Monday, March 30, 2015

A Third Class Ticket On The Train Of Life

                 Street Jimmy is still MIA. I continue to lean towards the mental institution theory. He tends to get himself committed when he starts getting a lot of flak for smelling bad. If he is in some type of institution he usually returns to the street as  fresh as a kitten. Yes, he could be dead - given his life style that's always a possibility. But he hasn't come up dead in the morgue listings, at least not yet. Perhaps I'll have Hawkeye check the County Jail roster once more. The last time Jimmy was in County Jail his name was misspelled (James instead of Jimmy) and Hawkeye , being a former investigative journalist, couldn't figure out the similarity. 
          Erica the Nurse and her dog, Jaeger, stopped by Saturday morning to give me my B-12 shot. Last month Grace Littlefeather shot me up in my ass and an explosion of blood followed the removal of the needle. Erica has never heard of this happening in over ten years of being a nurse. Erica said she'd check some of the local psyche wards to see is she could locate Jimmy. If he is in a loony bin he should be getting antsy by now. I'm sure his crack dealer has to be worried.
          Saturday night The Actress took me to Adobo for dinner. It was my reward for taking care of her mail while she was out of town last week. She continues to root for Wisconsin in the NCAA basketball tournament. We made it to the Ale House in time to watch Wisconsin win the game. My primary interest was in the game that followed. No matter the circumstances I root against Notre Dame. That said, when it looked like Notre Dame had a chance to beat unbeaten Kentucky I rationalized rooting for Notre Dame as follows: I hate Kentucky and their strutting, jeering coach Calipari. Wouldn't it be fun to see him lose, and then have Wisconsin cream Notre Dame?
            I have to admit that when Notre Dame lost in the last seconds a warm glow of satisfaction swept over my body. So much for rationalizing. 
            While we were watching the game Johnny Ale, Grasshopper, Hawkeye and I discussed famous big butt players. The reason we got into this discussion was because Hawkeye insisted Elgin Baylor had a big butt which of course is nonsense. Wesley Unseld had a huge butt as did Charles Barkely. We went down a long list of big butt players like Shaq. There is a distinct advantage to having a formidable butt when playing basketball. You can use it as a weapon to clear out opponents  as you maneuver for a shot. In golf, otherwise flabby Jack Nicklaus got all of his power from his fat ass and strong legs.  I was shocked to discover that when Hawkeye left he failed to tip the bartenders. Shame on Hawkeye.

             The other night Pauly's ex-girlfriend came in with John and Kevin. They work with Pauly's at the best radio station in Chicago. She said she rarely sees Pauly since his marriage. It is clear that she's still pining for him. It was a peculiar relationship - she's married and has kids. One night she came in loaded with the aforementioned husband. He seemed like a nice fellow but I could tell Pauly was displeased to be put in such a precarious position. Pauly's love of  pussy has never been as strong as his fear of being pummeled by a jealous rival.
          Ever since his recent marriage to the Polish bombshell Pauly has  developed an omniscient smile. Even his complexion, which could best be described as pallid, has taken on a pinkish hue. For the  most part Pauly is an easy tempered, tolerant and good humored man, but he can hold grudges and is easily offended. 
          It's not in Pauly's nature to intentionally make women unhappy - he simply doesn't want them to make him unhappy! Because I  know he's tried to model himself after me  I've striven to be the best role model time and circumstances allow me to be. (It's a lot of responsibility being a worthy role model.)

