When Pop’s son was born, he had no arms, no legs, no torso, just a head. Nevertheless, he was a fine boy. Pop was proud of him. On his twenty-first birthday, Pop carried his son, the Head, into the bar, set the Head up on the bar and called out for the bartender to bring him a shot of his finest whiskey. “I wouldn’t do that!” said the bartender.
“”Bring’em a whiskey. It’s his birthday!” He propped the Head up , tossed the whiskey back, and the Head popped out two arms! Pop was thrilled! “Get him another one!” ”
“No” said the bartender. “Don’t do it.”
“Bring him another one!” The bartender brought him another, against his best judgment. The Head drinks and Boom! He has two legs. He’s a perfect specimen. The bar rors with applause!
Pop is thrilled! He hugs his boy and says, “Come on, son. Let’s go across the street and I’ll buy you a suit of clothes! We’re going out to paint the town!”
“No! No!” dries the bartender,””Don’t don’t do that!”
They ignored him. As they crossed the street, they were run over by a truck and smashed to smithereens! “Happens every time,” said the bartender. “Should’ve quit while they were a head.”