Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Bitches Beware, The Clock Is Ticking

          Perhaps my all time favorite poem is Andrew Marvel's "To His Coy Mistress." The only line I have a hard time with is "vegetable love." Really, what the fuck is vegetable love supposed to mean? 

                  But at my back I always hear,
                  Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
                   And yonder all before us lie
                   Deserts of vast eternity.

                     Then worms will try
                     That long preserved virginity,

           Those last two lines would not apply to any of the non-virgin ladies I've known over the years.  The ending is perfect:   

                     Had we the world enough and time,
                     This coyness, lady, were no crime.

           The great poets all seem to understand the vagaries of love. John Gay, for instance, is right on the money with:

                     Fill ev'ry glass, for wine inspires us, and fires us
                     With courage, love and joy.
                      Woman and wine should life employ.
                      Is there ought else on earth desirous.

             It is difficult, however, when you find yourself walking out onto the stage for the final act and the bitches don't find you as handsome and charming as you once were. This is a problem.


             Last night there were no seats at the bar when I walked in so I sat in the window. Street Jimmy joined me. He seemed melancholy until I told him about Hawkeye accidentally locking  Kim in the back room of the bar while she was bar tending. The smile that swept over Jimmy's face was infectious. "Did he do it on purpose."
             "No Jimmy, it was an accident. He didn't know she was getting beer. When she yelled he couldn't hear her because he's deaf. The bar was noisy so nobody heard her pounding on the door…"
            Jimmy was laughing. "Hawkeye fucked up, how she get out?"
            "She didn't have her phone. There's a bar phone in the back room, but she couldn't call the bar on the bar phone and she didn't know anyone's number so she called her parents and they called the bar…"
            "How long she in there?"
             "A long time. Lee and Black Adonis were laughing their asses off when Lee got her out with his key."
             When Hawkeye reported for work a few minutes later Jimmy took triumphant delight in taunting Hawkeye for imprisoning Kim in the back room the previous night. 
              Johnny Ale, who was subbing for Mike, brought Jimmy a sandwich from Pot Belly along with the one he purchased for himself. Johnny had to avert his eyes from Jimmy, "if I watch Jimmy eat I'll lose my appetite. and by the way Jimmy, did it ever occur to you to say thanks…"
            Jimmy, with a huge mouthful of sandwich in his mouth, said, "thanks, Johnny…"
            "Jimmy," I said imploringly, "use your fucking napkin. You've got white stuff all over your mouth and hands. Jesus Christ," I added judiciously, "I've never seen anyone eat like you. You should be in a goddamn highchair with a fucking bib on."
            Jimmy seemed to divine an attempt at sarcasm at his expense, but chose not to reply. After he finished his sandwich he described catching the thief that stole the delivery guys bike in front of Jimmy Johns. "He make me look bad. These niggers come from somewhere else an' be pullin' shit an' make it hot for us. I tell the niggers , go back where you come from."
          "The Jimmy Johns delivery guy must not have locked his bike. That was stupid. You performed a good deed, Jimmy, the guy needs his bike to make a living."
            Johnny Ale said the deliveryman bikes are worth at least six-hundred bucks. 
            Jimmy said one of the new bums in the neighborhood was particularly suspicious looking. "He a big guy with a bald head. He look like a rapist."
            "How do rapists look?"
             Jimmy paused and looked meditative. Jimmy has seldom indicated any strong moral indignation, even when directed against himself. He subscribes to the laws of the jungle -- it is only natural that people should try to rob and cheat him, and equally justifiable for him to rob and cheat others if they let him. "You can tell rapists by the way they looks at you."
           Russian Mike was rapping to a hot chick at the end of the bar. The young lady had come to the Ale House after seeing the Parts Unknown TV show Sunday. When the Cougar came in she expressed some anger at my having put her picture on a previous blog.
           "Cougar, Pub Crawl Liz was instructing me on how to take the pictures out of my new camera and insert them into the blog. I thought it was a lovely picture."
            "Now everyone knows who I am." 
             "I guess they do. I broke my all-time record for hits on my blog after the TV show." 
              The Cougar quickly became distracted from her attack on me when she saw Russian Mike hitting on the hot chick. After unsuccessfully trying to insert herself into their conversation she returned to where I was sitting. When handsome young Jacob walked in the door she stared at him with eager, intense eyes. Jacob was over to where we were sitting in a flash. He's clearly fascinated with the Cougar. 
            "Jacob, it's not an accident that we call her the Cougar, she's definitely got the hots for you."
            Jacob thrust his hands in his pockets and said, "really."
           The Cougar almost blushed while she tried to steal a glance at Jacob's beaming face. The Cougar possesses  a luxurious pleasure seeking nature which conflicts with her normal mercenary, practical impulses.
           I have to remember to start carrying my camera with me. Jacob begged me to take some pictures of him with the Cougar. I promised  I would. 
            Cougar's neighbor friend Lucy and her sister walked in. Not only did Lucy seem sober, she brought me a peace offering of fudge from The Fudge Pot. Everyone reached in and grabbed some of the candy. For a while I thought my myasthenia gravis was in remission, but after my third or fourth piece of candy I felt a slight slurring of my speech. Oh well, if I have to give up chocolate forever, I will. A pleasant fellow in a suit and tie walked over and introduced himself to us. At eleven-thirty I said goodnight to the Cougar. She barely noticed me because she was engrossed in talking to the guy in the suit and tie.
             When I got home I watched the primary results from Indiana for about an hour. I'll give a full report on the state of democracy in America tomorrow.


Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Pub Crawl Liz Takes Charge

            With patronizing superiority, as if on cue all of the reluctant trees that have been holding back their leaves during April have just exploded into a sea of green. This happens every May Day. My Dutchman pipe privacy vine also looks like its getting ready to do its thing. 
            Street Jimmy was unhappy when I greeted him in front of the bar this morning. "I left my bag at Catholic Charities. Damn!"
           "Where's the new hat I gave you?"
            Jimmy's brain cells seemed disturbed. "I left it in my bag…Damn!"
            "Double damn. I've given you four hats this week and you've lost every one of them. That's it, as much as I esteem you, I'm through giving you hats."
             He answered in a slow modulated voice. "It was a good hat 'cause it said Ale House on it. People was pointing at it an' they knows me 'cause I works here. Damn!"
             The facts seemed plain, "Jimmy, you lose everything, money, clothes, shopping carts, shoes, backpacks, did it ever occur to you that you have a cognitive problem?"
             Jimmy listened with a sympathetic ear to my well chosen words. "Wha' kinda problem."
             "Crack has damaged your brain."
              "You keep sayin' tha' only makes me wants to get high all the more."
              "I take full responsibility for your crack addiction."
                At around eight-thirty there was a knock on the door. "Jimmy," I hollered, "guess who's come to see us."
                Fancypants entered the side door with a huge smile on his face, "hi Jimmy, it's me, Danny." This was his first visit to the Ale House since he was fired six-months ago.
               Jimmy looked up from his sweeping. "Danny." This was followed by an incommodious burst of laughter. "Wha' ya'll doin' here?"
                "I came to see you guys."
                 "Hey Jimmy, " I said,  "this is just like old times, isn't it?"
                  Fancypants described his new job at Walgreens to Jimmy, who was now leaning against the front doorway with his broom in his hands. "I just finished working ten days in a row. The people I work with are really great…" Fancy pants has always tended to over-estimate the worth of his friends and associates, and underestimate the strengths of his enemies. It's a lovable quality, but it constantly lands him in trouble. The purpose of his  visit was to raise his bicycle seat which he keeps in the storage shed in our building. "I'm going to come down and ride a lot this summer." When I asked Fancypants if he'd heat up Jimmy's food he spread the palms of his hands outward and said, "I'd love to heat up Jimmy's food."
              While Jimmy ate his food he described to Fancypants the horrific pain he was feeling in his leg. Fancypants listened to him with dignified silence, although there was a touch of roguishness in his smile.
             Fancypants said he wasn't going to ride his bike today because his ankles hurt from working so many days in a row. "I'll probably come back next week." 
             Juke Box Joe came in while I was talking to Fancypants. He's leaving for Italy tomorrow. While he was counting the juke box money he described his itinerary: Rome, Venice and Luca. Luca being the town where his father was born. He still has relatives there so it should be interesting. 
            At ten Pub Crawl Liz arrived. We were planning on taking my Putin pastel out of its frame and photographing it so that we can have it made into a poster. It's always a pain in the ass taking  pictures out of frames, but Liz tends to have an energizing effect on me and soon we were busy not only taking photo's of the Putin pastel, but some of my other soon to be for sale paintings and drawings. Liz is going to put them up on my web site:


 I suggest you check it out. We're practically giving these marvelous works of art away. In fact yesterday Kim, who was bar tending, called and told me that a nice young couple from New Orleans had stopped by the bar after seeing us on Parts Unknown, and after buying my book, Last Night At The Old Town Ale House, wanted to know how much I wanted for the painting of the redhead showing her snatch.
           "Are they nice kids?"
            "Very nice."
             "Let them have it for a hundred-bucks."
             The great thing about Pub Crawl Liz is that she gets things done. I, on the other hand, being a creative genius, am more of an idea man. I am also a procrastinator. Liz is not. So check out my new web site.

