Wednesday, July 30, 2008

I swear, it's not me!

Yesterday I received the following email from a friend:

Bob works hard and spends his leisure time playing golf.

His wife thinks he's pushing himself too hard, so for his birthday she takes him to a local strip club.

The doorman at the club greets them and says, 'Hey, Bob! How ya doin?'

His wife is puzzled and asks if he's been to this club before.

'Oh no,' says Bob. 'He's in my golf league.

When they are seated, a waitress asks Bob if he'd like his usual and brings over a Budweiser.

His wife is becoming increasingly uncomfortable and says, How did she know that you drink Budweiser?'

I recognize her, she's the waitress from the golf club. I always have a Bud at the end of the 1st nine, honey.

A stripper then comes over to their table, throws her arms around Bob, starts to rub herself all over him and says, 'Hi Bobby. Want your usual table dance, big boy?'

Bob's wife, now furious, grabs her purse and storms out of the club. Bob follows and spots her getting into a cab. Before she can slam the door he jumps in beside her.

Bob tries desperately to explain how the stripper must have mistaken him for someone else, but his wife is having none of it . She is screaming at him at the top of her lungs, calling him every 4 letter word in the book.The cabby turns around and says 'Geez Bob, you picked up a real bitch this time.

Bob's funeral will be on Friday.

My response to said friend was as follows:

Let it be known that the announcement of my death has been greatly exaggerated and I have never been to that strip club and I do not know Candy, the aforementioned stripper or Tony the cab driver.

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