At Wit's End

TWO INEBRIATED FELLOWS were leaving a tavern when a stray dog bit one of them. When the bitten drunk saw that the dog was rabid, he took a pen and a piece of paper and started writing frantically. His friend slurred, "You don't have to worry about a will, pal. Rabies can be treated." In response, the bleary drunk said, "Will? What will? I'm making a list of all the people I'm going to bite."