Monday, May 2, 2016

          Swedish Sailor, The Inventor, Pub Crawl Liz and the Cougar

The Wisdom Of The Ages

             I would like to welcome the thousands of new visitors to my amazing blog. I'd occasionally get some really big hits when the late Roger Ebert would give me plugs on his blog, and now thanks to Anthony I have you folks. As you will quickly notice, the Geriatric Genius is not everyone's cup of tea. Unless you are a person possessing an unusually sophisticated intellect, as well as a highly developed sense of humor, you might find me as twisted as a pink pigs tail. Most men have traded  what little ambition they might have possessed at one time for security. Not I , I continue to look life in the eye fearlessly and let the chips fall where they may. If the truth must be told (and I insist on it) I confess that I am a little addicted to spending long hours in saloons drinking beer. Although unlike most of my fellow imbibers I am always dignified, seldom quarrelsome, and have a tendency to become amorous when in the company of attractive woman. 


        Saturday night Johnny Ale asked Street Jimmy if he heard Beyonce's new album. He had not. "The reason I ask, Jimmy, is because she has a song about J Z being unfaithful to her. You wouldn't be unfaithful if you were married to Beyonce, would you?"
         With his eyes half closed Jimmy stared at the half crushed cigarette in his malformed hand and considered the question. "Well," he said after a moments deliberation, "I can't say for sure…I gots a lotta dog in me 'cause I be a man." After Johnny moved down the bar to wait on a customer Jimmy looked at me and said, "peoples been comin' up to me on the street an' they say, hey, you Street Jimmy, I knows you, but then when I ax them for money they jus' walk away. Wha' the good of bein' famous if it don' put no money in your pocket."
          "Jimmy, let me give you a little advice. You need to improve your rap. When a stranger engages you in conversation try this: 'Hey, nice to meet you folks, where ya'll from. What brings you to Chicago?" 
           Jimmy stared at me. A new world was clearly dancing before his eyes. His voice filled with admiration he said, "hey, tha' good, I'm gonna try tha'."
           "It sounds so much better than simply saying , 'hey, give me some money.' You need to change your life around Jimmy. Laugh, and the whole world laughs with you, cry, and you cry alone. The birds are singing in the tree-tops, but you don't hear them. Let a smile be your umbrella."
            "I want to see the brightness come back into your eyes, all I've ever asked  of you ,Jimmy, is if you insist on being a crack-head , be the best crack-head you can be."
             Jimmy insisted it was hard to be up-beat because his leg continues to hurt him. "I still be's in a lotta pain."
             "Excuses, excuses."
              A few minutes after Jimmy dragged his afflicted leg out of the bar, the Bibliophile's husband Dave walked in. He said he was only going to have one quick beer. Well, one quickly turned into a dozen. I thought he was finally leaving when he removed his North Face jacket from the back of my bar stool. I was wrong. A half hour later he asked me where his jacket was. 
           "You took it. I thought you went home."
           "No," he said looking around for his coat, "I was talking to those ladies on the bench."
            He was still looking for his coat when I called it a night.
            The following morning the coat was hanging in the back room with Dave's name pinned to it.


