There’s this guy who thought he’d sneak in a little weekday fun, so he left work early to hit the bar. He stayed there, knocking back drinks until 2 a.m. By the time he left, he was so hammered that the world seemed like a spinning top.
He figured he’d be super considerate, not to wake the household. So, he took off his shoes and, like some sort of drunk ninja, began tiptoeing up the stairs. But halfway up, his balance betrayed him. He tumbled backward, landing with a crash on his backside. Here’s the real kicker: he had empty pint bottles in his back pockets. They shattered, and his rear end took a nasty cut. But, being so intoxicated, he was blissfully unaware.
Later, as he’s undressing, he spots blood. A quick peek in the mirror confirmed his worst fears: his behind was a mess. He patched himself up as best as a drunk could and passed out in bed.
The next morning was pure agony. Head throbbing, rear stinging, he’s trying to concoct an alibi when his wife walks in. “Had a wild night, huh?” she smirked.
He tried playing innocent, “Just a couple of beers after work.”
But she wasn’t buying it. “You think I don’t know you were wasted?”
“And how do you figure that?” he challenged.
Her reply? “The trail of band-aids on the mirror was a dead giveaway.”
