asks him to repeat what he just said.

“I said give me a jigger, nigger,” he replies.

Trying to keep his cool, the Bartender poors the man his drink, sets it on the bar, and says, “Call me that again and you’re a dead man.”

The Korean man replies, “Oh, I’m sorry, does that bother you?”

“Hell yes it bothers me. How would you like it if you were in my position and I came in here calling you names?”

“I don’t know, why don’t we try it?” the Korean suggests. The bartender figures he’ll have a little fun, so he agrees and switches places with the man, allowing him to go behind the bar.

The bartender sits down at the bar and snaps, “Give me a drink, chink.”

The Korean calmly replies from behind the bar, “Sorry, we don’t serve black people in here.”

The man replied, “150.” So the robot proceeded to make conversation about Quantum physics, string theory, atomic chemistry, and so on.

The man listened intently and thought, “This is really cool.”

The man decided to test the robot. He walked out of the bar, turned around, and came back in for another drink. Again, the robot asked him, “What’s your IQ?”

The man responded, “100.” So the robot started talking about football, baseball, beer, and so on.

Amazed, the man went out and came back in a third time. As before, the robot asked him, “What’s your IQ?” The man replied, “50.”

The robot then said, “So, you gonna vote for Bush again?”

So, the guy walks over to the two and says, “Hello, what are you guys doing?”

Rumsfeld says, “We’re planning a war,” to which the guy replies, “Really? What’s going to happen?”

Rumsfeld says, “Well, we’re going to kill 10 million Iraquis and one bicycle repairman.”

And the guy exclaims, “Why are you going to kill a bicycle repairman!?!”

With that, Rumsfeld turns to Powell and says, “See, I told you no one would care about the 10 million Iraquis!”

The man says, “Give me three pints of Guinness please.”

So the bartender brings him three pints and the man proceeds to alternately sip one, then the other, then the third until they’re gone. He then orders three more.

The bartender says, “Sir, you don’t have to order three at a time. I can keep an eye on it and when you get low I’ll bring you a fresh cold one.”

The man says, “You don’t understand. I have two brothers, one in Australia and one in the States. We made a vow to each other that every Saturday night we’d still drink together. So right now, my brothers have three Guinness Stouts too, and we’re drinking together.”

The bartender thought that was a wonderful tradition. Every week the man came in and ordered three beers.

Then one week he came in and ordered only two. He drank them and then ordered two more. The bartender said to him, “I know what your tradition is, and I’d just like to say that I’m sorry that one of your brothers died.”

The man said, “Oh, me brothers are fine — I just quit drinking.”

“I quit drinking,” the man replies. “Last night I blew chunks.”

“What’s so horrible about that?” the bartender asks. “Everyone gets sick once in a while after a long night of drinking.”

“No, no,” the man replies. “You don’t understand. Chunks is my dog.”

The guy staggers out the front door, comes back in through the side door, sits down, bangs his fist, and again loudly demands a drink.

“I thought I just told you to get out,” yells the bartender.

The drunk gets up, stumbles out the side door, and returns through the back door. He sits down and angrily asks for another drink.

The bartender walks over to him and shouts, “I told you, no drunks allowed. Now get the hell out of my bar!”

The drunk looks up and slurs, “How many freakin’ bars you work at, anyway?”

The artist does so, and when he finishes hands her a mirror so she can inspect the work.

She looks at the left thigh and says, “Wow! That’s definitely Paul Newman. Just look at those blue eyes.” Then she looks at the right thigh and complains, “That doesn’t look like Robert Redford.”

The artist disagrees and says they need to find an impartial judge.

They go to the bar next door and ask the first guy they meet to identify the tattoos. She raises her skirt and drops her panties, and he gets his face up close and says, “Well, ma’am, the one on your left thigh is definitely Paul Newman. He even has the blue eyes. The one on your right I’m not sure about—but the one in the middle is definitely Willie Nelson.”

The pirate replies, “I was swept overboard into a school of sharks. As my men were pulling me out, a shark bit my leg off.”

“Wow!” says the seaman. “What about your hook?”

“Well,” answers the pirate, “we were boarding a ship when one of the enemy hacked off my hand.”

“Incredible!” says the seaman. “How’d you get the eye patch?”

“A seagull shit in my eye,” the pirate replies.

“You lost your eye to a seagull dropping?” the seaman asks.

“Well,” says the pirate, “it was my first day with the hook.”

The first blonde said, “I think they’re deer tracks!”

The second blonde said, “I think they’re dog tracks!”

The third blonde said, “Well, I think they’re cow tracks!”

They were still arguing when the train struck them.

The man is disturbed at what he hears and ignores the voice.

But the next day, the same thing happens: The voice tells him, “Quit your job, sell your house, take your money, go to Vegas.”

Again the man ignores the voice, but he’s becoming increasingly upset, and the third time he hears the voice, he succumbs to the pressure. He quits his job, sells his house, takes his money, and heads to Las Vegas.

The moment the man gets off the plane in Vegas, the voice tells him, “Go to Harrah’s.”

He hops in a cab and rushes over to the casino, where the voice tells him, “Go to the roulette table.” The man does as he is told. When he gets to the roulette table, the voice tells him, “Put all your money on 17.”

Nervously, the man cashes in all his money for chips and then puts them on 17.

“Now watch,” says the voice.

The dealer wishes the man good luck and spins the roulette wheel.

Around and around the ball caroms. The man anxiously watches the ball as it slowly loses speed until finally it settles into number . . . 21.

The voice says, “Shit…”