Friday, October 31, 2014

Lois Disrupts Sweeney Todd

           My daughter, Gracie Littlefeather,  is presently cowering under her bed. Why? Heavy winds are battering her Dunes sanctuary and in what appears to be a reenactment of the German bombing raids over London during the Blitz, Gracie has lost electricity. She's certainly in my prayers and I know that this brave girl will somehow make it through this nightmare. Courage , Gracie!  
           Gracie is not the only one in my prayers. Lois called Gracie yesterday and described her recent close call with the Grim Reaper. Here's what Lois told Gracie: The femme fatale blonde octogenarian (Lois) was with her best pal Esther the Molester at a performance of Sweeney Todd at a North Side theater. (Mierka has a friend in the show and urged me to see it.) In the middle of the musical Lois keeled over in a pool of bodily fluids. Yes, it was a witches brew of vomit and feces. Poor Esther, had I been sitting next to Lois I would have fought my way out of the theater and hailed a taxicab. So the show had to be stopped until an ambulance arrived and the semi-comotose Lois carted from the theater on a gurney. In defense of Lois she's been a devotee of the theater since she's been a wee Jewish lassie and so she's certainly earned the right to have an epic seizure at a performance of Sweeney Todd. 
           Lois assured Grace that Esther was going to accompany her to her MRI appointment. I wonder what these fashion conscious babes will be wearing to the hospital? Will they forgo their usual flashy outfits for more conservative attire? What does the well dressed gal wear to an MRI exam? Inquiring minds want to know. Esther has a  unique look: with her short, Bordeaux-colored hair her looks and manners have awakened the basest emotions in hundreds of men over the years - myself included. 
          One night years ago I had a frank conversation with Esther regarding her legendary sex-life. For several years she had a passionate affair with a local artist. He wasn't much of an artist but he had some kind of arrangement with Playboy Magazine and thus made a living. The artists real claim to fame was his father who had been a well known judge. The judge was on Al Capone's payroll and engineered putting Capone enemy, Roger Terrible Tuohy, in jail as a favor to Capone. The artist was very sensitive about this when I brought it up, which was often. Esther said that after a night of heavy drinking the so called artist and her would go to her place and dance naked until the wee hours. Visually I find this image striking and have often been tempted to paint how I imagine it must have looked. The artist was a very peculiar fellow, and after a couple of drinks made unusual gold fish-like movements with his mouth.
           When our discussion turned to the various sizes of the local guys that she's bedded  Esther confessed that a guy name Irv had the biggest "schlong." Irv was a man of middle-age; at the time I knew him was a smug fellow with a double chin and had a cadaverous face. It wasn't the length of his penis that bothered Esther, it was Irv's girth. "Bruce, it was a very uncomfortable experience."
           I can't wait to ask Mierka what the actors in Sweeney Todd thought about Lois' performance. Certainly this is a memorable example of audience participation and won't soon be forgotten by people in the audience that were lucky enough to be present.

                    *

         Lately Street Jimmy seems a bit "bi-polar" himself . It's a term he uses frequently, not only when referring to Grace, but also as a term for ebola.  During one of our ongoing arguments concerning the pros and cons of consuming large quantities of crack, the unrepentant rascal blamed China for his current addiction problems. "She the one who gots me down here in the first place."
          "Assuming for the record she did, you have previously admitted that you were smoking crack when you lived on 47th Street, correct?"
         Normally Jimmy is not a man of great conversational powers, however, when roused to anger he tends to use strong language, and moreover, to indulge in a numerous array of obscene words. His tirade concluded he again insisted that China was the source of all of his woes. 
         Ruben Four Toes and Street Jimmy should have their own TV show. They relentlessly hurl insults at each other at the slightest provocation. Ruben focus's on Jimmy's limited intellect as well as his questionable life-style choices while Jimmy seems content to simply make fun of Ruben's thickness , missing leg and epic poop problems. These days Jimmy almost always refers to the rotund Mexican as "Ruben Shitty Pants". 

