A parrot walks into a pub. It’s Poets in Sai Kung. The bird hops onto the bar and says to Licensee Rose, “Hit me with a pint of frosted Asahi and a large shot of your finest malt please, dearie.”
Rose looks at the parrot. “You’re too small. You can’t drink all that.”
“Just watch me, dearie.”
Twenty minutes later the parrot is flat on his back on the bartop, legs in the air, wings flapping weakly. A big grin on his face. “Tickle my tummy please, dearie.”
Rose obliges, lightly stroking his torso. “I told you you can’t drink all that.”
The parrot cackles, “It’s all part of a cunning plan, dearie. I like my tummy tickled when I’m pickled.”
Rose laughs,”What’s your name?”
“Kinky.”
“Now why is it that doesn’t surprise me?”
SPECIAL FOR MAY at Poets: Two pints of San Miguel for $65
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