A Toast Between Enemies
Two men, bitter rivals, collide on a back road. Both cars are mangled beyond repair, but the drivers walk away without a scratch.
The first man says, “Maybe this is a sign we should stop fighting. Fate kept us safe—let’s call it a truce.” The second agrees.
The first man pulls a six-pack from his trunk. “Let’s celebrate.” He hands over two bottles. They clink. The second man downs his.
Another round. The second man chugs again. And again.
Finally, he notices the first man hasn’t touched a single bottle. “What’s the matter—aren’t you drinking yours?”
The first man shrugs. "Nah, I’ll wait until the cops get here."
