Once there was a guy named Mac who loved his gin and whiskey so much he stocked up on a bottle a week (sometimes a bottle a day) during all of 1919 as the country faced the countdown to Prohibition.

Years later, when Mac’s supply ran out, he discreetly asked a few friends for a referral and had a few unfortunate disappointments before he found a bootlegger who brought him the smoothest, mellowest moonshine they nicknamed “Mama’s Milk.”


Just when Mac was coming to rely on his new treasure, Mac’s bootlegger gets arrested.


Or was it shot? Yes. He was shot. Dead. No more moonshine for poor Mac.


Instead of moping around, Mac gets an inspiration. He fills a tiny shot glass with a sample of his precious remaining jelly jar of Mama's Milk moonshine and has a courier deliver it to the local pharmacist in a paper bag with a discreet note (wrapped around a $1 bill) requesting all possible tests be done to determine the liquid’s content.


Three weeks later, a thin envelope arrives from the Pharmacy: Your horse has diabetes.