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.
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