At a winery, the regular wine taster had died and the director started looking for a new one to hire.
An old drunkard, with a ragged and dirty look came in to apply for the position:
The director of the winery wondered how to nicely send him away in this all too Politically Correct world.
He gave him a glass of their low-end wine to drink.
The old drunk sipped it and without the traditional sniffing or swirling said.
“It’s Muscatel, three years old, grown on a north slope, matured in steel containers. Low grade, but acceptable.”
“That’s correct.” Said the boss.
Then he gave him another glass.
“This is a Cabernet, eight years old, a southwestern slope, oak barrels, matured at 8 degrees. It requires three more years for the finest results.”
“That’s Correct.”
And he gave him a third glass.
“It’s a Pinot Blanc Champagne, high grade and exclusive.” The old drunk man said calmly.
The director was astonished.
He winked at his secretary, secretly suggesting something.
She left the room and came back in with a glass of urine.
The alcoholic tried it of course.
“It’s a blonde, 26 years old, three months pregnant and if I don’t get the job I’ll name the father!”
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