A horse walks into a bar again. The barman asks “Why the long fa-.”
“Just shut up”, interrupts the horse angrily. “Just shut the fuck up. I hear that fucking joke every time I go in a pub and it’s shitting annoying.” The horse plonks himself down on a stool in a huff.
“Oh-kaaay”, says the barman soothingly. “Erm, well what can I get you?” “The usual, and keep them coming”, the horse replied, still fuming.
“So what’s up with you today?” The barman probed carefully, not wanting to upset the horse any further.
“Ah, it’s the bloody internet.” The horse shrugged and made a nonplussed face. “Ever since that last time I came here, all I see everywhere are people wearing ‘All Horses Are Twats’ T-shirts. It’s gone bloody viral.”
The barman blushed; under his jumper was indeed one of those infamous T-shirts. “Ah people love a catchphrase”, reasoned the barman, in his most reasonably, reasonable tone whilst adjusting his jumper surreptitiously.
“I know, but why that?” The horse huffed.
“It’s fun; it’s young and sweary and people like that kind of thing”.
At this point, in this pub of convenient characters; a hedge fund manager, a politician and a public relations man walk in. All of them, to a man, are wearing a ‘All Horses Are Twats’ T-shirt.
The horse turned towards them with a stony look in his eye. The barman put his hand on the phone, ready to call for an ambulance.
“Why are you three wearing those bastard T-shirts?” The horse demanded.
“Gentlemen, take a seat first and what can I get you”, interjects the barman; keen to keep things civil. And sell more beer.
“Well” begins the PR man, “My company saw a good opportunity to get our client’s cause out there, get people interested and talking. It’s doing great! We’re all over Twitter! Cheers!”
“Is your client called Gary?” growled the horse. The PR man mumbled something about confidentiality.
“Easy choice for me” chuckled the politician. “I want people to vote for me and it’s a catchy slogan” “How on Earth is it relevant?” questioned the horse. “It’s not! But what do I care as long as people think I’m relevant.”
The hedge fund manager couldn’t stop smiling. “This round and all of tonight is on me!” he grinned. “My fund bought shares in the manufacturer AND the PR firm AND the PR firms client; we’ve made an absolute killing!”
“I also had a flutter on the market,” chipped in the politician.
Hearing the word killing made the barman shuffle uncomfortably. “But all horses aren’t twats, I thought we’d sorted that out last time,” said the barman in what he hoped were conciliatory tones.
“Well that and mangling terrible jokes,” sighed the horse, clearly placated by the barman’s words.
“Who cares! We’re multi-millionaires!” cried the three in unison.
Moral of the tale: I thought I’d told you not to piss horses off.