Grandma Charlotte used to tell about her two uncles during Prohibition. Each closely guarded the whereabouts of his still on the mountain behind the farm. One day they chanced to meet as they came down the mountain. Each carried a jug.
“Brother,” said the elder, “I’m mighty glad to see you. Have a taste of my moonshine.”
“Thanks all the same, Brother,” said the younger, “but as you see, I’ve brought my own.”
“I invited you to take a taste,” said the first, drawing his pistol and pointing it at the other.
“Well, since you put it that way, I believe I will.” The gunman handed over the jug and his brother took a drink. “Mighty fine shine,” he said.
“Thank you,” he replied, holding the pistol out to his brother. “Now, you hold the gun on me and I’ll taste yours.”