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There I was sitting at the bar staring at my drink when a large,
trouble-making biker named col steps up next to me, grabs my drink and gulps it down
in one swig.

"Well, whatcha' gonna do about it?" he says, menacingly, as I burst into
tears.
"Crikey mate," col says, "I didn't think you'd CRY. I can't stand
to see a man crying."

"This is the worst day of my life," I say. "I'm a complete failure. I was
late to a meeting and my boss fired me.
When I went to the parking lot, I found my car had been stolen and I don't
have any insurance. I left my wallet in the cab I took home.
I found my wife with another man? and then my dog bit me."

"So . . . I came to this bar to work up the courage to put an end to it
all. I buy a drink, I drop a capsule in and sit here watching the poison
dissolve;
and then you show up and drink the whole damn thing!"
"But hell... enough about me... how are you doing mate??"
 
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