          *

           This morning Fancypants arrived wearing his Ninja costume. He has wisely opted to forgo the big gay parade in Boystown tonight: "it's too long a day for me and the weather's supposed to be horrible. They're having a party at Brando's this afternoon and I know it's going to be fun."
         

Thursday, October 30, 2014

Hawkeye Praises The Genius

              Hawkeye seemed in a better mood last night. The previous night when he strode through the door there  was an uncomfortable silence when our eyes met. Apparently the memory of my blog still rankled. When I responded with a kindly smile he gave me the finger in a manner that indicated his displeasure. It's not pleasant to be scorned and loathed by a man you admire. Now I understand Hawkeye's unique character: How shall I describe it? He luxuriates in his anger; he needs to be wronged - and he keeps score. I had insulted his vanity when I mentioned his liver spots on my blog, and as expected he was quick to point out that I had more liver spots in plain sight than he did. 
         We were interrupted in our discourse by the unexpected arrival of Touhy. When Touhy caught the  gist of our conversation he said that Miss Jones often reads to him equally disparaging things I've written on my blog about him.
         "I know it's just Bruce being Bruce," he smiled to Hawkeye . "I'm sure his motives are pure."
          Miss Jones was very cool toward me at Touhy's eightieth birthday party and perhaps my blog posts are the reason. It's true that nobody enjoys partaking in slurs and innuendo's more than yours truly, and I've learned over the years one has to take the rough with the smooth.
            When the conversation turned to Touhy's birthday party comity was restored and good fellowship reigned. Touhy nodded appreciatively when I told him how much I enjoyed the festive bash thrown by his daughter, Little Michaela.
           "Do you have any idea how much it cost?" Touhy asked. During some point in a conversation Touhy generally assumes the role of a prosecutor.
            "Five-grand," I guessed.
             "Nope, only twenty-five hundred. Michaela was shocked. She insisted on giving the owner another five-hundred."
             "Wow, there was a lot of drinking and eating going on, that seems awfully reasonable."
            When Touhy and Hawkeye started talking newspaper shop talk I said good night.

              *

             Last night while Gracie was still working Street Jimmy asked if he could have a beer? I suggested that Gracie give him some of our new pumpkin beer. (Nobody can stand the Shandy.) The thought of flavored beers makes me ill but apparently there is a market for this crappola. Jimmy said it was drinkable but that he much preferred Millers.
        Gracie had a warm blanket for Jimmy in her car. The problem with giving Jimmy a warm blanket is that he is rarely able to hang on to large items for more than a day. That morning the nice white lady picked Jimmy up in an expensive Mercede's and took him to her house so that he could rake leaves. Jimmy seems smitten with the nice white lady and hopes that she might be able to find him a suitable place to live. I implored him to not wear out his welcome.
             "Jimmy, this might shock you but most people don't like being imposed upon. Just rake her leaves and do a good job."
              When Hawkeye reported for duty he praised my  blog about Bill Maher. "When you discuss serious issues and dispense with character assassination your writing is much better."
            After a brief critique of my blog he said, "the only thing wrong with it was your attack on Buzz Kill. You always have to personalize things? " Professing great concern, he added, "do you have any friends?"
            Blushing with shame I shook my head, "none."

           

