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Bar Bet
by Bill Tope

Two men, crusty, salty dudes at best, sat alone at a small round table in the corner of the bar, glass schooners of beer on the table before them.

"Hey, dude," rasped one of the pair, "I'll bet you can't drink this whole bottle of Tabasco." He grinned, showing gaps where teeth should have been.

"Ten bucks says I can," dared the other man, wiping beer from his bearded face with the back of his hand.

"Deal!" snapped the first man.

Snatching the hot sauce from the table, the second fellow twisted off the tiny red cap and upended the bottle over his gaping maw. The aperture of the bottle was small, so he had to suck the contents from the vessel, but at length he held up the drained bottle victoriously.

"Hah!" he shouted. "Boy, were you ever stupid to bet me," he crowed, rubbing his belly in obvious distress/

There was a twinkle in the first man's eyes. "You're right," he said, handing over the sawbuck. "I got no sense at all."

Originally published in “Little Old Lady Comedy”