An 18th-century vagabond in England, exhausted and famished, came to a roadside inn with a sign reading, “George and the Dragon.” He knocked.
The innkeeper’s wife stuck her head out a window. “Could ye spare some victuals?” he asked.
The woman glanced at his shabby, dirty clothes. “No!” she shouted.
“Could I have a pint of ale?”
“No!” she shouted.
“Could I at least sleep in your stable?”
“No!” she shouted again.
The vagabond said, “Might I please…”
“What now?” the woman screeched, not allowing him to finish.
“D’ye suppose,” he asked, “that I might have a word with George?”
Thanks Mike
And that, dear readers, is how Ash Pile Junction got its name.
lawl. Reminded me of “bridezillas”.
Sorry for my blonde brain ,I dont get it
Infidel,
I’ll ‘splain it to ya. Sit down and put on your thinking cap.
The place was called George and the Dragon. With her attitude he assumed he was speaking to the Dragon. I guess he thought he’d have a better chance talking with George.
Priceless!
thanks Jonco I get it now