           Ruben Four Toes says PP woke him up again, "she called at two in the morning drunk."
            "Asshole, why don't you turn your phone off when you're sleeping?"
            With a trace of sharpness in his tone he said, "jag off, what if my family needs me - "
            "What the fuck are they going to need you for? Your a four-hundred pound one-legged beached whale. How are you going to help anyone including yourself?"
               "They need my wisdom, shit for brains, but you wouldn't know anything about that because you're a dumb fuck."
             "Ruben, face it, you were given a third class ticket on the train of life. The fact that you didn't pay for your third class ticket is admirable, but your self-confidence is nevertheless ill-founded."
            Because he's so obese Ruben can 't sleep on a normal bed. His cat Gracie sleeps on the bed in the bedroom and Ruben sleeps on his Lazyboy in the living room. (If he tried to sleep in a reclining position his mounds of blubber would block his esophagus and he'd suffocate.)  Not surprisingly his Lazyboy eventually started to crumble from the immense weight it was supporting and so he obtained a back up lazy boy. Even though he rigged a series of two by fours to brace his number one Lazyboy it finally disintegrated last week. After switching over to the back up Lazyboy unbeknownst to him his sisters obtained yet another Lazyboy.
            "I told the dumb bitches that I only need one Lazyboy, now I've got three. I'm going to have to pay the janitor to take the fucked up one out. My whole fucking apartment is filled with Lazyboys."
          Although he tries not to show it now that it's warming up Ruben is eager to try out his new electric wheel chair. I told him he should get a flag for it, "maybe a skull and bones, it could be a sort of pirate ship electric wheel chair. Hell , you already have the missing leg. "

          Sean the cinematographer is back in town. He says he hasn't talked to Counselor in a long time. I think there's bad blood between them.
           Ezra, the lawyer, is visiting from New York. He works with the daughter of famous radical lawyer, the late William Kunstler. I spent an hour with Kunstler in the San Francisco law offices of another famous radical lawyer, Charles Geary. It was shortly after the 68 Democratic convention. Fortunately I did not require his services.

          Sunday night I was relieved to learn that Hawkeye, realizing his faux pas, came back to the bar Saturday night and tipped the bartenders. 

           On my way to the bar this morning a number of street people inquired about Street Jimmy's whereabouts. I told them their guess was as good as mine.


Friday, March 27, 2015

The End Of An Era

               This is going to be my last daily blog. Henceforth I will only be blogging on Mondays and Fridays. Why, you ask? Because of declining readership, and, more importantly, because I need more time for my books. Also, when the weather gets nice I want to devote more time to enjoying nature. Personally, I think my blogs have gotten consistently better over the years and that I have simply spoiled you, my not so loyal followers. I'll leave it to future historians to explain how I was able to produce such consistently  remarkable blogs on a daily basis for over six-years. Sometimes the Genius just takes over - it's hard to explain.
          I've been under appreciated my entire life. In spite of my winning manners, my gaiety, my winsome looks, marvelous sense of humor, loyalty and conviviality people tend to resent the fact that I'm so much smarter and more talented than they are. I understand that no matter how charming my personality there is a natural inclination on the part of the rabble to resent greatness. The forces of jealousy and envy are relentless in their attacks. Although they are no match for me intellectually one must alway be on guard. My enemies deceive themselves and each other with their wayward, odious, simple minded assaults if they think they can wear me down. They can't, their puerile attacks are mothers milk to me. My hatred for them is what gets me up in the mornings. 

           Street Jimmy is still missing. I continue to lean toward his being in one of the local mad houses. Gracie says Son In Law injured his back again. Although he's a  gym rat, he tends to injure himself a lot during his daily activities. 
           When I was returning from the bank yesterday I spotted the black guy with the fried hair that Street Jimmy refers to as "The Sissy Boy." I've tossed the guy out of the Ale House numerous times. His MO is to come in the bar, order a drink and not pay for it or simply to snatch money and run. The last time I punched him he bled a lot. He told me I was going to get AIDS. Jimmy says Sissy Boy takes cabs and then takes off without paying. When a cab pulled up to pick him up yesterday I walked over to the driver and tapped on the window. After the cab driver rolled down the window I told him that the guy in his back seat won't pay. The driver was older and had a Muslim beard. When "Sissy Boy" wouldn't get out of the cab I told the driver I'd help him get him out. Sissy Boy then got out and gave me an evil look. While he was staring at me I noticed that he now has a missing eye. I'm sure whoever poked out his eye was more than justified.

