A piece of twine walks into a bar. He orders a beer. The bartender says we can't serve your kind here, and the poor piece of twine leaves angrily. Once outside, he twists himself up and loops
through himself and musses his top all up. He walks back in and orders a beer.
"Didn't I just tell you we don't serve string here?" Shouts the bartender.
"No. I'm afraid not."
For those slow on the uptake, we offer this subtitle:
"No. I'm a frayed knot."
Buh dump dump.1