A Horse walks into a bar. Slowly taking in the ambiance of the weathered old drinking house, his nostrils flared, withered eyes speckled with white flecks, surveying the landscape.
The tap-room was virtually deserted; aside the from the tender and an old man in the corner sipping slowly on a dark ale. The old man wore a cap indoors, despite the clement weather outside, the horse observed.
At the bar, the bartender, who once had come third place in a local wrestling contest, stood; with the hardened ripples of once youthful exuberance, had turned to sour sagging folds steeped in ennui and angst.
‘What’ll it be, chief?’
The Horse bobbed his head, bringing his steely eyes down close to the bartender’s. The air became palpable with tension; electrons sparked as they collided, interweaving a static blanket of dramatic proportions.
‘I’ll have the strongest fucking spirit you have in… please.’ The Horse growled.
Another horse walks into the bar.
‘Hey-ho, here’s another one of those fucking alternate reality versions of me!’ The new Horse gleefully proclaimed as he approached the bar. The first Horse turned to the interloper:
‘Oi… er… shut the fuck up before I smack you round the head with that fat bartender.’
A third Horse walks into the bar.
‘Oh, fuck me!’ Exclaimed the second Horse. ‘This was my fucking bar and now there’s a pile of other horses in here. It’s a fucking joke I tell you.’ The second Horse swung his muzzle to the bartender, who was eyeing up the situation with a wary eye. This many horses in one bar, in one joke; this could lead to trouble. A headline wove before his vision; cameras flashed, voices shouted: demanding answers. Why? Why?
‘I’ll have a banana daiquiri and whatever my two new mates from other realities want. Drinks are on me lads!’
Another Horse walks into the bar wearing what looked to be a tea cosy perched comfortably betwixt his ears.
‘Did someone say free drinks?’ Inquired the new-comer as he approached the hero Horse of our tale. Keep up – it was the second.
‘Oh go on then; but only ’cause I’m not a cheap fucker.’ The Horse signaled for a fresh drink with a careless wave of a hoof. The fourth Horse sighed whilst supping his cheap lager. ‘So, thanks for the drink chum – but I have to ask; why the long face?’
The other two equines swivelled to face the Horse; all eyes bulging, muscles gleaming. Our Hero; shook with anger. The tea cosy fell to the floor, as if in a dream.
The fracas had begun.
Moral of the Tale: Don’t take the piss if someone buys you a drink; even when they’re being a tightwad from a different reality or the multiverse. It costs nothing to be polite.