W. C. Fields always kept a martini-filled thermos on hand while he was filming. When pressed for an explanation, he invariably maintained that the flask contained nothing but pineapple juice. One day, shortly after a colleague had put his claim to the test, Fields's angst-ridden cry rang out across the set: "Somebody put pineapple juice," he cried, "in my pineapple juice!"
["What contemptible scoundrel," Fields asked on another occasion, "has stolen the cork to my lunch?"]
[Even after entering a Pasadena sanitarium to dry out, Fields drank two bottles of gin -- smuggled in by friends -- every day.]