Humour - The Skeptic and the Cynic

 

The Skeptic and the Cynic walked into a bar.

“It’s dark in here,” said the Cynic. “Probably trying to save a few bucks on lighting.”

“I don’t know about that, Mr. C,” the Skeptic replied. “It was pretty bright outside. Perhaps our eyes will adjust.”

“I doubt it, Mr. S.”

“Of course you do, Mr. C, I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”

“I don’t think we’re going to find what we’re after in here,” said the Cynic.

“Maybe not. It was Gary who suggested the Golden Clam and he is usually wrong about such things.”

“He probably has a part ownership in the place.”

Gus the bartender, the always chipper Gus, called from his place behind the bar. “This way, gents. Welcome to the Golden Clam. What’ll it be? We have the finest beers in the county.”

“Sure you do,” said the Skeptic.

“And at the finest prices, too, I’ll wager,” added Mr. C.

“I think you’ll find our prices are fair,” Gus replied. “People wouldn’t come here if we overcharged.”

“Well, there’s nobody here now, except for us,” said Mr. S., happy to somewhat make his point. “Besides, people will do what they’re told to do.”

“Well, that’s an odd way to look at it, friend. Tell you what. How be you have a glass of beer on the house? Kind of a welcome for first time customers.”

“Your cheapest brand, I suppose,” said Mr. C.

“Not at all, not at all,” Gus replied. “The beer I had in mind comes all the way from France.”

“France isn’t known for its beer. It’s known for its wine,” said Mr. S.

“Well, how about a glass of wine then?” Gus said, cheerfully.

The Skeptic and the Cynic grunted in agreement, reluctantly.

“So,” said Gus as he poured out two glasses of Chablis. “What brings you to this part of town?”

“We’re looking for work,” said Mr. S.

“Really?” Gus said, “what do you do?”

“I’m an electrician and he’s a plumber,” said Mr. S.

“Is that right?” said Gus, delivering the wine. “I could have used you today. Two of the overhead lights went on me. I tried to fix them myself, you know to save a few bucks, but I think I’ve really messed it up.”

“Told you so,” said Mr. C.

“When you’re right, you’re right, Mr. C,” said Mr. S, raising his glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” said Mr. C.

“Everybody thinks they can do my work,” said Mr. S. “and everybody messes it up. Then they call me.”

“Well,” Gus said, “I guess I could use you now. What do you say?”

“I suppose I could take a look,” said Mr. S. “Do you have a step ladder?”

“Coming right up,” said Gus and left for the back room.

“Better get some cash up front,” said Mr. C. “He’ll probably try to rip you off.”

“You could be right, Mr. C.” said Mr. S. “But I think I’ll take a look at it first anyway. You could be wrong.”

“I doubt it.”

Gus returned with the ladder and put it up under one of the blown out lights. Mr. S got up on the ladder and removed the face plate of the lamp. Just as he was about to reach inside, a loud truck horn blasted on the street.  Startled, Mr. S began to lose his balance and grabbed for the lamp housing to brace himself. There was a bright, blue flash and Mr. S fell to the ground.

Gus ran over and put his head to the chest of the stricken Mr. S. “Oh my god!” he cried out. “He’s dead!”

“Well, look at it this way,” said Mr. C., staring up at the lamp that had for some reason come back on. “Now you won’t have to pay him.”

Mr. C looked down at his dead friend. “Told you so,” he said.