Bite MeHi
I was bored, had a few minutes, and figured I would write out another joke.
This joke is not often told (I have never told it before), and it is rather
long... So it needs a little build up.
Once again, it's not a copy and paste joke. It is in fact a regional joke, it
comes from Southern Missouri, the bootheel region, which has a its own rather
unique culture and crudeness. The other interesting thing about this joke, at
least the way I heard it, is that it is/was told as a true story. If you were
familiar with the culture of Southern Missouri, you would surely understand the
truth of these matters.
There is a moral to this story, and the moral is pretty clear. If you are a
city slicker from up North or any large town, don't expect to buy a bar in the
rural areas of Southern Missouri, make a little money, and retire in peace.
But our guy tries to do just that... He figures he will retire from his city
job in St. Louis (my home town) and buy a bar in rural Southern Missouri...
Quiet, and good fishing.
Of course he buys this old bar, and nobody comes... Because he is a stranger
from out of the area, and he is a "city slicker" from "up North"... The nearby
locals drive away on the winding two-lane blacktop ridge roads 20 miles to drink at another bar owned by someone born locally. Out of towners there don't drink, or even serve, liquor according to the local customs. Of course, only local owners know the moonshiners, and many of the local drinkers won't drink anything that
comes out of a bottle with a lable on it.
But our bar owner does not give up... He is not in it for the money really, and
an empty bar that closes early and opens late leaves him plenty of time for
fishing and relaxing.
Of course all the locals do come to his bar eventually, but just to check out
the city slicker... They don't spend much time or money there. But as I said,
the bar owner does not close up or sell out... He figures after awhile that
people will gradually get to know him, and he will end up with some
regulars...
And he learns to cook, so with that, and lots of free bar-b-que given away, he
actually does start to integrate with the locals, and his business finally
begins to grow as word gets around that he pours heavy, the food is greasy, the
prices are cheap, and he will bet for drinks.
So one summer weekend, the bar owner decides to have a pig roast, and he drives about 500 miles on the snakey two-lane county blacktops, posting flyers and
spreading the word about.
When Saturday night comes around there is actually a pretty good crowd... Which
brings in some new clientel, not to eat and drink mind you, but just to visit
with their friends... So the bar ends up being full of old coots and country
boys basically just visiting, and nipping their own moonshine from pocket
flasks they bring in with them.
In the door walks this old coot... Your typical Southern Missouri hillbilly,
unbathed, hair all greasy, overalls that have never seen a washing machine from
all appearances... His unshaven jaw is stained with chewing tobacco, and he is
carrying his own pocket flask. He does not even stop at the bar, but spends
about 40 minutes working the crowd, visiting with all his friends.
The bar owner is used to this treatment from the locals and does not think much
of it... He has been around long enough not to mind, and this is really the
first nice crowd the place has seen since he owned it, so he does not complain
about the great number of non-paying customers.
After stopping at every table, and spending time with everybody in the bar...
The old coot finally saunters up to the bar owner and says:
"Yer new around here ain't you?"
The bar tender, used to this by now, nods to the coot and says "Yes, only been
here 7 years." He welcomes the old coot to the place.
"I hear you are a bettin man, is that true?" the old coot asks... And the bar
owner answers "Yes". After 7 years the bar owner has learned some of the local
custom, he keeps some dice behind to bar to roll the locals for drinks... But
he has learned to be careful because the locals can get expensive when he gets
involved with betting, yet he understands that if he does not take some bets...
Nobody will spend money.
"I will bet you $20 I can bite my right eyeball" the coot says loud enough for
the entire bar to hear... Everybody stops talking and looks... The bar owner
knowing he is about to be taken for $20 frowns, but agrees to take the bet
because it would be bad for business if didn't... Everybody in the bar
obviously knows the old coot, and so the owner goes to the cash register, takes
out $20, and places it on the top of the bar.
The old coot proceeds to take out his right eyeball, which is glass, and bites
it, then he replaces the glass eye in the socket. The bar owner shakes his
head, and the $20 bill he had placed on the bar is gone... He never even saw
the old guy reach for it.
The old coot has a laugh, turns to the rest of the bar, who is watching all
this carefully, and he says loudly enough for everybody to hear... "This guy is
alright for a city slicker!!!" - People just nod and shake their heads.
He turns back to the bar owner, and he says... "I feel kinda sorry about that,
taking your money that way. It's not really fair since you are new around here
and don't know I lost my eye in Korea. Tell you what... I will go you double or
nothing that I can bite my left eye."
Well the bar tender, still suspicious of the old coot, figures it to be a safe
bet. The coot can see ok, he walked in, met his friends, and grabbed his bet
money just fine, so it is clear the coot does not have two glass eyes.
"Ok" the bar owner says... And gets another $20 from the cash register.
The old coot then takes out his false teeth, and gently bites his left eye with
them.
Before the bartender can utter a word, the money has again vanished from the
top of the bar. Every person in the bar is watching all this closely.
The old coot replaces his false teeth, turns around and grins widely to the
crowd, as if taking a small bow. He turns back to the bar owner, shakes his
head sadly and says... "I am sorry to treat you so poorly... But I just could
not help having a little fun at your expense, being that you are new around
here and claim to be a bettin man. But I had my laugh, and seeing as how we
have never met before, I will give you a _fair_ chance to win your money back.
I will bet your $40 that I can stand at one end of your bar, and spit into a
shot glass set at the far end with a wad of tobacco. I lose if I miss the
glass, or so much as one drop of tobacco juice ends up on the top of your
bar."
The bar owner feels it is all but impossible for him to lose, and the old coot
seems to be sincere that this bet is actually fair... Besides, the entire crowd
is watching... So he takes the bet.
The bar owner takes a shot glass and sets it at the far end of the bar, a good
20 feet away. The old coot pulls out a plug of tobacco, stuffs his mouth until
it appears there is simply no more room, and holds up his hand as if to say
"give me a minute" as he works the huge wad of tobacco with his false teeth.
After a minute of chewing and a sip of water to soften things up, he stands at
the end of the bar and sprays the wad of tobacco everywhere... Not one drop
makes it into the shot glass at the far end.
The old coot shakes his head as if he does not know what went wrong, and hands
back the $40 he had won... And with a big smile, the bar owner goes about
cleaning up the disgusting mess. The entire bar groans and turns back to their
talk.
The old coot goes back to his rounds, walking about and visiting with all his
friends, and after a bit he finally works his way back to the bar owner and
orders his first drink.
As the bar owner is serving him, still smiling, and feeling that he just made a
new customer, he tells the old coot... "You know I want to thank you... You had
me cold for the $40, it was very nice of you to let me have a fair chance to
win my money back. Most people around here would not do that."
The old coot pulls a huge wad of money out of his pocket, peels off a bill to
pay for his drink and replies... "Around here we call that a 'sucker bet'.
Before I got up to the bar to check you out, I bet every man in the place $50
that I could spit tobacco juice from one end of your nice polished bar top to
the other, and get you to wipe it up with a smile on your face."