about a Greenhorn miner up in Alaska talking with an old Sourdough. The Sourdough says:"Wal, yer not a REAL miner until you drink a quart of Whiskey, make love to a local woman, and shoot a Polar Bear."
The Greenhorn thinks about this, and goes and buys a quart of whiskey, and in front of the Sourdough, drinks it all down. Then he stumbles off, rifle in hand, out to the bush country.
Days go by, finally the Sourdough sees the tattered bloodied Greenhorn stumbling back into town. As he approaches, the Greenhorn says... "Ok, now where's that local woman I have to shoot?"
