CASE DATA: CHEROKEE SIRLOIN ROOM AND TAVERN, UPSCALE BREWPUB AND STEAKHOUSE, W ST PAUL, MN.your name was bill. you have two assumedly long suffering children and one poor undeserving wife. you own a body shop and can "totally fix any shit that gets fucked up" on my car, but you couldn't remember the shops name, despite the fact that i didnt ask and you tried. after stumbling into a chair at our table, your first theory was that K's brother and i were "homos", and when we said yes in an attempt to make you uncomfortable, you segued into talking about PBR and tried to squeeze your olive into your martini from three feet above and one foot to the left of your glass. it didnt work, but you seemed pleased. when we went outside to smoke, you followed us and asked if we were "master race". we respond no, and tell you to go smoke wherever is not here. you have a friend that is kind of a nazi, so its cool if we are. umbrage is taken, we are informed that "we dont even know who you are" and we agree. back inside, you stumble up and apologize. K's brother is lucky to have a friend that he is so comfortable with because you had a friend once and he died. you offer to buy as a drink and we decline. rebuffed, you ask the semi-catatonic whiskied up lady at the end of the bar to dance, despite the complete lack of music, and she has the composure to say no.
this would be a good time to sleep with your face on a table. which you do. bartender comes over and calls your wife on your phone. she arrives, and looks a lot like a lady that has been stuck married to bill for a long time. you welcome her by waking up enough to make the finger poking through hole made by thumb and forefinger on the other hand gesture, because you love her. you make a lunging arm wave towards our table to indicate the "master race homos" that were mean to you. bartender attempts to collect your tab, but you are too drunk, so your wife signs your name and does the math for you. you pinball your way through the bar, and vanish into the back exit. ten minutes later when we assume the coast is clear, we exit. you are leaning against a wall with your face, demanding chicken. when your wife says there is chicken at home, you inform her that "I DONT WANT HOUSE CHICKEN I WANT THIS PLACE CHICKEN!" a second passes, and you clarify with "OUTSIDE CHICKEN, NOT HOUSE!"
godspeed bill, godspeed. may you find the outside chicken that will bring you happiness.
This week, your song should incorporate inside and/or house chicken.
― dense macabre (DJP), Monday, 7 November 2011 02:43 (thirteen years ago) link