Bob works hard at the plant and spends two nights each week bowling and plays golf every Saturday.
His wife thinks he's pushing himself too hard so, for his birthday, she takes him to a local strip club.
The doorman at the club greets them and says, “Hey, Bob! How ya doin'?”
Bob's wife is puzzled and asks if he's been to this club before.
“Oh no,” says Bob. “He's in my bowling league.”
When they are seated, a waitress asks Bob if he'd like his usual and brings over a Budweiser.
Bob's wife is becoming increasingly uncomfortable and says, “How did she know that you drink Budweiser?”
“I recognize her,” said Bob, “she's the waitress from the golf club. I always have a Bud at the end of the first nine, honey.”
A stripper then comes over to their table, throws her arms around Bob, starts to rub herself all over him and says, “Hi, Bobby. Want your usual table dance, big boy?”
Bob's wife, now furious, grabs her purse and storms out of the club.
Bob follows and spots her getting into a cab. Before she can slam the door, he jumps in beside her. Bob tries to desperately explain how the stripper must
have mistaken him for someone else, but his wife is having none of it. She is screaming at him at the top of her lungs, calling him every four-letter word in the book.
The cabby turns around and says, “Geez, Bob, you picked up a real bitch this time.”
Bob's funeral is on Tuesday.
