Moonshine

A young man was hitchhiking down south and a farmer driving an old pickup truck stopped to give him a lift.

As they were driving, the farmer started bragging about how good the local moonshine whiskey was. The young man told the farmer that he didn’t drink very much, and that moonshine would probably be too strong for his tastes.

“Nonsense!” said the farmer. “You gotta try some.” He fished around behind him and finally produced a small jug. “Here,” he said, handing the jar to the lad. “Take a drink!”

“Oh, no thanks,” said the young man. “I really don’t think I care for any.”

“No, I insist,” pressed the farmer. “Have some.”

“No, thanks — really,” said the young man.

The farmer wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He stopped the truck and grabbed his shotgun from the rack in back. He pointed the gun at the lad and roared, “I said, take a drink!”

“Okay! Okay!” said the young man. He took a few swallows and instantly realized just how powerful the stuff was. His throat muscles tightened, his eyes watered, and he made a choking sound.

“What do you think of it?” asked the farmer. “Good, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” gasped the lad, afraid he would be forced to drink more if he disagreed, “I guess so.”

Then the farmer handed the young man the shotgun and grinned. “Here! Now, you hold the gun on me and make me drink some!”.