We entered the pool hall with the deer slung over our shoulders. We dropped the deer onto the tile and asked the barkeep Dan Bobeegeegullgort if he had anything to drink. He asked if we had anything specific in mind. I told him, it can't be Cuervo, no margaritas. I told him, I need something with a little more edge and a little more whiskey. He gave us some Coors Lights and told us it was whiskey. I dipped my finger in it and pretended to taste it and claimed it was sour. Needless to say, when we left that joint we were forced by the local bar matrons at broken bottle point.