A couple of weeks ago, I was traveling through the hill country in Tennessee. As luck would have it, my car broke down and I had to walk back to town to call a tow truck (cell service is almost non-existent in some areas).
On my way there, I met a hillbilly who was toting a jug of what I could only assume was homemade moonshine.
“Here, mister,” he said. “Have a swig of this stuff.”
I politely declined, saying that I had to get to town. Apparently that wasn’t the right answer, though, because suddenly I was staring down the barrel of the biggest handgun I had ever seen!
“I said,” said the hillbilly, “take a swig!”
Reluctantly, I reached for the jug and tipped it back. I nearly choked as the most revolting liquid I’d ever tasted poured into my mouth. Somehow I managed to swallow it.
“Good Lord!” I exclaimed. “That stuff’s disgusting!”
“Ain’t it though!” said the hillbilly as he handed me his pistol. “Now you hold the gun on me while I take a swig.”