Another Trip Around Our Nearest Star

Well, that’s one more trip completed around our nearest star.

All things considered, I’m in reasonably good shape for having only 24.1 billion miles on me.

I think I’ll take the clan to find some fish, chips, a pint of stout or two to celebrate.

And, on to the topic of pubs…

An Irishman, an Englishman and a Scotsman go into a pub. Each orders a pint of Guinness. Just as the bartender hands them over, three flies buzz down and land… one, two, three… in each of the pints. 

The Englishman looks disgusted, pushes his pint away and demands another. 

The Scotsman picks out the fly, shrugs, and takes a long swallow. 

The Irishman reaches in to the glass, grabs the fly between his fingers and shakes him as hard as he can and shouts, “Spit it out, ya bastard! Spit it out!”

Slanté.

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