            This morning Hawkeye stopped by. He was in a garrulous mood and talked to me for about forty minutes. Fancypants told Hawkeye he missed Hawkeye's morning visits. It's cold out. See you Monday.

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Pauly Doesn't Read My Blog Anymore

               The second debate in Chicago's mayoral election is going to be tonight at nine. It seems a bit late but maybe that's intentional. The Chicago Machine politicians have been using government as their private piggy bank since the city was first incorporated in the Nineteenth Century. They are clever at protecting their ill gotten gains and have figured out how to restrict the number of people voting in city elections. It's not accidental that both the mayor and alderman run in off-years. Not only do they not run during big presidential turnouts, they run in February when Chicago weather is at its worst. The Machine can turn out their people no matter what the year or what the weather. It's the Chicago way.
            Mayor Emanuel is very unpopular. He's not warm and cuddly and seems politically tone deaf. Richy Daley left the city on life support and Rahm doesn't seem to know what to do. He was ripe for the pickings if a credible candidate had challenged him. Unfortunately, there are no credible candidates in Chicago. Not one. The same thing happened in the recent governors race. You would think in a state as big as Illinois or a city with a population as large as Chicago's somebody electable might have emerged but alas, the situation seems more hopeless than ever. I've been receiving some heat from the anti-Rahm Emanuel people that are supporting his opponent, Jesus Garcia. Why? Because I've been demanding that the meek, milk toast Jesus give me a reason to vote for him. His campaign strategy seems to be simply, "I'm not Rahm."
           I've told people close to Jesus that he should go populist. And I've given them ten populist causes that would go over big with the non millionaire voters. It's clear now that Jesus is not going to shake things up. I really don't think he's got it in him. He's an old time hack and has basically been a coat holder most of his career. He could have won had he had a strategy beyond - I'm not Rahm.
           Nobody hates Rahm more than Officer Bill but even he's fed up with Jesus.  "I think the fix may be in. At this point I wouldn't be surprised if Rahm  brought Jesus in to shut out the other candidates. " 
              If Rahm is that clever he gets a  tip of the hat from me.
           A real Jesus supporter would be yelling and screaming by now for Jesus to take off the gloves. Maybe he'll grow a set of balls in the debate tonight but I'm not holding my breath.

          Last night The Actress and I walked over to the Kyoto Restaurant on the 2500 block of Lincoln Avenue. The food was not only good , but reasonable. I would definitely go back again. 
          Early in the day The Actress auditioned for a play at Chicago Shakespeare. While we were eating she got a call telling her to comeback on Thursday for a second audition. Acting is tough racket and there's a lot of rejection along the way. She seemed happy to get the call back.
            After we ate we stopped by the Red Lion to say hello to Colin, the owner. I hadn't been in the Red Lion since the place was remodeled. Colin did an amazing job. The place is huge and he really captured the classic British pub look. His very extensive library is on full display along with some marvelous art.
           The Actress knew Colin from her days of doing theater on Lincoln Avenue. I first met Colin on Rick Kogan's radio show last fall. When he suggested that the two of us visit Jeff at the Billy Goat some Friday I told him to count me in. Rick said that I should have Jeff call him the next time I'm at the Goat so maybe Colin and I  can lure him over from his paper for a drink. 
           The Actress got into a conversation with a middle aged man sitting next to her who was visiting from Maine. After she described the Ale House we hopped in a cab and took him there.
           While we were chatting at the Ale House Pauly A. made a  rare appearance. Pauly's been on the wagon for over ten-years  and tends to avoid saloons. He said he rarely reads my blog because he's says there is too much Street Jimmy. It turns out that Pauly was an understudy in a play the Actress was in at the North Light Theater.
            The Defense Attorney and Hawkeye got into another squabble while I was talking to Pauly. It brought back memories of our trip to Scotland.
            Speaking of Street Jimmy, he's still AWOL. 

