I was relaxin' with my second Plutonian Stinger in the dignified atmosphere of Charley's Venusian Retreat when there was this strange noise outside the dive, like a flock of hot jets hittin' the atmosphere. Right after a character comes bustin' through the door.
He looks behind him, scared-like, wipin' his forehead with a handkerchief as big as one of Charley's tablecloths, only cleaner. He stops near my table.
"I beg your pardon, would you mind if I joined you?"
"Listen, buster, if you got a ulterior motif, such as a touch, you kin hop a jet, and-" I starts. Then I get a really good look, and hear myself sayin', "Hey, you don't look so good. Maybe you better sit down."
"Thank you, oh thank you very much," he says, floppin' onto one of Charley's flexible plastic stools.
"Well, I guess I kin maybe be a sucker and go fer just one," I says, while he is still mutterin' somethin' to hisself. "Waiter! Hey, mug!" I turns back to the little fella, feelin' real expansive, like they say.
"What'll be your pleasure, buster?"
"Oh, but please allow me."
Well, this is a new angle-a panhandler puttin' hisself on the pan. But far be it from me to refuse a barroom curtsy, so I orders another Jupiter sling.
"I'll have two of those drinks on your tray," the little guy pipes up to the waiter. And the mug, who is also one of Charley's best bouncers, almost drops his load.
"Hey, mister, these here's Plutonian stingers," the waiter yells.
"Y'know what's in them things, fella?" I chimes in. "They get ground vesicantus herbs from Pluto, and-"
"Oh, what difference does it make?" The little guy looked mournful. "He'll get me sooner or later, and then-"

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