The sentient beer, having heard the voice, paused in its oozing towards the door.
“Why?” thought the beer as it pondered having been brought to sentience without its consent.
“Who, Watt?” asked the Rabbi.
A sensuous pale ale oozed toward the sentient beer, burbling, “Hey, good-looking, want to go out?”
“Mmmm, you look cold and wet,” said the beer appreciatively.
“No, I’m not Watt, I’m Wu”
“I know, I know,” said the bartender, Tony Xiang, rolling his eyes as he polished a highball glass.
Rabbi Levai suddenly and furiously started making a transmutation circle on the ground while muttering under his breath about something called “the law of equivocal exchange”
“I hope this works or we’ll all be turned into motza” he declared, wiping the sweat from his yamulkah.
“Yes, I want to talk to Wu.”
Xiang and Wu, oblivious to what was going on in Israel, watched as the two pools of alcoholic beverage began courting.
“Why?”
The pale ale quivered when her shy amber tendril trickled into the sentient beer’s leading edge.
“Never mind, I forgot already.”
“Dave’s not here, man.”
“Wu’s Dave?”
“No, Watt’s Dave.”
Secret Squirrel, alerted by Rabbi Yehudah ben Bezalel Levai in Philadelphia, shiska or no, having disguised himself as a beer garden mural, prepared to arrest Goyisch Squirrel’s beverage minyans. Minions.
Meanwhile, the scanitly clad serving wench brought out a big plate of mini onions.
Being a rodent, Secret Squirrel calmly chided the comely serving wench (say that fast three times) and put the cuffs on the beer, “You’re under arrest, Lager!”
The beer, being Chinese, didn’t understand the Squirrel and simply flowed out of the cuffs.