"I-I-ah won't be the butt-tt-tt of your joke. You spiked my drink with some kinda dr-r-rug, but I sure'm n't be-e-e-comink a barnyard animul,"slurred the Major. His arms were itching terribly, now that the biker had mentioned them, so were his ears. The drug immobilized him he couldn't scratch. His shirt collar felt tight. He was sweating. Obviously the effects of the Mickey Finn.
Blurry eyed, the Major surveyed the bar looking for some sign of help, a friendly face to call 9-1-1.
A sudden burst of light came from outside as the door to darkened bar, swung open. The Major looked to the door with hope in his clouding eyes.