The last stop is the bedroom, where a big brass gong sits next to the bed.
“What’s that gong for?” the friend asks him.
“It’s not a gong,” the drunk replies. “It’s a talking clock.”
“How does it work?”
The guys picks up a hammer, gives the gong an ear-shattering pound, and steps back.
Suddenly, someone on the other side of the wall screams, “Hey asshole! It’s 3:30 in the fucking morning!”