Grumpy and I were sitting in the car, stuck in traffic, with the windows down. He was telling me what my step-sister's husband told him: that he takes a gout pill every day so he can drink as much as he likes.
Well, whatever.
"Speaking of gout," said Grumpy, "I could do with some beers."
"Why not stop on the way home and grab some?"
He paused for a moment and gazed at his foot. When he next spoke, passersby could have been forgiven for taking things out of context.
"Nah. I'd better give it a rest. I've still got some tingling down there."
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