One day in the old west a tall stranger sauntered through the swinging doors of the saloon, ordered a glass of whiskey, leaned up against the bar, tossed it down, and with a scornful air remarked, "A feller down the street said Bad Bob's a'comin' to town." The cowboys in the bar folded their poker hands, drained their glasses, picked up their money, and left, some swaggering in a manly way out the swinging doors, others escaping at a dead run out the back. 

"Another?" the barkeeper asked the stranger.   

"I ain't a'scared of no Bad Bob," the stranger said, draining his glass and banging his glass on the bar. 

Suddenly a big man riding a buffalo crashed through the swinging doors, rode around the room crushing poker tables, shooting out kerosene lanterns and starting several fires. He reined the huge, terrified animal up to the bar.

"Whiskey," the big hairy man demanded. The barkeep handed him a full quart; the man bit the neck off, poured the contents down his throat in huge, fuming gulps, smashed the empty bottle on the bar, spat out the glass, and turned to the stranger. 

"What are you looking at?" the huge man snarled, his breath knocking the stranger to the floor.  

"Another one?" asked the barkeep, wiping the bar with a rag. 

The man said "No time! Bad Bob's coming to town!" and then heaved at the reins, startling the buffalo, dug his spurs into the animal's ribs, rode around the room shooting anything not already shot once or twice, crashed through the wall, and galloped off in a cloud of dust and smoke.

Just then the stranger heard a crash, like someone tipping over a tombstone in the distance, then another, getting closer, striking the rutted road with a dusty thud. Across the street, the general store collapsed into a splintered heap of weathered boards. A monstrous mouth bit into the roof of the saloon, spat out the wreckage, and huge eyes peered in, breathing a cloud of unbearably foul breath into the smoking room.

"Whiskey!" the face ordered. The barkeeper pointed to the oak barrel, and the giant reached through the wrecked roof and picked up the cask with a finger and a thumb, cracked it like a nut between his stainless steel-capped teeth, sucked it dry, and then spat out the splintered oaken staves. 

"How about one for the hot and dusty trail?" the barkeep asked, polishing a glass. 

"No time!" the giant said. "Bad Bob's a'comin' to town!"