Normally, I don’t like to steal material from
other writers to use in this blog.
Well, that’s not entirely true; I steal a lot, but I usually try to disguise
the theft. In this case, however, I’m reprinting verbatim a very clever Facebook
post, whose author is anonymous, but nonetheless deserves to stand up and take
a bow.
Herewith, a few variations on the “man walks
into a bar” jokes:
A
dangling participle walks into a bar. Enjoying a cocktail and chatting with the
bartender, the evening passes pleasantly.
A
bar was walked into by the passive voice.
An
oxymoron walked into a bar, and the silence was deafening.
Two
quotation marks walk into a “bar.”
A
malapropism walks into a bar, looking for all intensive purposes like a wolf in
cheap clothing, muttering epitaphs and casting dispersions on his magnificent
other, who takes him for granite.
Hyperbole
totally rips into this insane bar and absolutely destroys everything.
A
non sequitur walks into a bar. In a strong wind, even turkeys can fly.
A
mixed metaphor walks into a bar, seeing the handwriting on the wall but hoping
to nip it in the bud.
A
comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.
Three
intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They converse. They depart.
A
synonym strolls into a tavern.
At
the end of the day, a cliché walks into a bar -- fresh as a daisy, cute as a
button, and sharp as a tack.
A
run-on sentence walks into a bar it starts flirting. With a cute little
sentence fragment.
The
conditional and the subjunctive would walk into a bar, if it were possible.
A
misplaced modifier walks into a bar owned a man with a glass eye named Ralph.
The
past, present, and future walked into a bar. It was tense.
An
Oxford comma walks into a bar, where it spends the evening watching the
television getting drunk and smoking cigars.
A
simile walks into a bar, as parched as a desert.
A
gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to forget.
The Bard of Buffalo bayou walks into a bar
every chance he gets. When he
comes out, he’s usually staggering and clutching a sheaf of dubious verses,
such as:
A florist
walked into a bar,
And said, “I’ll have two Buds.”
A laundress who was with him said,
“Just pour me up some suds.”
“On second thought,” the laundress said,
“Make that a cup of Cheer.”
And then an undertaker said,
“I think I’ll have a
bier.”
An optician walked into the bar
And said, “I’d like two glasses.”
A fisherman then said, “I want
Some ale—make that two Basses.”
A milkman walked into the bar,
And said, “I’ll take a quart.”
A sailor right behind him said,
“I’m really into port.”
A cotton farmer in the bar
Remarked, “I need a gin.”
A census-taker then came in
And asked for Mickey Finn.
A contortionist squeezed in
And called out, “Bottom’s up!”
Omar Khayyam came in then
And wrote, “Come fill the cup.”
A gunman walked into the bar
And said, “I’ll take a shot.”
A realtor scanned the drink list and
Declared, “I’ll have the lot.”
