"It's really pretty adorable," the patron says, smiling and nodding to music only he can hear.

A man walks into a bar and asks for the strongest drink the bartender can make.

"Well, I can certainly do that, but I need you to first purchase a pair of adult diapers."

"You're kidding, right?" the man asks, but the bartender shakes his head.

"Nope. We will not sell this drink to someone who isn't wearing an adult diaper."

"I get it, I get it -- it's a gimmick. Seriously: just make me this drink. What's it called?"

"It's called 'You'll Shit Your Pants.'"

"Ha! That's a good one! I'm sure I can handle it," the patron says.

"Okay, this one time I'll make an exception: just don't say you weren't warned." 

With this, the bartender pours a concoction of various alcohols into a glass and then puts the results in front of the man, who proceeds to gulp it down with one big swig.

"See? That wasn't so bad," the patron says, moments before a huge gurgling sound erupts from his belly. He gets off his bar stool and makes it three steps towards the bathroom before he stops, head hung low.

"Damn! I just shit my pants," he says, with a trace of despair.

"I have to confess," says the bartender. "That was only our third-strongest drink."

"The third-strongest?" the patron says in disbelief. "What the hell is the second-strongest drink called?"

"That one," the bartender says, "is called the 'You'll Bleed From Your Anus For Three Straight Days.'"

"Dear God! And what about the first?" the patron asks, shaking his head.

"It's called a "Shirley Temple Plus."

"Really?"  the patron replies. "I thought a 'Shirley Temple' was a non-alcoholic drink."

"That's why it is called a "Shirley Temple PLUS."

"That still doesn't sound so bad; I think I'll try one."

The bartender starts to speak, but the patron interrupts: "I know: don't say you didn't warn me."

The bartender shrugs, then pours a non-alcoholic Shirley Temple, after which he reaches to the top shelf to pull down a simple bottle with no label, from which he adds a few drops to the drink.

"That doesn't look so bad," the patron says before drinking it down in one gulp.

"You'll see," the bartender says, and sure enough the patron's mouth drops open in wonderment.

"I don't know how this works," he says, "but I swear I can see a little Shirley Temple dancing right in front of me."

The bartender nods, says "That sounds about right."

"It's really pretty adorable," the patron says, smiling and nodding to music only he can hear.

"You might want to prepare yourself," the bartender says, as a puff of gray smoke appears.

"Prepare myself?" the patron asks, as a shadowy figure emerges from the smoke. Suddenly the patron's pants are ripped down and the Ghost of Mr. Bojangles proceeds to fuck the patron in the ass.

"What the hell?!" the patron exclaims, but the bartender simply says "You're best off to just let him finish."

So for three interminable minutes the Ghost of Mr. Bojangles pounds the patron relentlessly in the ass; finally, he pulls out and ejaculates all over the patron's clothes before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

"My God!" the patron cries.

"I warned you," replies the bartender.

"Yes, you warned me," the patron sobs, "but I've shit my pants, my ass is bleeding and now my clothes are covered in Mr. Bojangles' ghost semen. How the hell do you stay in business?"

"Well," the bartender smiles, "I also own the dry-cleaner next door."


I am Laslo.


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