Illya Kuryakin walked into a bar and found a nice quiet barstool for himself. He had every intention of getting very drunk tonight. Napoleon was out on a date with nary a clue that his partner sat alone, pining for him. It was stupid anyhow. Napoleon was not interested in him

Illya had just emptied his third glass of vodka when he noticed there was a large jar of money on the bar. Sober, he'd have never said a word, but he'd had just enough alcohol to loosen his tongue. "Bartender, what is the jar for?"

The man grinned and set another double down in front of Illya. "Well, my friend, I'll tell you. I have a donkey in the back room and if anyone can make him laugh, he or she wins the money. If they fail, they owe me $100."

Illya thought for a moment and scowled. "That is, how you say, children's play. I will be back." The Russian slid off the stool and walked a non-too straight line to the back room. A minute later, the bartender was amazed to hear the donkey laughing out loud, not just a slight laugh, but a rib-busting belly laugh.

"Looks like you won, mister." The bartender handed Illya the jar and he staggered out.

A month passed and while there had been some progress made on his conquest of his partner, Illya was barely to Square Two. Depressed, he found his way once again into the bar.

There on the bar was a larger jar with even more money in it. With that much money, Illya could take Napoleon out on the town and perhaps finally convince Napoleon of his love.

"What is the catch this time, bartender?" Illya slammed back a double vodka and blinked as his eyes watered.

"Same donkey, but now the trick is to make him cry."

"Very good, I will do that. And, please, when I return, may I have some proper vodka?"

"Of course." The bartender agreed. He was positive that the little blond man would fail, but a minute later, the bartender heard the donkey wailing as if he'd lost his best friend, parents, and children. It was heartbreaking to hear.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he reached under the bar for a bottle of his best vodka, direct from Kiev.

Illya came out and settled back down on his stool, smiling as the bartender set a glass and the bottle in front of him. "Here you go, friend. I figure you earned that and the jar, but how did you do it?"

"Easy," Illya replied, sipping the clear liquid, a smile on his lips. "The first time I told him I had a dick bigger than his."

"Okay, what about when you made him cry."

"I showed him."