The Worst Day of My Fucking Life

I'm not much to look at--a drab little man in a not-too-clean shirt with a frayed collar. And I'm sitting at the bar--did I mention I drink?-- just staring into that glass for quite some time turning it all over in my mind before taking that first long pull.... never to take another drink again in my life.

When, out of nowhere, this huge biker with an immense beard, stupendous belly and breath to kill off the National Organization of Women, steps up next to me, grabs my drink, skols it in a single swig, smashes it down triumphantly on the bar and turns to me with a look more terrible than the stench of his tonsils.

"Well, you dried-up little piece of shit! What the fuck are you gonna do about THAT?"

All at once, and I'm still not sure why, I just burst into tears. Like I say, I'm not exactly John Wayne....

The biker is transfixed. It's as if it's a phenomenon he's never seen before.

"Jesus, dude, get a grip! I was just giving you a hard time," says the biker with a humility that is as sudden as it is startling.

"I didn't think you'd break down and CRY for Chrissake," the biker says. "Jesus, I can't stand to see a man crying. It's pathetic. So buck up, willya?"

"I'm sorry," I say to my new friend, the biker. "This is the worst day of my life," I manage to blurt out between heart-wrenching sobs.

I break down again, then finally regain my composure.

"I can't do anything right. I overslept and was late to an important meeting, so my boss fired me. When I went out to the parking lot carrying the cardboard box, I found my car'd been stolen and I don't have any insurance. I left my wallet in the cab I took home. Then when I got home, I found my wife in bed with the gardener. And finally my dog bit me."

"So I came to this bar trying to work up the courage to put an end to my misbegotten, totally fucked-up life."

"And then you show up out of NOWHERE and drink the goddamn malathion I just bought down at the gardening supply...."


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