Monterey entered the bar, glancing around. Chip had been pretty depressed
after this evening's events. On the way back to the tree, they had passed 
by this particular hole in the wall (literally). Chip only glanced at it, 
but Monterey had see that look in his travels enough to know that Chip would 
be visiting this place soon. He just didn't think it would be the same night.
     Over in a secluded corner of the bar, Monterey spotted Chip. The chipmunk
had seen better days, it seemed, as he sat at the table slumped over, no
sign of any vibrancy left -- except for the single paw clutching the bottle
of Acorn Ale in a death grip.
     Sighing, Monterey walked over to his slightly fermented friend.
     "I thought you said you'd take up drinkin' only after you were already
dead, mate," he mentioned casually as he sat across from Chip.
     "Why put off until tomorrow what you can *hic* do today?" Chip replied, 
a bit awkwardly, as the words attempted to push their way past the alcohol.
     "Look mate, this isn't gonna help matters any."
     "Maybe not, but I *hic* sure feel better."
     "How much have you had?"
     Chip shrugged, still not looking away from the bottle. It was still rather
full, now that Monterey could see it better. "I *hic* lost track after...
um... after... one, I think."
     "One bottle?" Monty blinked.
     "One glass." Chip tried not to look ashamed that he was wasted from one glass
of ale. And failed.
     Stifling a laugh, Monterey shook his head. "Well, mate, what do you think of
the drinkin' therapy?"
     "It has its *hic* moments."
     "Wait 'till the moment hits you in the mornin'."
     "I know. That's why I plan to *hic* sleep with a bucket by my bed."
     "Look mate, lemme take the bottle, okay?" Monterey tried to remove the
flask from Chip's grasp, but surprisingly, Chip retained a fierce grip on
it.
     "No. I bought this thing, and I'm *hic* going to drink it."
     "How? By starin' it into yer stomach?"
     "Don't shatter my *hic* illusion."
     Running a paw over his face, Monterey tried a different approach. "Look mate,
trust ol' Monty on this. I've seen drunks before, and I hate to tell you this,
but it's just not in your blood. You'll never make it as a lush."
     Chip looked crestfallen, then finally up at his friend. "You... you
mean I can't *hic* just drown my sorrows in this *hic* stuff?"
     "Look mate, let me ask you some questions. First, how does it taste?"
     "Horrible."
     "Second, if a conflict comes up between case solvin' and happy hour, which
would you choose?"
     "The case, you *hic* cheesebrain."
     Monty smiled. It was the ale talking, not Chip. He could *smell* that much.
"Third, you've had one glass of ale, and have barely moved in the past five
minutes--"
     "I haven't moved for *hic* an hour."
     "--so are you ready to give up chasing crooks?"
     "We have the *hic* Ranger Plane."
     "The balloon is flat."
     "We have the *hic* Ranger Wing."
     "Wings fall off."
     "Again?"
     "Again. And none of the other transports are workin', either. So you ready to
give up runnin' to catch the crook?"
     Chip grumbled. *He* was supposed to be the smart one. "No."
     "And finally, are you going to trust your judgements when you're loaded?"
     "No! Friends don't *hic* let friends drink and think... or something."
     "Too right, mate. You see? You'll never make it as a drunk. Better stick
to crimefightin'."
     Chip seemed disappointed, but sighed and nodded. "One favor, Monty."
     "Hmm?"
     "I still can't seem to *hic* move. Could you give *hic* me a lift?"
     Monterey grinned. "I've been the designated walker before, mate, so no
sweat." With that, he bent over and scooped up Chip over his shoulder, taking
the bottle from the groaning chipmunk.
     I hope he doesn't get sick easily, Monterey thought as he started home, the
tipsy leader of the Rangers hiccuping with every step.
     On the way out of the door, however, Monterey tossed the bottle in the trash.
Then the two friends were headed for home, if not completely in a straight
line.