             Sunday night we planned on having the Parts Unknown show on the Ale Houses not very large TV. This is always tricky. The first thing we do is turn off the juke box. One would think people would be interested in watching a TV show about the bar they were in, but when you're dealing with drunks, ordinary politeness can't be taken for granted. Two middle-aged couples came in a half hour before the show. They were shit-faced and noisy. The bar was now filling up with people coming in to watch the show. Ten minutes before eight o' clock a group of what appeared to be Second City students came in and sat down in the back corner. They were also noisy. When Kim, who was bar tending, told the two middle-aged couples that she wasn't going to serve them because they were by now clearly inebriated they grabbed her tip money off the bar and stormed out. When she told the Second City kids to quiet down somebody told her not to shout, and they too left. 
           The Cougar and her drunk neighbor friend were also in attendance. Russian Mike had promised to bring some Greek Pasta, and he didn't disappoint.  The pasta got rave reviews. Mike, is really Greek, but because he's spent the last ten-years in the Ukraine, we call him Russian Mike. The bar was reasonably quiet now, and everyone seemed to enjoy the show. Buzz Kill was actually smiling. I let Street Jimmy stand next to me by the side-door. Pub Crawl Liz was sitting next to Buzz Kill.
            Michael Steed really did a beautiful job of producing the show. The City never looked better. Whenever anyone asks me what Anthony Bourdain is really like I simply say, "he's just like he is on TV. Unlike a lot of celebrities, there's nothing phony about him. "
          The Cougar said she thought I was great.
          "Cougar, is that going to translate into sex?"
          The Cougars neighbor friend was blotto. When she's blotto (which is whenever I see her) she tends to be peevish. I was a bit harsh with her, but I was in no mood to treat her with my characteristic stoicism. She has a perpetual frown on her face which I find unbecoming. Unlike her neighbor friend, a cheerful fire was burning in the Cougars bosom while I fondled her lovely ass. Even if her heart is not of the purest gold, the Cougar tends to be a good sport, even when she seems indifferent to my charms. Last night the message in her eyes was encouraging.


           This morning Street Jimmy was almost comatose when he arrived to work. He said he again slept on the bench in front of Pot Belly's. The forty-degree temperatures don't seem to bother him. When he asked me for another lost and found hat I said, "I've already given you four this week , what the fuck are you doing with them."
          "I jus lose 'em."
          I gave him one of the Ale House hats that was water damaged from last summers basement flood. He prefers Kangol hats, but people tend not to lose them. A stocking cap makes more sense in cold weather, but Jimmy is a man of fashion and only reluctantly put on the hat I gave him. 
            "Why do you turn the bill backwards?"
           "'Cause tha's the way I likes to wear my hat."
             Jimmy fell asleep three times while he was sweeping. 
             As much as he loved the chili mac Tobin made for him, he fell asleep while he was eating it. When he was finally finished he wiped the crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "tha's good stuff, it will hold you for a while."
            Butcovich showed up to fix the leaky pipe behind the bar.


           Pub Crawl Liz says her upcoming Saturday pub crawl will be ending at the Ale House. She's coming over today to help me go through a couple dozen of my erotic paintings. Tobin has inexplicably brought these marvelous paintings from Indiana  to the condo. I know Tobin's never been  a big fan of my art work, nor are the kind of people she hangs out with. Liz and I are going to try and sell them on the internet.


Saturday, April 30, 2016

Cigarettes And Whiskey, And Wild Wild Woman!

           The weather continues to fluctuate between cold, and rainy-cold. The absence of sun prevents me from being my usual happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care, ebullient lover of life; worst of all  -- I am no longer the universal favorite that my fans have come to expect. April has indeed not only been the cruelest month, but the most depressing month.

           Come fill the cup, and in the fire of Spring
            The winter garment of repentance fling:
           The bird of time has but a little way to fly --
            And lo! the bird is on the wing.

        I've loved the Fitzgerald translation of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam's since I was a kid. My uncle Hugh gave me an illustrated copy for my birthday and for a long time I was able to recite a number of my favorite couplets.
           I sometimes think that never blows so red
           The rose as where some buried Caesar  bled.

       Khyyam wrote the Rubaiyat in the Eleventh Century. I'm sure Fitzgerald took some liberties, but it is nevertheless an amazing work of poetry.

            Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
            Before we too into the dust descend;
            Dust into dust, and under dust, to lie,
            Sans wine, sans song, sans singer and sans -- end.


           The moving finger writes; and, having writ,
            Moves on: nor all your piety nor wit
             Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
            Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.

      My Uncle Hugh was the eldest of seven. My mother was the second oldest. Hugh had instilled in my mother a love of poetry at an early age. As a child it seemed the natural order of things for me to have a mother who could recite Tennyson or Wordsworth by the hour. I think her favorite poet was Keats.


