The constant clicking of the camera's shutter was the only sound in the studio for a full fifteen seconds until the photographer sighed in frustration and lowered the Nikon. "Honey, you're not making this easy on me. I need more steam, more heat, more 'you know you want what I'm selling' attitude."

Tugging at the unbuttoned plaid shirt that had been rolled up and tied just below her breasts, the woman in front of the camera tipped back the cowboy hat she was wearing and blew at an errant strand of hair that had fallen across her brow. "What exactly am I selling?"

Giving her a jaded look, Ricky waved vaguely in her general direction, encompassing a backdrop that featured nothing but fluffy clouds and a barrier of plastic that had been molded into the shape of rough-looking timber in imitation of a fence. Dodging his assistant, who had taken advantage of the pause in the action to adjust the lights and nudge a slow-blowing fan more directly at the cowgirl, her pointed at the glass bottle beaded with condensation that perched on the fence. "Beer, you're selling beer."

"How does a cowgirl equate to beer sales?"

"It's branding. Mule Kick beer is a 'wild and wooly' ride and apparently that just screams 'cowgirl'."

"That's just bull