Maybe it was the white power
haircuts or maybe it was just
the profusion of really crude
offensive tattoos of screaming
banshees and dead head rock
band logos that put me off --
whatever it was I thought --
"Time to reach inside that
old box of barroom dirty
tricks for the shot that stalled
an alien invasion" -- I acted
calm and vaguely respectful
said, "How would you boys
like something really different?
Something no one has been
able to drink more than two of
and remain upright?"
"What's it called?"
"I don't know if I should tell
you or not. Might spoil the
surprise." Their response was
about what you expected,
"What's it called, asshole?"
and they made it sound like
a threat. "Okay, you asked
for it, The Dead Nazi."
"We'll take two to begin with."
"If you're able to drink those,
the third one's on me, as in free."
"Start pouring and don't worry
about how many we can hold,
we'll take care of everything."
"I'll bet you will." I mixed them
fast and filled a couple of shot
glasses before they changed their
minds, holding enough elephant
tranquilizer in reserve, for the next
couple of rounds. I watched them
going for it a if it were some
kind of perverse game of liquid
Russian Roulette, started clearing
off all the remaining wads of
cash from the bar; where they
headed, money wasn't going
to do them any good.