            Fancypants was irate this morning. He said that he stopped by a restaurant called Boni Vino on W. Van Buren Street for a sandwich and a beer. 
            "This huge, gross fat slob owns the place. He's even fatter than Ruben. He's so fat he has to wear sweat pants. I wanted a grilled cheese sandwich and a beer. He charged me eight fifty which was two more dollars than it was supposed to be. When I told him this he yelled and said he could charge anything he wanted. He yelled at his employees too and wouldn't let a bus boy have a glass of soda. I want you to write about him."

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Was It Street Jimmy's Body They Found On The Green Line?

               Gracie has launched an investigation to determine whether it was Street Jimmy's body that was discovered on the Green Line train four days ago. Officer Bill said the morgue photo's from four days ago aren't available yet. Hawkeye checked County Jail and he's not there. I still think he had himself committed but one never knows what the thrill seeking scamp might be up to (or past tense, might have been up to.) If he is in one of the local nut houses I'm going to scold him when he reappears for not having the hospital alert us as to his whereabouts. Jimmy likes to keep his stays in the loony bins on the down low. I guess he feels that people might have doubts about his sanity if they knew about his frequent visits. I told him the last time we discussed the subject of mental health that those doubts about mental well being have long ago been dispelled. 
            "Jimmy, what possible evidence could there be that you're crazy? Just because you smoke a hundred dollars worth of crack a day, spend all your time begging on the street, sleep on the El and behind garbage cans, and are prone to irrational temper tantrums doesn't make you crazy - it just makes you a fucked up street bum."
           "I ain't crazy."
            "I just agreed with you, you silly goose."
            When Jimmy asked me if I talked to myself I asked him for a more detailed explanation of what exactly he meant by talking to myself?
             "You know, like when you be walkin' down the street an' you talk to yourself."
             "Out loud?"
              "Not really, how about you, do you talk to yourself?"
              "Yeah, if I see somethin' I tells myself, hey, watch out for tha' guy, you know stuff like tha'."
               I really don't think it was Jimmy's corpse on the Green Line. I'm betting that he'll show up shortly all fresh faced and all ready to get back to his old crack smoking ways.
              Speaking of crack heads, Don is back on the street. Don was arrested three years for robbing the head of Moody Bible Church's office. The head preacher had taken Don under his wing and gotten him a job and a place to live on the South Side. Don repaid him by sneaking into the preachers office and stealing a couple hundred dollars. Unbeknownst to Don there was a camera and the video made it clear who the culprit was.
             Don is an odd case. For about  five years he was a very passive street beggar and then about two years before his incarceration he became aggressive. Jimmy told me Don was out on parole about a  week ago and was begging in front of the Ale House.
             "I tol' him you didn' wan' him hustlin' in front of your lounge an' he say fuck Bruce."
              "Jimmy, you don't need to speak for me, why don't you just worry about Jimmy."
              "I don' wan' him around here."
               "Then you tell him Jimmy doesn't want him around."
               I saw Don Monday in front of  McDonald's begging. At first I didn't recognize him. He's aged considerably and had a scruffy beard. I only gave him a brief nod because the light was changing from red to green.
               Tuesday night there was a going away party for Jacob. He's moving to New York to pursue his acting dream. He's got talent and tenacity and so I think he'll make it. We all wished him good luck.
               Ruben Four Toes has become the de facto leader of his old folks home. He's had time to scrutinize both the staff and his fellow residents by now and has found a number of them wanting. Four people in the building croaked in the last couple of weeks and he's worried about the quality of the people who will be replacing them. 
             "I don't want too many Mexicans or anymore Chinese either."
             "What about Little Gandhi, he's Asian and he's one of your best friends in the building?"
             Ruben frowned, "he's unreliable."

