I suppose it was three or four years back when I got a ring on the phone and it was ol' "Buffy" (he flippin' hates it when I call'em that). So I was two sheet as it was and couldn't quite make out what he was gettin' at, but then it hit me... It was an invite to drop in on those S.O.Bs down in the naughty-bits of the globe, the antarctica. He was rattlin' on about diggin' up some ol' scotch and that got me to rememberin' the time we were slurpin down a bottle of tasty HyVee brand scotch and I cut the tip of my darned finger clean off! Now them's was the days. So, long story short, we went on down to the pole and searched out some scotch and brought it on back and wasn't more two seconds after ol' Buffy's private jet hit the tarmac that he was quizzin' me on a good batch o' woods to go drink'er in with our new buddy, Penguin (little bastard smells like a bag of shit all the damn time). So, that's how we beat them Scotchy fellas (LINK) to a cache of sweet, smokey whiskey that turned Buffy all glassy eyed. I says to him, "Hey, Buff... what's with the glassy eyes?" and he just looks at me and hucks up some fur like a cat and turns and tries chasin' down a couple humpin' beefs.
