A philosopher walks into a bar, dragging his long beard.

The bartender, a grizzly bear of a man, bellows, “Hey Socrates, what’s your poison?”

The philosopher, scratching his chin, replies, “I’ll have a glass of impossibility, straight up.”

The bartender laughs, “Sorry, fresh out of that. The unicorn drank the last of it.”

The philosopher, not missing a beat, says, “Isn’t every drink just a metaphor for the soul who orders it? A mirror in a glass?”

The bartender, twirling his mustache, retorts, “Well, in that case, how about a cocktail of confusion, shaken not stirred, with a twist of clarity to keep you guessing?”

The philosopher grins, “Perfect. And add a dash of reality, just to ruin the taste.”