Swigmund ran to the pub.
He ordered one hundred pints.
"You're closing an hour earlier, hurry it up man!" he spluttered whilst slopping down the ale.
The pipes creaked as the publican squeezed juice from the taps.
It seemed impossible, but Swigmund chugged glass after glass of the stuff.
At 10pm he staggered out the door, collapsed into a bush, and swore at the government.