A thick fog blanketed the city, casting a hazy glow of streetlights over the hills and valleys. An enthusiastic crew, perched precariously on their barstools, gathered round a small table in their favorite local dive. Now some say it was the beer, or too much fireball. Others still claim it was a vision, an apparation if you will. No matter what you want to believe about that night, a goddamn duck walked into that bar and ordered a Pabst Blue Ribbon. The rest is history.