and orders single malt Scotch whisky -- specifying he wants the good stuff -- at least 20 years old.

"Yes, sir!" says the landlord (US = bartender/guy who runs the bar). "But we don't keep that kind of thing out front -- I'll have to go down to the cellar."

"That's fine."

Once in the cellar, the landlord thinks "This stuff is *so* expensive, and I bet this guy is just showing off and can't even tell the difference. I'll give him this 12-year-old single malt... he'll never know."

But when the fellow tastes it, he immediately says "This whisky is 10 years old. I asked you for TWENTY-year-old whisky. What are you trying to pull here?"

So the landlord apologises and heads back down to the cellar. But he hasn't learned his lesson. "OK, so he could tell it was only 10 years old... but he couldn't tell 16 from 20 -- I'm sure of it!"

But when he tastes the new offering, our man says "This is 16-year-old whisky. I will give you exactly one more chance to provide the drink I actually ordered. If you don't have it, then just say so and don't waste my time."

Red-faced and flustered after being caught out a second time, the landlord decides he'd better not mess about, and brings up a 22-year old single malt he's been saving for a special occasion.

When the discerning gentleman tries this one, a smile spreads across his face. "Now this is more like it! A 22-year-old whisky!"

"I have to hand it to you," says the landlord, "You really know your scotch!"

Now over in the corner, a scruffy-looking fellow who's obviously imbibed pretty heavily has been watching the proceedings intently. He waits until the scotch-drinker has finished his measure, then slides a glass over to him and says, "I'm ekshtremely impreshed! Try thish and tell me what you think..."

So our man takes a sip... and spits it out immediately. "Jeeze!" he chokes, "that tastes like f****ing PISS!"

"Yeah," says the bum. "So... tell me, how old am I?"

Cheers,

YY