A few nights ago, I was in my usual spot and drinkin Stoli's at a rapid fire rate. Fuck the beer, I had no time for that foolishness. So, I crawl away and return the next evening and politely demand the necessary lubrication to slide me into the proper frame of mind.
The bar wench picks up the bottle, and much to our dismay it is empty. My heart sank, and I cried "This is an outrage!" to all the concerned citizens who had assembled to stand in my presense. A clamor arose from my people and they peppered the responsible party with darts, beer mugs and billiard balls. A man broke free of the crowd and held a burning torch demanding blood.
The barman ran to the nearest phone, punched the numbers and hastily spoke into the receiver "Emergency! We need Stoli!" And slammed the phone down, now at the mercy of his fate and time.
"How about Absolut Citron?" He asked, stalling for time and trying to placate me while the restless crowd stood silently staring at him, the torch lay burning on the bartop as a constant reminder of his failure.
"Sure." He poured it, and the bottle ran dry. A bead of perspiration slid down his face and hung from the tip of his chin.
I rattled the ice and it appeared to be a full glass, this could work for the moment. I took a sip and a little man of indeterminant age came forth and asked "Is it good, Brasky?" I nodded my approval and he turned to the crowd "Its good! He likes it!" A wave of rapture rolled through the assemblage and a woman in the back said "But theres no more!" and wept openly. Her displeasure swept through the crowd like water over flames, and they became angry again.
"You bastard!" The little ageless man spat at the barman as melting vinyl popped and sizzled in agreement. I heard the slow metallic precision of a pistol being cocked, and at that very moment Jen walked in with a long brown bottle bag, and held it aloft.
Orgasmic hysteria smashed through the place like a tidal wave, an explosion of joy so profound it provoked spontaneous lactation in every woman present regardless of age. They all began dancing and in their frenzy of celebration the dance soon became an orgy, they squirmed and writhed on the floor like a nest of snakes.
So, I had a few snorts and meandered away for the evening, satisfied and pleasantly buzzed. The next day I returned and asked for a Stoli, and the bar wench picked up the bottle, it was less than half full. "Who's been chopping away at my bottle?" I asked.
"Well, uh, nobody else drinks that here... But don't worry, I have another, just got it today."
"Good idea." I said.