Co-workers were talking about going to a beer tasting this weekend. Here is how the conversation unfolded.
Coworker 1: They are show casing pale ales this time.
Coworker 2: When is their ales and stouts tasting?
CW1: Oh it was last weekend.
CW2: Damn, a stout sounds so good right now.
Me: Man, sounds like you really miss-stout.
Deafening silence.
I just came back from a holiday back to the UK to visit friends and family (am an expat).
While we were there we went to a nice community festival, with some great beers. An American friend of a friend proudly proclaimed that he’d bought a pint of red stout.
Looking up at the board, and seeing the name of the beer, my eyes lit up: a golden opportunity had just presented itself.
‘Nah mate, that’s not red stout, it’s called Red Stoat. You do know what a stoat is, right?
[confusion]
‘Well, it’s a little rodent, a bit like a weasel. You know how you can tell the difference between a stoat and a weasel?’
‘Er..’
‘Well’, I says, ‘a weasel is weasily identifiable, and a stoat is stoatally different.’
Cue a puzzled look on the guys face, and a moment’s silence, broken by me and my friend pissing ourselves laughing, not at the joke of course, but at his reaction.
So this was all very well and good, just another in the litany of bad jokes that floats in my wake, and I thought the story ended there.
Karma, however, had other plans…
A few days later, we’re up in the Lake District, walking back to the hotel after a pub dinner. As we’re walking down the road, we see a small carnivorous rodent dragging the recently deceased body of a rabbit back to its home. It was either a stoat, or a weasel, but you know what? I honestly had no way to tell which…
