A translator and Google translate walk into a bar, along with their boss.
“Hi,” the translator says to the bartender. “I’m retiring, this is my replacement, the other guy is my boss, we want some drinks.”
“That’s great,” the bartender replies. “What will it be?”
“I’ll have a vodka,” the translator says. “And you, Google?”
“One Martini, outer foliage the olives.”
“Sorry?” said the bartender.
“He means, leave out the olives,” the translator says.
“I’m sorry,” the bartender says after looking at his bottles, “we’re out of gin.”
“Then I want a salted canine. A courser with salt.”
“He wants a salty dog,” the translator cleared it up. “A greyhound, or what’s the name.”
“Okay,” the bartender says. “And your boss?”
The boss says something, Google translates.
“A wall to bang.”
“A wallbanger!” the bartender says, pleased.
“No,” the translator replies. “He wants to bang his head on the wall for using Google translate.”
(I originally posted this in a comment to a blog post somewhere, but I decided to edit it and put it on this blog as well. After all, translation’s half of what I do.)