Tousled Puns

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."