A distinguished gentleman walked into a bar on the ship channel where gruff men of the sea hang out - clearly out of place - and walked up to the bartender.
"Barkeep - I bet you that you can pour me ANY drink, and I can tell you not only what kind it is, but the maker and year of the bottle"
Intrigued, the bartender reached under the bar and poured the man a drink.
The gentleman held it up to the light, smelled it, though about it, took a sip.
"Scotch...Johnny Walker....Red...1982"
Damn, said the bartender, so he reached under the bar and poured another drink.
The gentleman held it up to the light, smelled it, though about it, took a sip.
"George Dickle....reserve...1990"
Damn, right again.
From the back of the bar walked an old, crusty navy captain, patch over his eye, wooden peg for a leg, hook arm, with a drink for the gentleman.
Here- tell me about this drink.
The gentleman held it up to the light, and grimised;
smelled it, and jumped back a bit as he turned his nose up;
though about it, took a sip.
Then he SPIT it out and screamed, "This tastes like PISS!"
"Thats right!, now tell me how old I am!"