I'm afraid not.

You're afraid knot?

A piece of string walks into a bar. "I'd like a beer," he says.

The bartender shakes his head. "Go away."

The string says, "but I really need a drink!"

"Get lost. We don't serve your kind in here."

So the string goes outside to an alley and twists and contorts himself until he's tied himself into a knot. Then he scuffs up his ends and walks back into the bar.

"I'd like a beer," he says.

"Hey wait a minute, aren't you that piece of string that was just in here?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

Classic dad joke. If you tell it too many times you'll get someone pregnant.

The bartender says, "We don't serve your kind here."

A tachyon walks into a bar.

A neutrino walks through a bar.

i love string theory.

Posting in an epic thread!

Let's keep it cordial.

I can't believe I got roped into this.

It'll make a great yarn one day.

Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his heart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents. There was no lack of material; boys happened along every little while; they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By the time Ben was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for a kite, in good repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat and a string to swing it with -- and so on, and so on, hour after hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in wealth. He had besides the things before mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a jews-harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool cannon, a key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass doorknob, a dog-collar -- but no dog -- the handle of a knife, four pieces of orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window sash.