An old blind cowboy stumbles into a bar—only it’s not just any bar… it’s an all-girl biker bar. Leather, tattoos, and horsepower galore. He bumps his way to a barstool, plops down, and shouts, “Gimme a Jack Daniels!”
After a few sips, he hollers, “Hey, anybody here wanna hear a blonde joke?”
Suddenly, the place goes quieter than a snake in a sleeping bag.
Then, a voice like gravel in a blender growls from beside him:
“Mister, before you go tellin’ that joke, there’s a few things you oughta know—since you can’t see a dang thing.”
“One: The bartender? Blonde. And she’s got a baseball bat with your name on it.
Two: The bouncer? Blonde. And she’s polishing her billy club right now.
Three: Me? I’m a 6-foot blonde with a black belt and unresolved anger issues.
Four: The lady next to me? Blonde weightlifter who bench-presses Buicks.
And five: The gal on your other side? Blonde pro wrestler. Her stage name is The Skull Collector.”
“Now… you still wanna tell that blonde joke?”
The cowboy takes a long, slow sip, smacks his lips, and says,
“…Naw, not if I gotta explain it five times.”
