The pale ale, piqued at being overlooked in the kerfluffle, spread itself where Secret Squirrel was stepping, giggling with evil glee as the rascally rodent did a perfect pratfall.
The plucky squirrel produced a syphon from beneath his trenchcoat, and soon had the beer imprisoned in a little brown jar.
The pale ale, determined to free her, um, its new boyfriend, er, pal, immediately attacked the squirrel.
Elijah had quickly towed the Mitzvah Tank with his chariot to the scene, and Rabbi Yehudah ben Bezalel Levai accompanied by his sidekick, the Golem, distracted the Ale, "Are you Kosher? Pull over and show me your hekhsher! "
A bottle of oatmeal stout glared at the rabbi and muttered, “Damn fool wouldn’t know a real brew if he tripped over it.”
The bottle of Killian’s Red shouted “Oye, Boyo, what’s that you’re doing there?” But the rabbi, unable to hear alcoholic beverages, especially those with thick brogues, ignored it.
Just as the Spiffy Little Squirrel siphoned the Pale Ale into another little brown jar, the Rabbi tripped over a bottle.
Wu looked at the ancient Jewish action heroes in wonderment and asked Xiang, “Does this kind of thing happen here often?”
“Curses! My Sentient Beer imprisoned by my arch enemy, Secret Squirrel! Foiled again!” Hollered Goyisch Squirrel in his Secret Dojo believed to be somewhere near Philadelphia, or perhaps Cleveland.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in Cleveland, in the basement of a small town high school, a young girl battles a demon trying to open a hellmouth.
“Here I am, standing in a Shanghai bar without pants as a squirrel and two pools of alcohol duke it out, and someone wants to talk about Cleveland?” Wu asked.
Comparing satellite pictures of Cleveland and Philadelphia, the super intelligent squirrel decided that the Secret Dojo was in Philadelphia, because the photo was larger.
A cat, who had been eyeing the squirrel for some time now, said “y’know, W.C.Fields spent a week in Philadelphia one afternoon…”
A glass of bitters coyly snuggled up to his ankle, begging to be adopted.
“The poor man,” thought the Rabbi as they boarded the Mitzvah tank for the journey to the city of brotherly love.
Wu picked up the glass of bitters which smiled, much the way grass doesn’t, and Wu mused about rabbis who can understand cats.
“Rabbi Francis ben Assisi ,” began Rabbi Yehudah ben Bezalel Levaias as Sadie frowned and held her watch to her ear.
“Meow, er, yes?” asked Rabbi Frank, as he was known in rabbinical circles.
“You need to rethink that combover – it’s not fooling anyone,” Sadie sniffed disdainfully.
Back in the bar, Wu poured some of the bitters into a glass of eagerly waiting gin, which was absolutely gleeful at having bitters poured into it.