            Gracie called this morning while Street Jimmy and I were getting the bar ready for action. She has just adopted a six-month old grey cat named Finn. Her dog Arthur seems to have welcomed Finn into their new house. Grace said having a fenced in back yard has been a transformative event in her life. Street Jimmy pleaded with me to hand him the phone. For ten-minutes he poured his heart out to Gracie. "Anya bein' mean to me." I got the feeling from the tone of Jimmy's voice that Gracie was not overly sympathetic to his litany of Anya complaints. 
           After I finished talking to Gracie and hung up the phone I said to Jimmy, "probably the best way to punish Anya for being mean to you would be to boycott her shift. When she's working, don't come in the bar. That will teach her a valuable lesson."
         "Yeah, good idea." Jimmy's voice seemed to come from far off. His eyes were remote, too. "Tha' what I do."
         Tobin brought some food which picked up Jimmy's spirits - at least temporarily. While he was eating he said, "you can get rich off the white mans garbage. I found cash money in the garbage yesterday. " Tobin told him that Gracie found a tiffany ring in the neighbors garbage last year.
         "Damn," Jimmy said, "I'd like to find a 'spensive ring."
        Jimmy went on to describe sleeping on the bench in front of Pot Belly's the previous night. 
          "Jimmy," I said, "weren't you cold?"
          "My leg be hurtin' so bad I jus' lay down. I couldn' walk nomore."
           "It would make me nervous sleeping on Wells Street with all the nasty drunks walking by."
            After a brief coughing spell he said, "when you be hurtin' an' real tired you lay your head down wherever you can."
            "I admire you Jimmy." 
             "You are unconstrained by concerns of delicacy. It's a survival skill."
              He sat back in his chair, suspicious. "Wha' you mean?"
              "You're the Lone Ranger, you don't give a fuck what people think."
                Jimmy laughed, it was a throaty laugh, "yeah , I be the Lone Ranger."


               Last night at the Ale House E.C. Diskin's husband and a group of his Oak Park friends came in the bar after the Cubs game. E.C. Diskin is the novelist I met through Rick Kogan. Not only is she an excellent writer, she's gorgeous. I sat up in the window and chatted with the guys for a while. They were not only Cub fans, but Republicans. For the most part the conversation was amusing. They seemed, if not appalled, at least uncomfortable with the prospect of Trump being the Republican nominee. I was invited to a top secret speakeasy in Oak Park, and a round of golf at the Oak Park Country Club. As a kid I used to occasionally gamble at Oak Park Country Club on Mondays. The caddy master was a pretty good player. When I mentioned Erie Ball several ears perked up. Erie Ball was the pro for many years at the Oak Park Country Club. He was from Wales and had a stylish old-school swing. I caddied a couple of times in groups of pros with Erie. He was known by his fellow pros as the "wee man from Wales."
              Pub Crawl Liz came in with the Girly Girl. They squeezed   in at the bar where I was sitting. Things seemed to be going along nicely between the two of them, and then not so nicely. While this was going on the Cougar got back from A Red Orchid Theater. She had mixed feelings about the new play. I don't know any of the actors in the current production. The Cougar said she liked yesterdays blog; she actually told me she thought I was a good writer. Her friend Lucy was next to arrive. Now we were really squeezed together. Lee was a gentleman and got up from his stool. I had no intention of giving up my stool. I couldn't hear what was being said between Girly Girl and Liz, but from the expressions on their faces, and the way Liz had her arms folded, the situation was not reassuring. 
          Liz's spirits immediately picked up when the Bibliophile and her husband came in the door. The Bibliophile has a routine whenever she walks in the door. Actually she doesn't walk, she struts in a swashbuckling, almost nautical fashion. She initially ignores me and embraces whomever she knows. She was all over Liz. After five or ten minutes she'll look at me and say sweetly, "hi, Bruce." Her husband, on the other hand, immediately heads for the nearest women. Lucy and the Cougar seemed pleased to see him. I was particularly fascinated as I watched the Cougar and the Bibliophile hug and kiss. 
         I had an interesting conversation with the Bibliophile. At two in the morning I didn't feel tired, but I knew I'd be tired in the morning so I bid everyone adieu. 

           See you Monday.


Friday, April 29, 2016

God On High -- Or Is It Simply A Matter Of Getting High?

