A Guy Walks Into A Bar

So, a guy walks into a bar and gets drunk. Not drunk drunk, but so stupidly, extremely drunk to tell, “the Truth.” What truth? The one he told me when he sat down at the bar.

I’m not even a drinker so don’t even begin with me about why I was in a bar. I haven’t even had one, ever, and I didn’t even sip my parent’s beer when I was younger when they weren’t looking. Did you have that one uncle who tried to get you to do bad stuff when they were watching you? I didn’t even drink then. Peer pressure in college? Fuhgettaboutit. I’m sorry now where was I? Oh yeah, it was a Wednesday. Wednesday night. At a bar. I don’t drink. I’ll let you figure out what I was doing there.

So a guy walks into a bar, gets drunk right next to me and says, “I gots ta tell ya the truth, man.”
“The truth? I don’t even—”
“Yeah man the truth. Not a truthish truth but the real deal, man. Why you’re he—”
“Uh, sir, I uh—”
“Sssssshhhhhhh…” He pursed his chapped lips with a finger. His chestnut beard smelled like spirits, his clothes were rag-tag torn, and I swore I’d seen him before. He paused for a moment and leaned into me. I didn’t know what to do. His eyes faded and I thought he was asleep. I poked him and he started, “Ear! I’ve seen some things man. Some stuff, real bad stuff. Wrath of God, end of days, the aliens have come to … to harvest our spleens, man!”
“What?” This man is crazy.
“Exachtry. Extractly. Ex, ex-wife, exagon, ex, ex,” he trailed off. So I helped him out since I felt sorry for myself,
“Exactly?”
“Yeah man! Exacterly!”
“Oh boy,”
“No it’s about a girl.”
“Sir I don’t even know you,” came out stuttered while I thought, Where do I know him from?
“I know you. I. Know. You,” he said while staring me in the eyes. “Everyone knows you, espesherly her,” he continued gutterly.
“That’s it! I know you! You’re the crazy homeless that comes into my office at least once a week. Hah!”
“No! Focus, I know you—”
“Haha! Wait, you peed on my car last time I saw you. How can you afford to drink?”
“Because I don’t drink.” Suddenly sober, I knew something was up. “I feast.”
“okay, creeping me out a bit dude. I think I’m gonna lea—”
“NO!” He screamed.
“Hey! Stop yer shoutin’ or I’ll have half the mind to throw you out!” The barkeep glared at me.
“But—”
“Shut it, yuppie. Take yer yammerin’ lower or take it elsewhere,” threatened the bald bartender.’
“The Truth,” continued the crazy man, “is that I’m not even real. I’ve got you all fooled.”

So a guy walks into a bar, gets drunk, and tells me the truth.