M walks along the road, stumbling and tripping all over himself while carrying a bottle of scotch, half empty. He steps onto a soap box, only to fall flat on his face.

"Ow"

M stands back up, brushes some filth off his slacks, and gets back on the box.

"Guys, I'm trying to act sobery here, so, if iz sounding like a dwunk, just ignore it, mkaysy?"

M clears his throat and starts to ramble on

"Is there rely a Phrohibio going on? I hear people, politica figures, policee men, alla these guys, they be saying things like how liquor is the debil's elixer. They say how anyone dwinking it is going to prison. Yet som'ow, we manage to get away with selling it toeacc oher. Dun get me wrong, I love a good drink, bu I'm just wondering, how much longer are wew gonna be atop the game. I mean, we have counte bars lined up along the business district. I really don't kno whut ta think. There are only oh so many corrupt copos in da world."

M sees two cops walking down the street, and in his drunken state tries to waddle off, only to trip and fall down an open manhole.

"I'M ALRIGHT!"

Paddy looks around the streets to make sure there are no cops within earshot.

Let's be honest pal, no one takes the Volstead act seriously. I'm pretty sure I had a few cops that were not in uniform in my pub the other day actually. It's a joke. Everyone drinks. We are providing a service in high demand. These should be the last of your worries in all honesty.