Missionary Zeal

By Hewligan

Me and Dave walk into the liquor shop. They’re about three minutes from closing, so I quickly find a nice, big bottle of Vodka and take it up to the counter.

“I am on a mission from God,” I tell the old bloke behind the till.

“What?”

“I am on a mission from God. It is my sworn duty to rid the world of the evils of alcohol by drinking it all. In accord with this duty, I intend to remove this vile liquid from your premises and leave you, by way of exchange, this miscellany of shiny metal discs that I found down the back of my couch.

“I’m not serving you. You’re drunk.”

“I’m sober as a judge,” I lie.

“You’re not. I can smell it on your breath."

This is also a lie. If he were actually able to smell my breath, he would immediately drop dead of alcohol poisoning.

Dave heroically steps forward to take up my cause. “Well, perhaps you could sell this Vodka to me. While I feel that I must admit that there are an interesting variety of recreational chemicals currently flowing through my veins, none of them are alcohol. Or, in fact, legal.”

“Get out of here! We’re closed! I’ll call the cops.”

“Very well, sir, but I feel I must warn you that in the unlikely event that either my companion or myself remember any of this in the morning, we will be writing a stern letter of complaint.”

“Bugger off!”