a long haired, foul smelling, dirtier than dirt man dressed in a loin cloth and tool belt, equipt with hammer, walks into the tavern from the eastern door.
Barkeep, please tend to my thirst with a Johney Walker Red and a Guiness shooter, for I have been walking the desert for fourty years when suddenly, my father from an alien ship beamed down and told me, "there is a little tavern to the west that has a hole in the roof and the rain is coming in."
I have a hammer, but I have no nails. I'll just sit here and get wasted, if all else fails.