Six Inches . . .

Coming into the bar and ordering a double, the man leaned over and confided to the bartender, “I’m so pissed off !”

“Oh yeah? What happened?” asked the bartender politely.

“See, I met this beautiful woman who invited me back to her home. We stripped off our clothes and jumped into bed and we were just about to make love when her god damned husband came in the front door. So I had to jump out of the bedroom window and hang from the ledge by my fingernails!”

“Gee, that’s tough!” commiserated the bartender.

“Right, but that’s not what really got me aggravated,” the customer went on.

“When her husband came into the room he said ‘Hey great! You’re naked already! Let me just take a leak.’ And damned if the lazy son of a bitch didn’t piss out the window right onto my head?”

“Yeech!” the bartender shook his head. “No wonder you’re in a lousy mood.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t told you what really, really got to me.

Next, I had to listen to them grunting and groaning and when they finished, the husband tossed his condom out of the window. And where does it land? My damned forehead!”

The bartender paled. “That would sure mess up my day.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the fellow rattled on, “but do you know what REALLY, REALLY, REALLY pissed me off? When I looked down and saw that my feet were only SIX inches off the ground!!”

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