Marty sauntered up to the barstool and sat.
“I’d rather have a bottle in front o’ me than a frontal lobotomy. I bet you never heard that one before,” he wiggled his eyebrows at the bartender.
“You’re right. I never have,” Marlene rummaged among the bottles of rum and vodka and produced a scalpel and a face mask. “Now, then, shall we get started?”