I was tending bar at the race track one day when a group of four midgets came in. They were drunk, rowdy and holding envelopes in their hands. As they struggled to climb the Mount Everests that were their barstools, I thought about not serving them, considering how drunk they were. Then I thought to myself, Nah, you gotta see how this one plays out. This could be funny.
"Barkeep!" the one closest to me yelled out. "Four of your coldest beers, and four of your strongest shots." As I served them, I noticed that the envelopes they were holding were all addressed from The Guinness Book of World Records. They started wrangling the beers to their mouths with their little hands, and I had to ask, "Hey, what's with the envelopes?"
"You're looking at the next four entries in the Guinness Book, barkeep," one explained proudly.
"Oh, reall?" I responded. "And just how is that?"
"We all applied for the world's smallest body part," another one told me. "I applied for smallest ears, see?" He showed me his tiny ears, and I wondered how he could even hear with them.
"I applied for smallest feet, see?" another stated. "I fall down two, sometimes three, times a day."
"And you?" I asked yet another one.
"World's shortest legs, of course." He held one leg up. I could barely bend.
I asked the last one what he applied for. "Well, uh you know, the world's smallest, you know?"
"Penis?" I said, shocked. "Why would you publicize that?"
"Well, the damned thing is useless, so I figured it might as well get me famous, right?" he confessed.
"I guess so," I said, "but you know, all four of you winning in one day is pretty impossible."
They all waved their little hands at me dismissively. So, I challenged them to open up their letters.
The first opened his envelope quickly without fear, and read silently. "Wooo-hooo! World's smallest ears!"
I congratulated him. He leaned forward, and said, "What? Can't hear you."
They all laughed. The one with the stubby legs opened his next. There was a moment of silent tension, then he burst out, cheering. He had the world's shortest legs.
"It's gonna be tough, three in a row," I cautioned the one who had the tiny feet. But he had also won!
Finally, it was up to the one with the cocktail wiener. "Okay, it's your turn," I challenged him. All his friends encouraged him, assuring him fate was on his side. He would win, they were sure of it. But four in a row would be tough. Slowly, he tore the envelope open. His eyes brightened for a moment, and then looked sad. His shoulders slumped. "Didn't win?" I asked.
"No," he said, his eyes still on the letter.
One of his friends asked why he didn't win.
He looked over with rheumy eyes and simply asked, "Who the hell is Donald Trump?"