...and stumbles to the bartender. “Barkeep, Oi’ll have a point”, he slurs.
The bartender looks him over critically. “A pint? Sorry sir, but I can’t serve you. You’re clearly too drunk.”
The Irish man scrunches his eyebrows, peers at the barkeep, turns around and trips out the front door.
5 minutes later, the Irish Man stumbles in again, this time through the side door. “Barkeep! ‘Ow are ye dis foine evenin’? Oi’ll have a point, if ye will”, he says to the bartender with a smile.
“None of that charm will do you any good, sir. Off you go now. Come back when you’re more sober.”
“Bah! Foine, foine”, the Irish Man replies, turning around and knocking over a stool before stumbling out the side door.
Another five minutes pass, and the Irish Man once again saunters in, this time through the back door.
“Barkeep! Oi’ll have a drink, and make er a double!”
Having lost his patience, the bartender finally yells “Sir! I will not be serving you any alcohol, and if I see you again tonight, I’ll never serve you another drink!”
The Irish man wobbles slightly before squinting his eyes in confusion. “Alright, Alright, Oi’ll be on me way. But before Oi go, Oi’ve one question for ya”, he says, leaning in,
“How many fookin’ bars do ye work at anyway?”
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