[ WP ] A newly-hired bartender is slowly realizing that he 's working at the bar from all of those `` X walks into a bar '' jokes .

I had just wiped the last wet patch on the bar when from a distance I heard a clapping sound that gradually grew louder. It moved in a systematic pattern, with two subsequent claps followed by a minor intermittent paused, followed by those same two claps. Gradually, the sound became a ubiquity ( the bar was rather quiet on that day ). At that moment, the doors barged open and a horse walked into the bar. 
 
 It marched towards me as though it was mesmerised; its dead-eyes marked like those of a shark when its target had been identified. Upon reaching a few feet away from me, it stared right into my eyes. I, at this point, felt very uncomfortable. The nostrils were wider than the shot glasses under its neck, while the disgruntled smell emanating from its mouth filled the room with a spineless aroma of poisonous cyanide; its fur redecorated the bar and merged perfectly well with the droplets of spilt condensation. It lowered its head, extending the shape, and slowly licked off the hairs. I could tell it was rather hungry. I thought such situations only appeared in cheesy jokes made when one could not come up with a topic were discussing. I could no longer help the urge and asked: 
 
 `` Why the long face?'' 
 
 The horse immediately stopped licking the hairs off the bar, resurrected its shark-eyes right into my own, neighed as loud as it could, then grunted: 
 
 `` Oh, hardy-har-har!'' It then purposely spilt the shot glasses onto the floor and ran right out the door from whence it came, leaving an unnecessary mess around the vicinity. 
 
 After slaving what seemed like forever cleaning up the residues of that beast of an animal, a blind man walked into the door and smashed his face right onto the pole where the strippers dance every Friday and Saturday. 
 
 `` Fuck!'' He screamed, `` I walked into a bar!'' It was at this moment that I was certain he was being ironic, as he had clearly walked into a pole, but thought it would be necessary to uphold his humorous approach to what seemed to be a very painful experience: imagine a pillow being punched really hard, and the creases becoming a permanent mark; this permanency was marked on his face. 
 
 `` Nice one,'' I remarked. 
 
 `` Who said that?'' He asked aggressively, a strong Irish tone escaping his vocal cords. 
 
 `` Oh, so now an Irishman walks into a bar,'' I replied, `` no wonder.'' 
 
 `` You got a lot of nerve,'' he exclaimed, `` there ai n't no leprechaun to save yer sorry behind.'' He picked up his walking stick and pointed it towards the pole, `` and today's a bad day for you, mister,'cuz I'm beyond drunk!'' He swung the stick right at the pole, causing a ricocheted effect on his body, forcing him to stumble back. 
 
 Suddenly, a girl barges through the door: `` there you are!'' she screamed, `` stop running away. Get over here, you, I need to get you home to bed!'' She then picked him up and escorted him through the door. There certainly was a double whammy at that instant. 
 
 I then find myself out of ideas and not sure what else could come through the door. Consequently, I walked into my manager's room and quit there and then. No way am I going to put up dealing with shedding horses and inebriated blind Irishmen walking into a bar on a bloody weekday!