              I'm going to have to say something to Jenny The Mooch about her constant mooching for drinks. She's out of control. She insinuates herself into other peoples conversations and then says why don't we have a drink? As soon as the drinks arrive she picks hers up and departs without paying. The bartenders are hip to her by now.  She has large intense eyes, and while she stares at you a smile continuously flits across her round face. The regulars are  increasingly annoyed by her constant attempts at mooching so it's time for me to have a chat with her. I will attempt to  jar her conscience. Stay tuned.

          Tobin bought Ruben several packs of Oreo cookies. Just what his toxic waste dump of a body needed.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Susan McDougal Was A Stand Up Broad

            Monica Lewinski is going around the country giving speech's about redefining herself as she attempts to change  her current victimhood persona. She has also written a book describing her legendary skills at fellatio and I'm sure she's getting paid reasonably well for her speeches. I wouldn't be surprised if there was some Republican cash in the woodpile helping  finance her reappearance back into the pop culture arena. Hillary looks invincible now (unfortunately) and so the Republican piggies are going to throw everything they have at the old stone-faced harridan. I suppose the Republican rat bastards think Monica will rub off negatively on Hillary although I think by now they may have overplayed their Monica card. As we know, these shit for brains Republicans have never been known for moderation. You can hardly blame Monica for trying to cash in on her celebrity, it is  what we American do which is why we are the greatest country in the history of the world.
         In spite of her current PR campaign Monica Lewinski is a pathetic figure and will remain so. She will forever be a punch line and an object of derision. It didn't have to be this way - she could have been a feminist icon had she played her cards differently. A little background: One of the problems with being a post JFK president is that you can't publicly chase pussy. A president now needs to exercise discretion when banging chicks.  Bill had a few regular chicks on the line like Eleanor Mondale that he knew would keep  quiet, and rumor has it he was nailing Barbara Streisand occasionally. You couldn't blame Bill because let's face it, Hillary seems about as sexual as frozen water pipe. Monica was an intern when Newt shut down the government. When she showed Bill her thong his dick got hard and she willingly blew him. They were both adults, but Bill should have known better than to stick his dick in the mouth of a flighty young girl. He had to know that she'd tell her pals. Unfortunately the ditzy Monica had an old hag pal named Linda Tripp. When she started telling Tripp about blowing Bill , Tripp taped their conversations. (Some pal) and then when Monica told Tripp that she'd saved a cum stained dress that she wore while blowing Bill, Tripp persuaded her to not get it cleaned. 
            After Tripp ratted out her gullible little friend to Special Prosecutor  Ken Starr the jig was up for Bill and the Republican shit eating maggots came after him with everything they had. Of course they overplayed their hands and eventually Bill managed to get up off the canvas and TKO the Gingrich led slime balls in the final round. 
             While all this was happening there was a second front attack on Clinton by the Republicans and Ken Starr. The White-Water real-estate deal was an attempt to nail Bill and Hillary on a fraud beef. An asshole named Jim McDougal and his wife Susan were pressured by Starr to testify against the Clintons. Jim didn't hesitate to cooperate with Starr but his ex-wife, Susan McDougal, told Starr to go fuck himself. The Fed got nasty with Susan McDougal and she ended up doing 22 months for being a stand-up broad. (She's a personal hero of mine.) Starr wanted her to lie and say she'd a sexual relationship with bill.
            Had Monica Lewinski been a stand up broad like Susan McDougal and told Starr to go fuck himself she would have done maybe five-minutes time and become a true feminist hero. But of course she was a spineless air head and willingly spread her legs for Starr and his scum sucking cohorts. 
            Just before he left office Clinton pardoned Susan McDougal. 

