Two robots walk into a bar...

...and sit down, beeping angrily. 

"What bullshit, Angus. I can't fucking believe they did that to ya, buddy."

The barkeep throws them a glance over his glasses as he wipes down the counters. Sunlight streams through the bay windows at the entrance and hits the burnished metal arm of one of the bots.

"Hey, Schmo! Service?"

Cautiously, the barkeep makes his way to the bar, swinging past the knee-high saloon door and clacking down two glasses on the wood. "...What'll it be?" His eyes tell the two bots he can't tell if they can even drink liquor.

The robots exchange a look of shared contempt and amusement. One of them, a mechanical likeness of Elvis Presley, snickers. "Just beer." 

The other, a silver-faced and copper-bodied fellow, nods his agreement. The barkeep fills and foams their glasses as the two bots turn slightly in their seats.

(Word limit prevented plot...)