Gilford, the Unnecessarily Magical

Where am I going to find a box of grits at this hour? It’s an unconventional ingredient, as far as magical components go, but Southern Magic did things differently. For one thing, the incantations are spoken much slower, and for another…

they have a lot more of a relaxed feel, as you would expect what with Southern hospitality and all that. But not being currently *in* the south, grits aren’t as much of a staple, and therefore can’t be easily acquired at 2AM on a Tuesday. Pacing around the room, I ask Siri for a

good old-fashioned smack in the head for helping it work, but unfortunately Siri didn't come equipped with any appendages. "I can direct you to the nearest grit-producing service. It is currently four hours away through desert on horseback. A cowboy getup is recommended." My head

was too big for a cowboy hat so that was out. I would have to do this wearing the ballet costume I had arrived in.

I hiked my leg up onto the stool, revealing thigh hair, garter and all. The patrons looked at me with sleepy curiosity, unsure of whether I would drink the whiskey or smash the bottle and lunge across the bar.

The patrons watched in amusement as I consumed the whole bottle of whiskey in one gulp. Cheers erupt throughout the entire bar. “Big Gulp Gilford! Big Gulp Gilford!” they repeated over and over again. I liked the way it sounded and now I’m known as Big Gulp Gilford in the South.