it only happened ONCE...but it DID happen

Scott Dravens flask was dead. Lifeless. The image of John Wayne on the flask seemed to mock him as Scott stared at it in grey spirits. "You disappoint me, John..." he said as he tucked it away into his sport coat. At that very second a flailing body was flown out the adjacent window at an alarming rate. Scott didn't flinch. He simply reached down and finished him off with a punch in the face...just before taking his wallet. He then took a look at the gaping hole where a window used to be. "Fucking assholes got nothing better to do then throw even BIGGER fucking assholes out through windows" He then brushed the shards of glass off his clothes then looked into the broken glass frame. "What IS this place anyway..." he wondered to himself. What he saw impressed him...either that or it was more of a challenge. He nodded in satisfaction, shrugged then went in carefree and without concern. As soon as he did the entire joint turned around and threw an army of loaded guns in his face...followed by a loud spell of silence. Scott made a face like this: o.O then said "oookay..." Just then a scuffling noize was heard behind him. Always alert Scott turned around quickly only to be met by a bartender. "Sorry son, house rules say that we're not allowed to serve suits in here...conformists of ANY kind, that be." He was surprised at this allegation. But he found it funny, too. He surrendered and said, "alright, fine by me...there ARE other shitty watering holes filled with cousin-fucking inbred hillibilly wannabes anyway..." But before he left he approached the door and turned to the barkeep and said, "I'm just gonna get one to go." Then knocked a poor fella out and swiped his beer. He then smiled, and nodded to the bartender and went out the door with the beer AND the glass.

She was raised on whiskey and second hand smoke.

Sean finally got off work. He was made to go home early because he had had broken some equipment because of a dead patient. 'Thank god I work for a hospital,' He thought to himself, 'they don't fire you unless you shoot a patient.' He laughed to himself. Sean sat down in a swivel chair. "Can I get a vodka barkeep?" He asked, as politely as he could.

30 minutes and 6 vodkas later, Sean sat at the bar counter, incredibly drunk. He sang expertly and loud.
"There was never any good old days
They are today, they are tomorrow
It's a stupid thing we say
Cursing tomorrow with sorrow
When we stand here in a row
Looking like a bunch of heroes
I know that-a deep inside
Nothing more but bunch of zeros
Skolko utetchki tepla
Vot takaja vot subda
Nam segodnja suzdena
A bti mezget chto kogda da-j povezet! Oy barkeep! Get me another drink
you dumb prick!" He shouted and nearly fell off of his chair. The bartender brought him another vodka.

"Maybe you should lay off the alcohol." The bartender said, almost concerned. "And you know that I'll pick up, Every time you call, Just to thank you one more time...Alcohol..." He sang drunkenly, ignoring the bartender. "Hey! Are you even listening?!" The bartender yelled. Sean looked at him for a few seconds. Then he lifted his middle finger and went back to singing. "You know what you little shit? Yo! Allen! Come get this fucker out of here!" The bartender called to a large, muscular man. Allen swaggered over and grabbed Sean by the collar. "Fucking fascist!" Sean yelled and pulled his Colt 45 out of it's holster. The man instantly dropped him and jumped behind a table.

Everyone in the bar went silent. Sean waved the gun around drunkenly. "Alright, barkeep, get me my motherfucking drink!" He demanded. The bartender quickly poured a vodka in a glass and handed it to him. His hands were shaking so much that some of the vodka ended up on the floor. "Allen mop this up!" Sean ordered and stumbled out of the bar, downing his drink.

Nothing more but bunch of zeroes