              The weather continues to be disturbing. I've been wearing my winter clothes for the last week. Street Jimmy thinks the unseasonably cold weather is a sign of the apocalypse. "Jesus comin' back soon, you see."
           "Oh yeah, what's he going to do when he shows up?"
           "Be judgement day."
           "Yes, and what's going to happen after he gets done judging." 
            Jimmy immediately came to the point, "he gonna make things better."
           Impressed by Jimmy's straightforwardness I said, "So what's he going to do to us scoffers and non-believers?"
           "You be goin' to hell."
            "Permit me to say that if I'm going to hell, you'll be sitting right next to me while we're tortured for eternity."
            "I ain't goin' to hell 'cause I believes in the lord."
             "But you're a sinner, you're one of the worst sinners I know. And you never go to church to worship the lord…"
             Jimmy waved my comment aside as immaterial, "my church be inside me, I don' needs to go to no church."
             "Here's the problem I have with Jesus. If he's coming back to settle scores, is he going to kill all the sinners and non-believers?"
            Jimmy pursed his lips and searched with his feet underneath the table he was sitting at for his shoes, "yeah, it goin' to be Armageddon an it will be the end of the world."
          "Interesting, so he's going to murder million of innocent babies."
           "He ain't goin' to kill no babies."
           "I thought you said it was going to be the end of the world. If it's the end of the world all the babies are going to die."
          "They goin' to go to heaven. " As he stood up the legs of his chair made a loud scraping sound on the floor. 
           I told Jimmy about all the apocalyptic preachers that each year convince their lame-brain followers that the rapture was going to happen at a date certain, and how the lame-brain followers then sell all their worldly goods and then there is never a rapture.
           "Nobody be knowin' when the world goin' to end."
          "My point is simply that there are a lot of really stupid people just like you."
           "I don' wants to talk about it nomore."


           Yesterday afternoon Pub Crawl Liz arrived at my condo at exactly three. She had a new battery for the camera she's given me. After she sat down she gave me a lesson on how to use the camera; I was particularly intrigued by the tiny little plastic card you take out of the camera and insert it the computer. This will enable me to take pictures and then use them in my amazing blog. After I successfully repeated what she showed me I said, "Pub Crawl, do you realize that by teaching me how to operate this camera, it is the equivalent of arming me with a small nuclear device."
          Liz passed her hand across her forehead and sighed, "yes, Genius, I realize this. It's a price I'm willing to pay."
         She then straightened out the problem I was having downloading pictures onto my blog.

            Last night the Old Town Ale House was lively. While I was chatting with Lee, Russian Mike came in with a middle-aged fellow he plays cards with. After moving a few stools around Mike and his card playing friend sat down on the other side of me. About a half hour later the Cougar walked in. She looked sexy in a leopard skin dress that showed her perky tits to great advantage. After I complimented her outfit she pointed at her skinned knee and said that she fell down a flight of stairs. "I was texting and not paying attention." Later I found out from Russian Mike she was texting her ex-boyfriend about gold futures.
          Russian Mike has a tendency to slam beers. While Mike was talking to the Cougar Pub Crawl Liz walked in. She said the Swedish Sailer was meeting her. A short time later the Inventor made an appearance. When the Swedish Sailer arrived, after giving her a tight hug, I offered her my seat. By now Russian Mike and his friend had surrounded the Cougar. So now I was seated around the corner at another bar stool. While all this was going on Technicolor Karen, her boyfriend, and their friends from San Diego who'd been to the Parts Unknown Film Food Fest the night before, walked in. After Karen moved to the window table I slid over when Russian Mike got up for a moment. I felt obligated to save the Cougar from being further bored. She seemed extremely grateful. I could feel Russian Mike's eyes burning the back of my neck. For some reason this gave me a great deal of pleasure.
        While the Cougar and I were discussing the implications of theoretical sex her ex-husband walked in with some old friends of theirs. Pub Crawl Liz delighted in observing the awkwardness of this situation. When Mikes friend moved in on the Cougar again she told Mike that his friend was too drunk to drive. 
         "This guy is driving?" I asked.
          Mike, who was shit-faced by now, insisted his friend only lived a few blocks away. His eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing as he chastised the Cougar for squealing on his friend.
         "Cougar, you did the correct thing. I'm grateful. In fact so grateful I might kiss you."
           "You might?" she spoke the words slowly, dropping them off the end of her tongue with a lewd smile.
           Russian Mikes friend said he was having trouble with my political paintings. 
           "Yeah," I said, " well -- they're self explanatory."
          The Cougar said the friend was a right-winger and she thought Russian Mike was a libertarian.
          "Cougar, you know what a libertarian is ?"
          "I think I do."
           "It's a Republican that doesn't want anyone fucking with his kiddy porn."
          Before I called it a night I extended my hand to the Cougar in an expression of farewell, and in so doing brushed my finger tips against her finger tips. 
           Pub Crawl Liz said she was disappointed the Bibliophile was a no show. Liz definitely has the hots for the Bibliophile.

Thursday, April 28, 2016