            This morning 
             

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Kudos To Bill Maher

            A heated argument took place this morning at the Old Town Ale House between the Genius and Buzz Kill. When I snickered at the half-wit moronic fuck-wads at my alma mater, the University of California, that managed to get Bill Maher's invitation to speak canceled Buzz Kill defended the hysterical dirt-bags. In 1964 there was an epic battle at the university of California between the students and the administration called the Free Speech Movement. The students sort of won that battle. When I attended Berkeley in the late 60's there were dozens of "free speech tables" on the outskirts of Sproul Plaza. I don't recall one table ever being censored no matter how nutty was their cause. 
         When a geneticist named Jensen was invited to give a speech on campus all hell broke loose. He'd written a book about the intellectual differences between blacks, whites and Asians. It was controversial (to put it mildly) and there was a movement to prevent him from speaking. Now I fully understand that if Nazi's or the KKK wanted to speak in an academic setting it would be impossible to keep emotions in check and there would probably be a riot. However, Jensen was different; his book was ostensibly scholarly and although his views were incendiary to some, I maintained that he should have been allowed to speak for several reasons: (1) Because if you prevented Jensen from speaking the right could use the same argument to prevent a communist from speaking. (2) Because some of the geneticists at Cal had already torn gaping holes in Jensen's thesis and what better forum to challenge Jensen than in a so called scholarly setting. Unfortunately the hot heads prevailed and Jensen wasn't allowed to speak.
            Maher has been in the forefront of attacking all religions. Christopher Hitchens was another leading atheist before his death. What has caused so much ire from the so called liberals is Maher's latest attack on Islam. To some of these candy-assed liberals its racist to attack Islam. These candy-assed liberals believe in a sort of cultural-religious relativism where everyone is entitled to their own views and tolerance is paramount. This is such horses shit. I, like Maher, believe all religions are stupid and in varying degrees evil. And when it comes to stupid and evil Islam manages to beat out Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, and Buddhism. This is quite a feat given that Christianity and Judaism are certainly mean spirited, primitive, and historically cruel. 
          I read the Quran when I was in my late teens shortly after I'd read the bible. The fairy tales in the bible seemed better written which made the bible less boring than the Quran. What struck me most about the Quran was taqiyya - it's okay to lie to nonbelievers in order to defend Islam. Another thing was the literal meaning of Islam which is submission. In the bible there is only one recorded incident of Jesus killing anyone, and that's in the Apocrypha. The Quran is replete with Muhammed smiting enemies. He was a real honest to goodness warrior extraordinaire.  Of course the bible has plenty of blood and gore, and I always enjoy watching " an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, " apologist squirm. And the Old Testament certainly doesn't have to take a back seat to the Quran when it comes to blood and guts.
           Maher can attack Islam because he's an atheist. A Christian or a Jew can't because a Moslem can use the equivalency argument against them. They can't do this to an atheist. Buzz Kill's pathetic attempt to attack Maher and defend the Berkeley shit for brains came down to " all Moslems aren't bad."  True, nor are all Christians or Jews bad, either. That's not the  point, there are tenants in Islam which promote the sort of mindless Islamists that are currently terrorizing Syria and Iraq. You don't even have to read the Quran, just google Islam. Flogging for adultery; stoning; wife beating; cutting off hands; and martyrs and their virgins. It's all there. 
          I understand this obsession with terror has not happened in a vacuum. Israel's loony tunes religious justification for taking over the West Bank, and their treatment of the Palestinians was the chief reason the nut boys flew planes into the World Trade Center. The imperialist western countries created this mess and now we're all paying a price for the capitalist pigs that unmercifully exploited the Arabs for their oil. There are no good guys in this movie. But to attack Maher for telling the truth makes me want to puke. Not one of his critics - including Buzz Kill - have given one example where Maher was wrong. Apparently it's illiberal to tell the truth.
         I've never been a liberal although I support many liberal causes. I'm a radical socialist and proud of it. Liberals tend to be spineless, limp-wristed whiners. Shame on Buzz Kill and kudos to Bill Maher. 