Monday, March 23, 2015

Butcovich Stops The Beeping Sound

                 Fancypants scoffed at the weather reports yesterday. "They say three inches, what a laugh, maybe a slight dusting at most."
       Well, I just shoveled a hell of a lot more than three inches of snow.  When he showed up for work today I reminded Fancypants of his incorrect snow prediction. "Danny, you have a tendency to overestimate or underestimate pretty much every prediction you've ever made. You also overestimate the merits of your friends and associates, and underestimate the strengths of your enemies. You are a very poor prognosticator."
               The snow was dashing against the windows. Fancypants smiled, "it's actually quite beautiful. It's swooping off the lake, I think it's kind of awesome."
             Because it was snowing Fancypants mom wouldn't drive him to the train and he had to take the bus. 
            "Just before the bus pulled up this car drove by and splashed me with slush and it got all over my pants. The bus driver was very angry and he said, 'some people don't think about anyone but themselves.' I'm glad I wasn't wearing really good pants."
            When he asked me if there'd been any Street Jimmy sightings I said no.
              "How long does it take to  shower and get your clothes cleaned?"
                "If he signed himself into the nut house I think he has to stay 48 hours."

                 The Actress had a problem with a dead smoke detector on Saturday. It was beeping every two minutes and it was driving her nuts. Her security people said they couldn't get to her house until Monday so I volunteered to look at it. 
               "I'm admittedly the last person in the world that should be trying to help you, but I did have a  similar problem at the Dunes last year and perhaps I can remember how I fixed it."
                The Actress and I share a form of non-utilitarian knowledge that could best be described as  technical dyslexia. When she pointed at the offending detector which was on the top floor of her four story townhouse I told her that it didn't' sound like the beep was coming from the detector she was pointing at. Because she's been doing commercials for so many years she's developed a very authoritative style of conversing. When I checked the other detectors in the immediate area I conceded that it must be coming from the detector she insisted it was. It took me forever to take it apart and when I finally succeeded there was not only no battery in the plastic casing, but the beeping continued. I called Butcovich. I needed him to fix some plumbing problems at the condo and so I thought he could also take a look at her alarm problem. 
              Butcovich had knee replacement surgery six weeks ago. As a result of the surgery he now has one straight leg and one badly bowed one. Over the years his legs became extremely bowed from the amount of physical labor he was doing. The problem with one straight leg and one bowed leg is that now his back is hurting. If he gets his other knee replaced he'll probably be about three inches taller. 
             After walking up the four flights of stairs Butcovich climbed the step ladder and disengaged the wires from the detector. The beeping continued. Butcovich surveyed the room, got down from the ladder and walked over to a large floor plant next to the wall (The Actresses townhouse is filled with plants) and pulled the plant to the side and removed a plug in smoke detector from the wall.
             Both the Actress and I were understandably embarrassed at the discovery of this smoke detector. She said she'd forgotten it was there. I admitted that I could have been a little more diligent in trying to locate the beeping sound. In five minutes Butcovich had replaced the battery, and then climbed back up the ladder and reassembled the detector that I'd butchered. Ten or twenty years ago my mechanical incompetence would had caused me to become dejected, but no more. I've learned to live with my technical disabilities and no longer let them cause me to fall into a state of gloomy despair.

             Last night The Actress wanted to go with me to the Ale House and watch the Wisconsin Badgers plays The Oregon Ducks in the NCAA basketball tournament.  Although I've had no interest in the tournament thus far I had no problem with watching the game with her. I thought Wisconsin was her alma mater but on the way to the bar she reminded me that she graduated from Northern Illinois. "My son attended Wisconsin."
           Although I couldn't imagine getting excited about a college team just because your kid went there I was vaguely interested in seeing their star player who's name is Frank Kaminsky. Lee was sitting at the end of the bar closest to the TV. When I pointed out to Lee that the Badgers had an all white team on the court he nodded.
            "Yeah, I noticed."
            The Actress is not a rabid fan and only paid casual attention to the game. She told me about a cabaret skit she did with some young actors at an Irish joint called Mrs. Murphy's on Saturday Night. She said she thought it turned out well although she didn't think script was that strong. During the course of our conversation she once again  pointed out how inappropriate some of the things I say are. Gracie was bar tending and I think The Actress was shocked at how I conversed with my daughter When I told her that I had no intention of changing my behavior she compressed her mouth into a very serious pout. The Actress occasionally over dramatizes situations which I imagine is an occupational hazard. 
             I was too tired to walk home and so we took a cab. We're going to a Japanese restaurant on Wednesday. Tobin gave me a Groupon half price coupon to use at the restaurant which is almost expired. The restaurant is near the Red Lion so we can stop off and see Colin after dinner.

