The bear took another swig of beer. I tried to check my watch subtly, wondering exactly how late it was. Whatever time, it was far too late to be listening to a drunken bear. Frankly, I regretted ever going to an animal bar, but friends had told me it was exciting.
 It was not.
 "And... And alcohol, is a great provoker of three things..." He mumbled drunkenly.
 "Oh..." I replied. I really didn't care, but he went on anyway.
 "What does it provoke?" He asked himself. Then, believing I had asked the question, he continued: "Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes;it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance: therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him."
 I looked at him in shock for a few moments. I had been willing to set aside the fact that bears can't speak for the evening, but now he was quoting Shakespeare. Even for me, this was particularly weird. After a few minutes, the bear collapsed drunkenly, destroying the table. The bartender glared at me angrily from behind his ill-tended bar, and I smiled apologetically. The bartender, obviously not placated by this, pulled a shotgun from behind the bar, and I ran for it.
 He'll probably shoot the bear and stuff him. I know I should care, but that seems like a lot of work. Besides, if I go 'round rescuing everyone who quotes Shakespeare, it'll go to his head. And no-one wants big-headed zombie Shakespeares, do they?