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Gracie Puts On A Show

            Yesterday was actually balmy. Even though I was tempted to cut my writing short and catch some late autumn rays I have  too much respect for my obligations as a creative genius and thus soldiered stoically  on. Because of my Myasthenia Gravis my eyes tire easily. The medicine I'm taking has pretty much cured my chewing and speaking issues, but not my ocular problems. The earliest appointment I could get with the ophthalmologist was Dec. 8. Not only do my eyes tire easily, but I've developed a chronic tearing in my right eye. More and more I'm feeling like the old guy in Yeats poem, Sailing To Byzantium. When my eyes finally gave out I put my shoes on and headed out the door.
          After retrieving my vitamin B-12 medicine from Walgreens (Grace wants to shoot me up but if Lisa is working tonight I'd rather have her do it) and took an evening stroll along the Lake.
          As I was walking along the Drive I crossed paths with Bill Daley. The guy looks just like his mother. Bill Daley has always been considered the smart Daley which is certainly a feint compliment. His brother, Richy, the former mayor, is the most famous but I'm sure Bill has made the most money. Bill Daley perfectly represents Barack's fatal flaw: from the beginning of his presidency Barack surrounded himself with incompetent lightweights and when he appointed Bill Daley as his chief of staff I literally became ill. 
            I rested my back in the park that's in the middle of the Viagra Triangle and checked out the chicks. A repulsively fat girl stopped near me. She was screaming brazenly into the cell phone she was holding in her fat fingers. I sat with my arms folded glaring at her until she moved her fat haunches out of my hearing range. 
          I freely confess that I have a taste for flashy girls and several walked by. When an older couple asked me if they could have one of the chairs at my table I gallantly offered to carry it for them. It is the sort of discreet civility that has characterized my interactions with my fellow citizens for my entire adult life. 
           As I turned the corner at North and Wells I practically bumped into Guy Von Swearingen Jr., I almost  didn't recognize him because of his outfit. The thespian-fireman was decked out in a snappy cap, and loud necktie. I seldom see Guy anymore as he hasn't had a drink in  close to five-years. He was recently in NY for a couple of months performing in a boxing play. The NY critics can be pricks when it comes to reviewing plays originating out of  Chicago.
            Street Jimmy continues to sit in our neighbors doorway and beg. If I was one of the residents of the building I would definitely call the cops on him but they just step around him when they are entering and exiting. When I called his attention to the possibility of someone tripping over him it was as if his manly spirit had been challenged. 
           "Ain't nobody tripped over me yet, have they?" He spoke with emotion.
             He had a point.
             There were only a few people in the bar when I walked in. After I sat down next to Coach Gracie proceeded to do a medley of her favorite musicals. Her singing occasionally descends into a sort of screeching  similar to a coloratura soprano with a bowel blockage. Ruben Four Toes, however, was entranced by her showmanship. The effect of her singing was instantaneous and soon she had Coach singing along with her. When she had concluded her performance I suggested that for this years talent show no other performers  be allowed except for her and Coach. Ruben agreed but thought we should at least allow Joffre to recite some of his anarchist poems and maybe Sergio could sing a couple of his songs.
            Two women and two men from Portland came in. They seemed overwhelmed by my art and bought several Ale House T-shirts. One of the woman was a busty brunette. I implored her to come back to the bar solo. She said she'd try.
            When Hawkeye arrived he was wearing an arrogant smirk;  assorted liver spots seem to be invading his sallow, bleached out face in increasing numbers . After he struggled to recite a Sir Walter Scott poem Coach interrupted: "Sir Lancelot liked to use his lance a lot."
            I found this amusing.
            The Ale House is seldom boring and when Lisa from Second City brought her new class into the bar I was fascinated by two of her students wearing the hijab. Mike, who was now bar tending, when asked what they were drinking, discreetly whispered, "soft drinks." 
             D-Train made a brief appearance. From the heavy circles under his eyes and his drooping eyelids it appears that it is going to take a while for him to get used to his new early morning schedule.

            *

          Lately the only way I can crawl out of bed in the morning is with the knowledge that as soon as I am done with my bar duties I can go back home and take a nap. Buzz Kill limped in a short time after I turned the lights on in the bar. Street Jimmy knocked on the back door a few minutes later. He was extremely covetous of Fancypants spiffy new black cap. 
          After I complimented Fancypants on his stylish outfit he sort of stood in the middle of the bar preening. "I've decided to not wear my Indian costume this Halloween."
           "But I love your Indian costume."
          "I know, but I've decided to be a ninja instead."
             

