A heavily intoxicated woman slumped against the counter, waved at the staff, and slurred, “Barfender, I need a marhini for my heartburn.”
Amused, the bartender mixed the drink and slid it over.
A few minutes later, she banged her empty glass down and yelled, “Barfender! Another marhini for my heartburn!” He rolled his eyes but poured her a second round.
Not even five minutes passed before she waved him over yet again, groaning miserably, “Barfender, please… another marhini for this awful heartburn!”
The bartender finally sighed, leaned across the counter, and looked her up and down.
“Alright, lady, let’s clear a few things up,” he said. “First, it’s bartender, not barfender. Second, it’s martini, not marhini. And third, you don’t have heartburn—your boob is resting in the hot ashtray.”
