Thanks to Janie Jonesfor this one.
A string had a horrible day. It was the worst day of his whole life, which was saying something. As he was making his way home he decided to stop for a few drinks, hoping to forget about it all. He found a little hole in the wall bar and hopping onto a bar stool called out for a shot of Tequila. The bartender turned around and with a look of surprise said, “Hey, aren’t you a string?”
“Yeah,” said the string.
“You better get outta here. We don’t serve your kind.”
“What?” said the string.
“You heard me. We don’t serve your kind. Now get.”
Confused, the string tried to reason with the bartender. “Look,” he said, “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I had a horrible day, and now I just want to drown myself in a bottle of Tequila. My money is good.” To prove his point the string slapped a fifty dollar bill on the bar.
Enraged, the bartender shoved the money back at the string and hollered, “I don’t care about your money or what kinda day you had. We don’t serve strings here. Get out of my bar or I’ll call the cops!” At this point a few other customers rose up from their seats, glaring at the string and flexing their muscles.
“All right! All right! I’m leaving!” the string said as he backed away toward the door.
Once out in the street the string sagged against the wall of the bar. He was angry, confused and he wanted that drink more than ever. Suddenly, an idea came to him. He deftly folded his top half over and around his bottom half, until he looked like a pretzel. Then he stretched his two ends away from each other until he had formed himself into a tight knot. He tore at the loose ends of himself until the fibres of his string body were frayed and strode purposefully back into the bar.
“Good evening bartender. Gimme a Tequila, and leave the bottle!” He jumped onto the stool and slapped his money on the table.
The bartender looked him up and down and growled, “Hey, aren’t you that string I just sent packing?”
“Nope. I’m a frayed knot.”