A long time ago, a guy walks into the Club Charles with a sack. He orders two shots of whiskey. He drinks one of them, and then pours the other one into the sack. Baltimore's a weird place, they shrug it off. It's a busy night, no one notices anything, the guy leaves.

Couple days later our friend returns to the Club Charles, again with the sack. He orders two shots of whiskey. He drinks one of them, then pours the other one into the sack. "Allright buddy, what's up with the sack you keep bringing in here?" says the owner, a tough lady. The guy responds, making no sense. "What's up with the sack, pal?" Again, the guy responds with garbles and mumbles. "Well if you won't even talk to me, get the hell out of the bar." And she goes to toss him out of the bar. Mumbly isn't to be outdone, however, and engaging her with his garbled speech, he pulls his girlfriend's head out of the sack and sets it on the bar. The bar owner sets him up with a couple more shots, one for him, one for his girlfriend, and keeps him talking while someone else calls for help.

Oh, and I'm looking for Mr. Rights, but I thought Ron Kuby was taken!