Monday, October 27, 2014

Buzz Kill's Inappropriate Bear Etiquette

             Yesterday afternoon I watched the Bears destroyed by Tom Brady and the New England Patriots at the Old Town Ale House. My fellow fans were Buzz Kill and D-Train. D-Train usually watches his porn during the games but yesterdays slapstick shenanigans managed to capture even his limited attention. Lee shuttled back and forth between the bar and the hardware store;  The Inventor arrived in the middle of the first quarter. Tobin made pulled pork which everyone seemed to enjoy except for Grace who insists that she hates pork and in the future would prefer hot dogs. 
           When the Bears re-signed their slacker QB, Jay Cutler, I predicted the depths to which the Bears would sink and of course the Genius was once again correct. I will show the fools that attacked me no mercy in the coming weeks. Most of these Pollyanna's are Cub fans. Chicago is a city divided in two camps when it comes to baseball: The serious fans that support the Sox, and the puerile, delusional Cub fans who embrace losing. When it comes to football most Sox and Cub fans root for the Bears as they are, unfortunately, our only football team. The real Bear fans loathe the Bear ownership, (the matriarch can't leave this earth soon enough), despise the coaches as well as many of the overpaid, underperforming incompetents parading around in Bear uniforms. To the Pollyanna's the glass is always half full. These so called fans remind me of the boobs you see nightly on Fox News that subscribe to the "my country right or wrong" notion of patriotism - A real Bear fan is not afraid to point out what an inferior product is being foisted off on them.
            In order to watch a travesty like yesterdays farce one must have a sense of humor and a great deal of laughter resounded throughout the bar as the Bears set an all time record for points allowed in a first half. These kind of games fascinate me and when Buzz Kill, of all people, started an inane conversation with someone halfway down the bar about the wonders of Charleston South Carolina I was stunned. Nobody is more critical of people disrupting our football concentration than Buzz Kill. His behavior of late is a cause for concern. For a good ten minutes he regurgitated some stuff he'd heard on Anthony Bourdain's show about Charleston. Even D-Train seemed shocked by Buzz Kills inappropriate behavior.
             After the game I needed to clear my head so I took advantage of the nice weather and strolled around the lagoon. The park was packed with non football fans, many of whom were speaking in foreign tongues. 

           When I returned to the bar at around seven last night Ruben Four Toes, throwing caution to the wind, was in the process of finishing his fourth pulled pork sandwich. Grace said D-Train is starting to unravel. She thinks it's the pressure of his new job which he starts Monday at five in the morning.  I'm sure he'll do just fine being a pros pro. 

         *

             This morning I once again met Street Jimmy in Dunkin' Donuts. When I asked him where the hell he was yesterday he said he'd spent the entire day at the Mustard Seed. As we walked down the street together I told him that Grace and Ruben were pissed at him. "They wanted you to make some runs for them. In fact I had to go to Walgreens and get the tomato juice."
           Jimmy shrugged, "I was at Mustard Seed."
           "They let you sleep all day there?"
           "I was tired as hell."
             While Jimmy was sweeping I mentioned that a man stopped by looking for him. "He wanted you to rake leaves."
            "Yeah. Well, I didn' feel like doin' no work yesterday. "
             "Yeah, I told him you were probably smoking crack."
             Shaking his head argumentatively, his face contorted in a serious frown, he said, "I don' wan' you sayin' tha' crack shit..."
            "Fuck you."
              "Fuck you - peoples don' know I smokes crack."
               "Fuck you, they do to. " Raising my voice, "and previously I told people you work hard when you work but after what you just said about not wanting to work I'm going to tell people you don't want to work anymore."
                 This made  Jimmy grin, "okay, I wants to work, you got me good."
              Fancypants says his hip is feeling better. He watched the Bear game at a bar in Forrest Park.
             "How did the fans in the bar react?"
             "They were laughing."
               "Same with the Ale House."

