You immediately break into chest-heaving guffaws of laughter, pointing at his weird, misshapen red nose that clearly got that way after decades of serious abuse of alcohol.
"Man, just looking at that huge thing on your face...I think we may have a world alcohol shortage here. Seriously, is that where you keep all your useless trivia you use to enrapture these mindless idiots you call friends? I've had a harder time hypnotizing frogs."
Jim stares at you in shock and disbelief.
"You know what? Not only am I not going to serve you, but you can just get the frak out of the bar, you old, ornery, annoying, pathetic drunk!"
Silence reigns. Everyone looks at you, and then at Jim. With a loud creak, Jim hauls his ungainly mass out of the half-broken wooden bar stool and heads quietly to the door. No one says a thing. "Fat Bottomed Girls" by Queen starts playing on the jukebox and everyone goes back to their drinks, hushed, mystified and even a little awed by this new side of their long-time bartender.
Unfortunately, they don't get much time to discuss it, because Jim went back to his truck and returned with a shotgun. No rock salt in this one, bud. Looks like you should be more careful about who you mouth off too. This is Texas, you know.
You wake up in the hospital with your chest heavily bandaged. If you had a girlfriend or if you hadn't stopped calling your mom, maybe someone would be waiting by your bedside for you to regain conciousness. As it is, there's nothing but a hospital tray emitting some seriously unpleasant odors from what I guess you could describe as food sitting on it.