Two men are crawling through the Sahara desert. They are lost and after a few days of crawling, very thirsty, close to the end. They crawl up over the top of a sand dune, and there in the valley between dunes, they see an old English pub. They can't believe their eyes - an English pub in the Sahara? It must be a Fata Morgana, but since they are crawling in that direction anyway, they crawl down, and sure enough, it really is an old English pub. They crawl in up to the bar, drag themselves up on bar stools and one of then, who still has some voice, croaks to the bar tender "Two beers!" He digs out some coins he has left in his pocket. The bar tender says, "Yes sir!" and pulls their beer.

The beers come, and they marvel at the condensation running down the cool glasses, and are about to grab their glasses, and there is loud call, "The wolves are coming!". All the Arabs in the pub run up the stairs into a top room, dragging the two men with them.

After a while there is a whistle, and everyone goes back downstairs. The two blokes stagger down to their beers, but their glasses are empty! Some bloody Arabs have drunk their beers! This is really bad news. They were so close, and are now deteriorating fast. The one with a voice still has some and croaks again to the bar tender "Two beers!", and digs out more coins. The bar tender says "Yes Sir", and soon two more beers, wonderful beer, is standing there for them, they would salivate if they had any saliva left, cool beers, some of the foam dribbling over the top.

They are just about to grab their beers, when there is a loud call "The wolves are coming!" and all the Arabs in the pub stream upstairs again, dragging the two blokes with them again. After some time there is that whistle again, and all go back down. The two men drag themselves up on their bar stools to get their beer at last, but SHIT! the glasses are empty! Some bastard Arabs have drunk their beer again.

The two men look at each other and agree silently, not again. The one with some voice before has none left now, they are both really in a bad way. He gestures to the bar tender holding two fingers up, finds the last few coins in his pocket. The bar tender nods and pulls their beer. Ah beautiful cold beers, condensation and foam dribbling down the glasses. They reach for them, and again there is the warning "The Wolves are coming!". All the Arabs in the bar stream upstairs again, but the two men hold on to their bar stools with all their remaining strength to not get dragged with the stream.

They ate them.