Sunday, October 26, 2014

Hawkeye Pinches Fancypants' Ass In Walgreens

            Last night at the Ale House Ruben Four Toes expressed his concerns about the hot dog situation for Sundays Bear game. I told him that as far as I knew Tobin would be back in town and that if she was I was certain that she'd provide food of some sort for the starving Sunday patrons. 
            "Well," he said gravely, " we certainly can't depend on Gracie."
            Ruben feels that Gracie is disinterested in the crucial day to day operations of the legendary bar; he feels this is unacceptable because someday the bar will be hers. I expressed my hope that eventually she'll step up her game even though she has a remarkably short attention span. The fact that Ruben is so preoccupied with food these days is noteworthy given the number of times this week that he's had to call a cab  and hurry home because of his growing poop issues. Yesterday after eating a Burton Place cheeseburger he had yet another emergency.
            Gracie was not the only one in the massive Mexican's crosshairs: he's mad at just about all of his siblings as well as his two nephews. "Dumb motherfuckers aren't worth shit."
            It seems to me Ruben is overreacting; his sisters were at his side practically the entire time he was in the hospital. I know he will never forgive his brothers for their treachery, but what more can he ask from his sisters? He is particularly pissed off at his two good for nothing nephews: "The assholes tell me they're going to show up and do something for me and then they don't show." Raising himself on one elbow in his wheelchair he continued. "I told my sister, tell the little assholes Uncle Ruby doesn't forget. It serves her right for marrying a good for nothing hillbilly. I warned her. Now the kids behave like asshole hillbilly's." He then insisted that he'd never go to his sisters houses again no matter the occasion: "They asked me if I was coming to the Halloween party next week? Fuck no, they know I need a handicapped accessible bathroom. What do they want me to do, shit on the floor?"
            While Ruben was decrying the sins of his family in particular, and Western Civilization in general, Tony Harris walked in. I've known Tony since he was a teenager. There were three outstanding black kid golfers when I used to play golf at Jackson Park back in the Eighties and Tony was one of them. Tony is currently  driving an Uber taxi and when he heard that Lemar was now one of our doormen he stopped by to say hello. The last I heard he was an assistant pro at a muni in the South Suburbs where his pal Paul is now the head pro. 
           You know you're getting old when the teenagers you used to play with are currently in their fifties. Not only did I used to play with Lemar's dad, Bad-Bad Leroy Brown, but also with Tony's dad, Cozy. We had plenty of fun at Jackson Park and we swapped stories for awhile before Tony had to get back to work.
           Bears Fan Bill came in. At first I didn't realize how shitfaced he was. I was trying to watch the World Series but the guy gets spastic when he's ripped and because he was sitting on the stool to my left it was almost impossible for me to watch the TV. Of course we don't serve him when he's like this but it nevertheless took him forever to leave. Ruben was highly amused by Bills antics. He, like Street Jimmy, takes a great deal of pleasure in other peoples foibles. Smoothing his mustache with his right thumb and forefinger he stated the obvious: "Bill was very fucked up."
           Blake, who was subbing for Doorman Dan, seemed more than happy to push the big fat Mexican out the door as needed. Ruben is now using the spot where people are supposed to pay their parking meter tickets as his preferred handicapped toilet area. Why, I don't know. It would seem to me that next to the dumpster would afford more privacy.  
           When Ruben's PACE van came I pushed him out the door. When he rolls onto the sidewalk he always warns the pedestrians, "wide load." As it turned out there were a number of people that had to wait while the PACE driver blocked the sidewalk with the ramp Ruben uses to gain access to the van.
           
              *

           This morning on my way to the bar I once again ran into Street Jimmy at Dunkin' Donuts. He said he was sleeping soundly at the church but finally he could no longer take the chilly weather and when the Mustard Seed wasn't open came down the street to Dunkin' Donuts.
              Fancypants was early for a Sunday. Normally the trains run slow on weekends. He said yesterday when he was waiting in line at Walgreens somebody pinched his ass. "I was kind of shocked, and when I turned around it was Hawkeye. He was laughing at me. And then when I was paying for my stuff he yelled real loud so everyone could hear him, 'hey, Fancypants, you need a haircut.' I told him I didn't want to get a haircut."
               This information intrigued Jimmy, "he yelled shit at you so folks could hear?"
              "Yeah."
              "I'll tell you what you should have said," I interjected, "you should have said really loud, 'Hawkeye, does that mean you won't suck my dick anymore if I don't get a haircut?"
              Both Fancypants and Jimmy thought this was a brilliant rejoinder.

