Sausage Fest
Spike and Mad Dog had rumbled into Sturges on their Harleys, but after shelling out for grub and fuel, they found themselves scraping the bottom of their wallets. Together, they could muster a mere four bucks.
“So, Spike, how in the world are we gonna swing beer for both of us over ten days?” Mad Dog quizzed with a raised brow.
“Just wait,” Spike replied, a grin tugging at his lips. He saunters off to the supermarket’s meat section and comes back with a hefty sausage.
Mad Dog snarled, “Have you flipped your lid? Now we’re completely broke!”
“Cool it… I’ve got a scheme up my sleeve,” Spike reassured him.
Strutting into the nearest watering hole, Spike promptly ordered a pair of stiff drinks. Mad Dog shot him a look of sheer terror, “Are you flipped? We’re gonna be in a world of hurt when they catch on we can’t foot the bill!”
Spike just winked. “Relax, here’s the play… Cheers!” Once they had knocked back their drinks, Spike instructed, “Now, I’ll place the sausage strategically through my fly—you kneel and pretend it’s, well, you know.”
Caught in the act by the irate bartender, they were promptly booted out. But undeterred, the two biked from bar to bar, enjoying an uproarious—and complimentary—boozy spree.
By the time day ten rolled around, Mad Dog groaned to Spike, “Man, I don’t think I can keep this up. I’m zonked, sick of snack food, and my knees are screaming!”
Spike shrugged off the concern. “Guess we can call it quits and head on back. I can’t even recall which bar I left the sausage at this point.”