My Storytelling

An English tourist walks into a bar in Ireland and asks for a Guinness.

The barman pours the Guinness into a glass upto about 3/4 full. Then he puts the glass aside. Anyone who knows their Guinness, will know that this is quite correct and usual. It allows the beer to settle before the barman fills the glass to the top.
But,
The barman turns to his customer and says,
‘Are you sure you want to be drinking Guinness ? You can get a pint of Guinness anywhere in the world, why not try a true Irish drink?’

‘What do you suggest?’ Asks the Englishman
‘Take your pick.’ Replies the barman, gesturing towards a range of whiskies and spirits displayed behind the bar.

The Englishman scans the bottles and notices a bottle of clear liquid, labelled ‘poitin’.
‘I’ll try a shot of your poitin’.
‘That’ll be a good choice, for a true Irishman.’ Says the barman ‘but are you sure? Do you see ol’ Murphy sitting there in the corner?’

‘The blind man?’
‘Aye, that’ll be him. It was the poitin that made him blind.’
‘I’ll give it a go’ says the Englishman, ‘I’m sure just one shot wouldn’t hurt’.

The barman pours the shot and hands it to the Englishman.
That Englishman spends the evening at the bar, sipping the one glass of poitin. Then he gets up and leaves the bar.

The next evening, the Englishman returns to the bar and orders another poitin.
‘Are you sure you want to be drinking that?’ Asks the barman.
‘Yes, why not?’

‘You see that empty chair in the corner? ‘ asks the barman, pointing. ‘That is ol’ Niall’s chair. He used to drink poitin until it killed him.’
‘I’m sure one shot would kill me.’ Says the Englishman.

The barman pours him a shot of poitin and the Englishman spends the evening sipping it. Then, when finished, he leaves the bar.

The next evening, the Englishman walks again into the bar. As he goes in, he notices someone sitting in what was Niall’s chair.

Before ordering a drink, he asks the barman who it is sitting in Niall’s chair.
‘Why, that’s ol’ Niall, himself.’ Says the barman.
‘But you told me he was dead.’
‘So he was.’ Says the barman. ‘Two days he lay there in his coffin, then he suddenly wakes up from his coma.’
‘So he wasn’t dead.’
‘He was while he was in his coma. But tell me, what will you be looking to drink this evening?’

‘I’ll have a shot of poitin.’ Says the Englishman.
‘Are you sure now?’ Says the barman. ‘Would you risk a coma? ‘
‘I’m sure one shot wouldn’t do any harm.’

The barman pours the shot of poitin, which the Englishman sips all evening. When finished, the Englishman gets up and leaves.

The next evening, the Englishman returns, once more, to the bar. As he goes in, he notices the bar is really busy and everyone seems to be drinking poitin. He makes his way to the bar and, when it’s his turn, he orders a shot of poitin.

‘I’m sorry.’ Says the barman, ‘we’ve run out of poitin.’
‘Oh wow. Tell me, why is everyone else drinking poitin tonight?’
‘That’s all your doing.’ The barman tells him. ‘You’ve been drinking poitin these last few evenings and nothing bad has yet happened to you. So everyone reckons the poitin is now safe to drink, so they’re all having it.’
‘Oh’ exclaims the Englishman, unsure what else to say.

‘But I’ll tell you what, why not have your Guinness? It’s been waiting here for you these last few days!’.