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Red Connolly Was A Mope

                Street Jimmy hasn't been seen for two days. My guess is he took my comments about his smelling funky to heart and signed  himself into one of the local nut houses. They'll clean him up and he enjoys playing ping pong with the more functional patients. Jimmy rarely pays attention to most social norms, but when it comes to smelling bad he seems to draw the line. Underneath that rough exterior still lingers a modicum of vanity. He won't wear certain items of clothing if he doesn't consider them manly,  nor will he totally disregard personal hygiene for an extended period of time. If he threatens suicide the nut houses are obligated to admit him. 
            Last night an old guy came in the Ale House and asked me about O'Rourke's. He'd been living in Minnesota for the last twenty-five years and didn't know O'Rourke's was no longer in existence. When he said he was a friend of the late Red Connolly's, an alarm bell went off in my frontal lobes. Red Connolly was the no account brother of a famous right wing gossip columnist named Mark Connolly. Red made sure everyone knew about this sibling connection. Red drove a Sun Times delivery truck and used to hang out at O'Rourke's and the Ale House. He had a wife and three daughters. The wife hung out at the Saddle Club, which was a neighborhood bar located between the Ale House And O'Rourke's. Everyone liked the wife and when she was stricken with cancer Red dumped her. The deserting of the sick wife did nothing to enhance Red's already marginal popularity.
           Red was a seedy fellow with chalky white skin and  reddish-orange hair. He was a racist and approached whatever subject he discussed with a remarkable poverty of knowledge. I alway took great delight in making fun of him whenever the opportunity arose. 
           After he broke up with the dying wife one of his daughters named Barbara used to come into the Ale House and regularly beat him up. This was always fun to watch and nobody would come to Red's assistance during these attacks. Barbara was a big, tough girl and was a better than average car thief.  Red would shrink nervously at the sight of his daughter entering a bar. There was a wheedling tone to his voice as he begged his bruiser daughter to stop hitting him. Barbara didn't fight like a girl, when she punched she kept her elbows in and used her formidable weight to add power to her blows. Red's glasses would often be broken during these familial get togethers and he invariably suffered black eyes, bloody noses or bruised lips. 
           The last I heard of Barbara she'd slashed the throat of her live in boyfriend. He didn't die. Barbara said that he'd hit her so when he fell asleep she cut his throat to teach him a lesson. The guy didn't sign a complaint, but did get an order of protection. This was about twenty years ago. I always liked Barbara Connolly.  
            Ruben said his diabetes continues to be in check after his leg amputation. "My blood pressure is good too, and I don't bother to take my blood pressure pills anymore. I'm down from 22 to 4 pills a day."
           We were out of paper towels in the mens room. When I went in to replace them a hot looking brunette in a tight black dress was just squatting down on the toilet. Her vagina was winking at me innocently as I evaluated the situation.
           "Oh, I'm sorry, " she said getting up and smoothing her dress.
            "You probably should close the door when you use the mens room. The ladies restroom is unoccupied."
            "Thanks," she said sashaying past me.
             When I told Ruben about this he scowled. "I wish I woulda seen that."
              About twenty minutes later the same girl came up to the bar to order a round. Ruben entreated her to at least show her tits. She smiled evasively, "I work at the Virgin Hotel and so I can't get too crazy."
            A few minutes later she came back with the drinks she'd bought and said to Johnny Ale, "I was sitting downstairs with my friends and now I can't figure out where the stairs are."
            "We don't have a downstairs," pointing his arm in the direction of the back wall, " your friends are in the back corner where you just were."
             The consensus among the boys was that she was either Hispanic or as Ruben phrased it, "Mediterranean." When Ruben said he found her "doable" no one argued.