Saturday, October 25, 2014

Flies On Shit Club Still Going Strong

          Yesterday I took my first long walk since I did something goofy to my rapidly aging back. It was certainly a pleasant day. I was in exuberant spirits as I threaded my way around the lagoon boardwalk. When a loutish couple asked me where the zoo was, attempting to be agreeable I pointed to the entrance about fifty yards away and said, "right there. If it was a King Cobra it would have bitten you." The man, who had a bulbous nose and checkered pants had an expression on his face that one might make if they were inhaling a noxious odor. His younger female companion, a slatternly thing with unnaturally large eyes, showed her yellow teeth when she attempted to smile. 
          The waterbirds have pretty much left the lagoon and headed South. One lonely looking pair of Mallards were paddling around aimlessly and maybe a dozen much smaller dark-colored ducks were hanging out near the little island that the Night Herons had taken over for most of the spring and summer. 
          I sat down on a bench in a sun drenched spot on the East side of the lagoon and rested my back. I had finished the second draft an hour earlier of my third book, California Jail Break, and was calculating the amount of time it was going to take me to finish it. I think by the fifth draft it will be done.  I've already figured out the beginning and the end of my still untitled  fourth book which will cover 1976 to 1984. The hardest thing for me about writing is what to leave out. 
          On my way back home I stopped at the bar to pick up my New York Times. I'd forgotten it that morning and I particularly like to read the Arts Section on Fridays. Anya was already there getting ready for  Friday's fun. 

           *

          When I showed up at the bar around seven Joel was talking to Bob and Daniella. When he walked over to where I was sitting he smiled broadly, "I was just down at Burton Place. They were having a Flies On Shit Club Meeting." He then listed all the former Ale House customers that were in attendance. I had no idea that the Flies On Shit were still meeting Fridays. They are a grimy lot and I'm sure every bar in the neighborhood is pleased that they have an alternate place to go.
             D-Train was gearing up for a wine-soaked weekend. When the borderline psychopath indicated how few potato chips were in the bag he was eating from he said: "To put it crudely,"(as though he had ever put anything otherwise) "you are getting fucked."
            "May I be so bold as to ask why you care, because we never charge you for  chips, ass wipe."
             "I was merely stating a well known fact. "
             After watching D-Train munching on his bag of undersized chips I felt a slight pang of hunger  myself and so I walked behind the bar and snapped off a bag. A young man smiled at me, extended his hand and said, "hi Bruce."  He was a friend of  my Cousin John Marshall from Des Moines. He then introduced me to his brother. The last time I'd been to Des Moines for my Uncle Johns funeral John Marshall's smoking hot girlfriend was getting ready to leave for Spain for an unknown period of time. From John Marshall's demeanor this Spanish trip was going to be a deal breaker. For a while I knew what the girlfriend was up to because she had friended me on Facebook. And then suddenly she was back in Iowa. The brother said that he thought that the two of them might be reconciling. "She's working in a bar and the last time I was there John Marshall was also there." 
           If I was John Marshall I'd give her another chance. Not just because she's hot, but because she's also an excellent violinist. Of course nobody knows better than yours truly that a stallion needs to roam.

            *

             This morning I bumped into Street Jimmy on my way to the bar. He was in Dunkin' Donuts getting a free coffee and long john. He seemed a bit startled when he turned around and saw me standing there. After I paid for my croissant the two of us walked down the street together. For the last week he's been carrying a very large duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The weight of the bag seems to make him wobble when he walks. 
            Buzz Kill showed up after a three day absence. I think it's finally dawned on him that he's going to have broaden his horizons as far as finding a job is concerned. Nobody's going to hire a 54 year old male to be a bar tender off the street. And if his legs hurt as bad as he says they do how the hell can he stand up behind the bar for eight hours, five days a week. I really think he should focus on driving, especially since he has his own wheels.
             Fancypants had on another adorable outfit. Although all the bruises are gone from his bike accident he says his hip still hurts so bad that every night he wakes up and has to take an Advil.
He thinks he'll walk over to the Farmers Market after he finishes cleaning.  I'm eagerly anticipating getting started on my third draft. The Genius is on a creative roll.