A Chinese kangaroo goes into a bar …

So a Chinese kangaroo goes into a bar and orders a Jacques Lacan. The bartender looks at him, narrows his eyes, and says, “I’m gonna need to see some I.D. buddy.” The Chinese kangaroo says, “No ploblem!”, digs around in his pouch, and spins a pocket mirror across the counter. The barman picks it up and flips it open, but when he looks in it, instead of seeing his own reflection he sees a line of French girls all holding up their skirts and kicking their legs in the air. “What’s this for a piece of I.D.?” he demands “A la-can-can-kangaroo mirror? That’s lame buddy. And frankly juvenile. No way you’re of age. And what the fuck’s a Jacques Lacan anyway? Ain’t no drink called a Jacques Lacan.” The Chinese kangaroo looks down at his paws and shakes his head. “Auhhh,” he says, “You soh hard. Jacques Lacan is whiskey, gin, lum, vodka, blandy, schnapps, tequila! You can serve me wuhn. Come ohn. To serve kangaloo is no ploblem!” The bartender narrows his eyes further. It’s true he’s never heard of anyone losing their license over a Chinese kangaroo, but still, it’s a pretty confronting situation. Plus there’s a Pink Floyd album playing through the sound system, and the guitar part’s making him feel weird. “Ok,” he says slowly, “but only one. And then I want you gone, ok?” “Yah! Yah! No ploblem!” the Chinese kangaroo cries, hopping up and down and humming excitedly. The bartender mixes it up and slides it over, and the kangaroo sips his way through grinning, and rapidly becomes impossibly drunk. He launches into a monologue about Syd Barrett, gets lost, belches messily, then suddenly breaks into song and starts bouncing about the bar at dizzying heights. “Shine on you clazy diah-ha-ha-mond!” he shrieks, but loses his footing and crashes nose-first into the floorboards. “Godammit!” yells the bartender. “I knew I shouldn’t have served you that ridiculous drink. A Jacques Lacan! A Jacques La-fucking-can! Talk about a bad idea cocktail. And now you’ve fallen flat on your face in my bar.” The Chinese kangaroo opens one lost eye and searches for him. “Auhhh,” he says, “No need for Lacanian cliticism. It was just small Floydian slip!”