The sun was especially hot and they became thirsty. The first string said to his friends, "I know of a good bar down the street. Let's go get a drink." The three agreed and walked together to the bar.
The bar was dark and empty, with classic country playing over a scratchy AM radio. The bartender was a worn old man with a salt and pepper hair and a bushy moustache. They sat down at the bar together, relieved to be inside from the heat.
The bartender looked up with a sullen frown, as the first string ordered three beers. He stared at them for a long second and said, "We don't serve yer kind 'ere."
The strings sat for a moment, surprised at the bartender's prejudice, but stood up and left without a word. As they walked out into the desert heat again, the second string spoke up. "Man, I'm dying out here. We gotta get a drink somewhere."
"I know of another place," the first string said, and led them to a pub down the block. The three strings were badly dehydrated and getting tired, but soon enough they made it to the pub.
Inside there were a few bikers at a table, who turned in their chairs to stare at the strings shuffling by. The bartender cast a wary glance at them as they approached and took their seats at the bar.
Before the strings could a word, the pub owner walked out from a room in the back and yelled, "We don't serve strings in this establishment!" The third string stood up, infuriated, but the second string held him back and they walked out again without a word.
Back on the dusty street outside, the three strings were growing faint. The stores were closed, and they were getting desperate. "C'mon, there's gotta be some place to get a drink!" the third string moaned.
"I know one more place," the first string said. So they walked a good mile down the road to a dive bar on the edge of town. Instead of walking in, the first string stopped his pals.
"Wait a minute, guys," the first string said. He bent over and tied himself, then tousled his hair and straightened up. The other two thought he'd lost his mind in the heat, but walked in behind him.
As the door swung shut behind them, they looked around. The only waitress was serving a couple of rednecks at a corner booth, and all three turned to stare at the strings.
"Say," the scrawny redneck started, "Ain't y'all some of them strings?"
"Naw," the first one said, "I'm a frayed knot."
My dad is really proud of this one. It's the only joke he's ever told that's been funny enough to make somebody laugh so hard that they spit out of their nose. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for this joke, so let me give you some context first:
He's been in a motorcycle accident (hit and run by an illegal immigrant), and had to have most of his vertebrae fused. They use titanium rods to hold your back from bending, so as you can imagine its kind of a major operation. His doctor prescribed a year (or longer if needed) of massage therapy, which he was thankful for. Twice a week he went in to a small clinic for a few hours at a time, and usually had the same masseuse. Let's call her Marge.
After four months of therapy they of course got to know each other very well. He was always faithful to my mother, but he was good friends with Marge. Their conversations range all the way from baseball to differentials, and everything stays platonic.
Here's where the story begins:
During a massage, they are having an energetic conversation, the time comes where he turns onto his back so that she can get to his knee ligaments (chainsawed his kneecap a few years prior, doc said may as well get there too). She goes at it like normal, and the conversation continues. Now here comes the part that made my dad wait to tell me this until recently: The "stimulation" in his knee for some reason, on that day out of all others, triggered a reflexive erection. There was nothing he could do to stop it.
The conversation goes quiet. Marge notices, but doesn't say a word. She remains professional. She continues working. My dad is more embarrassed than he's ever been. Several minutes of silence pass, and my dad cant take it anymore.
"Marge," he says, "I think we need to talk about the elephant in the room."
He raises his head to look down the table at her. He glances at it, then back to her. With a slight shake of his head he says:
"Wait nevermind, it's only his trunk"
