A man, depressed and down on his luck, wanders into a pub and the first thing he sees is a big jar stuffed full of money on the bar. The bartender, noticing his interest, casually tells him that it's prize money. For The Challenge.
"What challenge?" The man asks.
"Well, it's a three part challenge. And nobody has even managed to complete the first task yet." The bartender answers.
"What's the first task?" The man asks.
"Well you see that big fella over there?" The bartender points out a hulking monster of man lurking in the dark near the entrance to the bar, "That's our bouncer. For the first task of The Challenge you have to knock him out cold. With one punch."
The man audibly swallows, "Oh. What's the second task?"
The bartender sighs, "Well that part is a bit of a heartbreaker. The owner, man that he was, has a prize fighting dog. Beautiful animal. Vicious like the devil himself. In his glory days the owner had a few of the dog's teeth capped in gold to make him even more impressive. But those days are gone and the dog is dying of rabies in the basement of this very bar. The animal is quite mad and extremely violent. The second task is to pull out one of the dog's gold teeth."
The man looks pale now, "Sweet Jesus. What's the third task?"
The bartender points back out the entrance to the bar, "You might not have noticed, but there's a convent across the street. Been here a long time. And in that convent lives Sister Mary Agatha and she's 100 years old now. Still a virgin. The third task, young man, is to seduce that ancient crone and get her to have three orgasms."
The man doesn't even answer. He just stares out the door as his shoulders slump down in defeat. Eventually he takes a seat beside the jar of money and just sits there, pondering it, for a long time. But after a while he straightens up, squares his shoulders, and calls over the bartender.
"I'm going to do it. I'm going to do the challenge. Pour me a shot." He says.
The bartender smiles a knowing grin as he grabs a bottle and starts pouring a shot, "If that's the case then your drinks are on the house, young man."
"In that case, good sir, let's make it five shots. In fact, let's make them doubles!" The man says.
The bartender nods and pours out five brimming double shots, all in a line, for the man.
The man takes the first, looks over at that terrifying gorilla lurking in the shadows, and raises his glass before downing it.
He takes the second, glances down towards the basement below his feet, raises his glass, and then downs it.
He takes the third, raises it to the convent across the street, and then downs it.
The fourth he raises to the bartender, who nods in acknowledgment, and then he downs it.
The last he raises to himself, for courage, and then downs it.
Then he sits there for a long moment, contemplating his destiny, silent for so long that the bartender nearly says something, but before he can the man leaps off his stool, shakes off the impending buzz, and then breaks into a sprint, straight across directly towards the bouncer. As he runs he reaches back, way back, all the way to his midwestern roots, and when he swings at that Yeti's jaw it's with all the force in his being. The bouncer goes down like a felled tree in the forest.
The man doesn't skip a beat as he turns on his heel and sprints back across the room, past the stunned faces of the other patrons, past the shocked face of the friendly bartender, to the far side of the bar, where he yanks open the door to the basement and sprints down into those nightmare depths.
It's silent for a moment as everyone in the bar looks at each other in complete surprise and wonder, but they collectively turn and stare at the basement doorway as they hear a deep noise coming up from below, like the vibration of some distant train, that grows steadily louder and louder, until they recognize the terrifying growl of a creature so utterly insane, filled with such terrifying rage and hate, that they can scarce believe it's made by any living thing.
And then that growl explodes into a violent torrent of barking and snarling and sounds of struggle. Yelping and gasping and snapping sounds emanate from that yawning doorway. And then, unexpectedly, there is a moment of silence.
Suddenly the hair on the back of the neck of everyone in the bar stands on end as a deep animal howl breaks the silence. Long. Drawn out. Filled with sadness and longing.
Silence again. And then a second howl. Even more desperately filled with anguish than the first.
Silence. Then a third howl. Filled with the most unbearably heartbreaking misery.
Silence. And then the slow clump of feet on the stairs. Each step slower than the last. Exhaustion apparent in each.
And then the man appeared. Scuffed, scraped, clothes torn and ripped and ragged, covered in countless bloody scratches and bites. He bore a haunted look like he had seen things no man should see.
He stumbled over and fell into a seat at the bar, "That was, without a doubt, the most difficult thing I have ever done in my entire life."
"…pulling out that nuns gold tooth is going to be a cakewalk by comparison."
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