At a famous winery, the regular wine taster suddenly passed away, so the director began searching for someone skilled enough to replace him.

One afternoon, a messy-looking drunk walked in, clothes wrinkled, hair wild, and announced that he wanted the job.

The director nearly laughed. He was already thinking of a polite way to get rid of him, but decided to have a little fun first.

He handed the man a glass.

The drunk took one sip and said, “Muscat. Three years old. Grown on a north-facing slope, matured in steel tanks. Not excellent, but acceptable.”

The director froze. “That’s… correct.”

He gave him another glass.

The drunk tasted it calmly. “Cabernet. Eight years old. South-western slope. Oak barrels. Stored at eight degrees. Needs three more years.”

Again, the director stared. “Correct!”

A third glass was poured.

The drunk sniffed it, tasted it, and said, “Pinot Blanc Champagne. High grade. Very exclusive.”

The director was stunned, but still suspicious. Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was a trick.

So he winked at his secretary. She understood, left the room, and returned with a glass of urine.

The drunk took the glass, sniffed it, tasted it, and said calmly:

“Blonde. Twenty-six years old. Three months pregnant…”

Then he looked at the director and added:

“…and if I don’t get the job, I’ll name the father.”