Shayne sent us this version of a tale that combines equal portions of pathos and justice.

There I was sitting at the bar staring at my drink when a large, trouble-making biker steps up next to me, grabs my drink and gulps it down in one swig.

“Well, whatcha’ gonna do about it?” he says, menacingly, as I burst into tears.

“Come on, man,” the biker says, “I didn’t think you’d CRY. I can’t stand to see a man crying.”

“This is the worst day of my life,” I said. “I’m a complete failure. I was late to a meeting and my boss fired me. When I went to the parking lot, I found my car had been stolen and I don’t have any insurance. I left my wallet in the cab I took home. I found my wife with another man … and then my dog bit me.”

“So, I came to this bar to work up the courage to put an end to it all, I buy a drink, I drop a capsule in it and sit here watching the poison dissolve; and then you show up and drink the whole damn thing!

“But, enough about me, how are you doing?”