Watch your language, young man!

Wild Bill! Damn, what a surprise! Why didn’t you call?”
“Because then it wouldn’t have been a surprise! Give me a Newcastle, I haven’t had a beer in nine months! How’ve you been, you old pirate killer?”
“I’m doing great, just graduated business school two months ago. The bar is doing real good, and Destiny and her team have almost finished building that new kind of telescope. You sure you want Newcastle?”
“Huh? Your Newcastle went bad?”
“Here, you old asshole, have one of mine on the house,” John said, pouring from a tapper to a beer mug. “Tell me what you think. There’s nothing wrong with my Newcastle stock but I’ll bet you won’t want Newcastle after you try this.”
Bill eyed the mug warily. “Import?” He took a sip. “Pretty good!” He took another sip. “You were right! This is some damned good beer. What country was it imported from?”
“Mars, you asshole. I built a microbrewery here. At least, it started as a microbrewery, it’s a lot bigger now. Hell, I’m thinking of exporting it to Earth.”
“What? Bullshit, you’re full of shit, you old bullshitter. Come on, you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. After shipping it would cost ten times what Newcastle cost!”
“Yep, just like Newcastle is ten times what Knolls’ cost here.”
“Young man!” an old woman at the other end of the bar admonished, “Watch your fucking language, asshole!”
Bill turned red as a beet. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, Ma’am, I didn’t see you down there, I thought just John and me was here.”
“Well, just watch it, dickhead.”
“Yes ma’am.” He turned back to John.
“But who in the hell would be buying it?”
“Who do you think? People who eat pork. I hear they’re smuggling my beer all over the damned solar system, but mostly to Earth. It will probably take a few years before I can expand enough for exports, though. I can barely keep up with Martian demand.”
“Damn, you must be doing good. What’s with that giant framed picture of a guy in an eighteenth century pirate costume with a parrot on his shoulder and playing a guitar?”
“It’s a photo of an old blues guy centuries ago, John Lee Hooker, with the pirate stuff added in a computer.”
“Your last run. The one with all them damned pirates. Now I get it. Damn, that was pretty scary. I didn’t think I’d make it back to Mars. At least, until the fleet reached me. You were pretty far ahead...”
“Well, DUH, you were on batteries.”
“Yeah, the pirates showed up right when the fleet did. I thought I’d get boarded. Scared the fognart out of me!”
“Oops, shit, I forgot. I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Spew shit out of your mouth again, young man, and I’m kicking your God damned ass.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“Fuck you.”
He turned back to John, his red face a little less red. “Hey, sell me a half dozen kegs. I have to go back to Saturn and that’s a long damned way.”
“Sorry, Bill, I ain’t gonna do it.”
“What?? What the fuck, John?”
“Sorry, Bill, but I lost too many friends already, damn them fucking pirates. I almost lost Gus thanks to my stupidity and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be responsible for your dying. I ain’t got enough friends to lose any more, especially you.”
“John, what in the blagsphorth are...”
“Oops, fuck, I’m sorry, ma’am. I keep forgetting.”
“Just watch your fucking mouth, boy.”
“Yes, ma’am. John, what the FUCK are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Gus. I almost killed him!”
“Gus? Blagforth...”
“YOUNG MAN! I’m not listening to this garbage!” The old woman stomped out.
“Blagforth forgnart, Bill, that’s one of my best patrons, spends a fortune getting blagforthfaced in here.”
“Gee, John, I don’t want to cause you any lost business...”
“Garp that old crant,” John said. “It’s a fognarth fucking bar. If she don’t want to hear vulgar language she can drink somewhere else.”
“Why won’t you sell me that beer?”
“I told you, because of Gus. I almost killed him.”
“What the fognarth are you talking about?”
“Gus came through about six months ago or so. I hadn’t seen him in a long damned time, he hadn’t had any Martian runs. Anyway, he wanted beer, Loved my Captain Hooker’s Pale Ale...”
“What am I drinking?”
“Lager. Anyway, he wanted fifteen barrels. I didn’t think nothing of it, but he was drunk on his approach to Mars and the God damned pirates, as few as there are left, almost got him. I almost killed Gus and I’ll be damned if I’m going to kill you!”
“Fognarth blagsphorth, John, you fucking asshole. Yeah, you shouldn’t have sold beer to Gus. Shit, that asshole is an alcoholic. What the fucking blagsphorth is wrong with you, asshole? Jesus, John. You’re a fucking moron.”
“Well, garp, I guess you’re not Gus. Okay, I’ll sell you the garping beer, motherfucker. But God damned fognarth, you better not garping die!”


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