I’m the polite young bachelor. I don’t spend a lot of time out of doors, though, since I work for a translation company from Away. Everyone’s impressed that I speak so many languages, since there hasn’t been a francophone here since the Desautels moved on in seventy-three.
The teenage girls are mildly obsessed with me, but I never seem to notice them. I don’t have too many close friends, apart from Persephone, and that nice Esprix fellow who lives down the road. I always seem to be popping in and out of his place for some reason.
While waiting for her absinthe, the sweet little old bird lady gets bored and reaches into her big bag. She quickly pulls out a whoopie cushion, and slips it under purplebear.
Just as quickly, she opens up her copy of Peter Pyle and peruses potentially problematic pigeons. No one suspects a thing.
Neuro-, I have a few items left over from Eve’s rumpus room redo that might interest you. I have a saddle, a cigarette holder and several riding crops - I can let you have them cheap. (Who knew the Book Club members all have their own riding crops - monogrammed?) And I have a new issue of the Latex Annual catalogue - it has features on 15 Fun Things To Do With Flails and the New Look in Summer Gags. Give me a call.
Silo, if Sqrlcub isn’t going to have very loud and public sex at your party, I don’t see any reason to show up.
I would adore to be a concierge. I have all the local info (Cristi is my close friend… ) Do we get cute uniforms? What’s the name of the joint? Adams Arms?
Darn it, darn it. Every time I thought of something, I see that someone else has taken it.
But, okay, I think I have one.
I’m the survivalist, back-to-nature-type person. I grow pretty much everything I need in my little homestead back in the woods, keep a few chickens, do my own canning, etc. I sell some stuff to Zero’s Grocery for the “organic” section.
Thank you for allowing me to sit with you, dpr. You’re a very nice man. Say, didn’t you used to live over in the Big City? I thought so. Well, yes, since you asked, I did have a part in that movie, albeit a small one. How kind of you to remember!
Noticing his repeated stares at her decollete, she attempts to pull up the front of her red dress, and in doing so, shifts in her seat. Suddenly, a loud embarrassing sound comes from her chair, and she jumps up to see what happened. Oh, my! What in the world? :o Getting totally flustered now, she prepares to leave, only to be stopped by dpr and shown the cushion that someone had placed there. Oh, my! I didn’t know such things actually existed.
Purplebear sits back down, and finishes her drink with dpr, while keeping an eye out for…<now, never mind, I can’t give away all my secrets just yet, can I?>
signals Sue the Slutty Cocktail Waitress for some more drinks while Brunetter and Shayna do a wonderful a capella version of Crash and Burn (who’d have thought?)
**It’s getting late at the bar and ol’ jubei is still plugging away at the karaoke. Ten minutes ago, he was giving his best Tom Jones rendition of “It’s not unusual,” now it’s back to that old standby, “Beyond the Sea.” **
Only halfway through the Bobby Darin classic, I realize that all those drinks are starting to catch up with me and through the stage lights, I just lost sight of the girl that I’ve been making eyes at all night. The front door swings and I catch a glimpse of her back as she’s headed out the door. Rats.
Another smoke and another martini. I realize that nothing has been the same since I walked out on my old lady six months ago and high-tailed it to Dopeville. She was one of those sorority dames from a good family. Wanted to get married and the family wanted to set me up with a cush job. I said nuts to that and adios. But now, on a slow Monday night I wonder if settling down would’ve been that bad.
I hear my name called. Another Frank song, “Witchcraft,” I think. Don’t even remember getting through the number and the applause is slow and scattered as I walk offstage.
The hot little number in the waitress outfit’s taking my keys from me.
“Sorry about coming on a little strong earlier,” I say. She smiles.
Don’t remember the cab ride home. Don’t remember hitting the sheets. Don’t know who the hell that is in bed next to me when I wake up in the morning…
I own and run the small tattoo parlor that’s about a block away from the bar. I design tattoos and also do all types of piercings. The outside of the tatoo parlor is red with tiger stripes, and inside on the walls is my extensive collection of tattoo designs that I offer. I rarely ask for id when peircing, but often do for tattoos. I wear a lot of tight tops and short skirts, and am a local at the bar. I am befriended by all the older teenagers and local college students, who I tend to give discounts to. I drive an old souped up car from the early fourties, and live in a studio apartment above the parlor. I hang out at the bar, drink little and chat with the failed actress and the artsy types that frequent it. I am, in my own way, an artist, but prefer to work in the body arts.
You guys always start this fun stuff while I’m away from the computer!
Well, since Persephone stole mine…
I am the much put-upon, bitchy, rude secretary for Milo. (Where do you think he got the idea to answer the phone saying, “What do you want?”) I always have to put out the stupid press releases after another one of his moronic plans has killed or maimed someone. I have to be the one to answer all the irrate phone calls about the aftermath of the Senior Citizen’s Free Bungee Jump.
I am stuck in a life of a middle-aged, under-paid, unappreciated civil servant, mother and wife. (Sort of an Old Broad in training–without the money)
My husband is a beer-swilling “self-employed” house builder who bowls in his spare time. My daughter is a Goth alterna-chick with multiple facial piercings and ripped fishnets. She spends quite a bit of time at neuro-trash girrrl’s place. My young son spend all day locked in his room alternately masturbating and building homemade explosives. He only comes out to steal money from my purse or to snag another of Dad’s pornos. Our dog often goes next door just to get a decent meal since I can’t be bothered to cook a hot meal and no one appreciates it anyway. We haven’t seen the cat in a week.
I also serve as the town’s reluctant gossip queen. Since I have to interact with everyone so often, I tend to know the comings and goings of most everybody. I’ve also been in this god-forsaken town so long that I know everyone’s family history. I know about beatle’s “business”, I know all about ChiefScott and his new trophy wife, and I know all the sordid details about Scotticher’s family scandals. (And I’m keeping an eye on xenophone’s little “hotel”…)
I don’t belong to the book club because who the hell has time to read with all this shit that needs to be done?
My only release in life is an on-going fantasy I have about the quiet, yet oh-so-intriguing Reservoir Dog down at Coldy’s. (I saw him when my husband took me there for our 20th wedding anniversary last year.)
*The lights all over town dim dramatically, accompanied by an ominous, deep, thrumming sound. In the distance, there is a loud explosion, followed by a whizzing noise. A large, fast-moving projectile impacts the ground just in front of Coldfire’s Bar, leaving a small crater.
A smoldering, groaning shape emerges from the crater, brushes ash and debris from his scorched lab coat, and adjusts his “birth control” glasses (with the white tape holding one temple on). He looks around, surveying the damage.*
“Well, this is definitely going to cost.”
Stripping off his smoky lab coat, he reveals his Hawaiian shirt, pulls out a Collapsible Pocket Panama Hat® (patent pending), and plants it on his head.
“All science and no beer make Jack a dull scientist.”
He walks into the bar.
“Barkeep! What’ve you got for a bad day at the lab?”
gets up to leave after complimenting coldfire on his choice of sporting tv viewing. Slaps a c note on the table to shout the bar and with a nod to the mad but talented inventor balloo disappears into the evening…
Overworked and underpaid as bouncer at the bar, tired watching everyone else have fun while I have to stay sober, and fed up with all the drunk women not pinching my ass, I show up in my best suit to apply for the job of concierge. Keep in mind please, that my experience as a bouncer will come in handy for those guests who try to get out of paying their bill.
LOL!!!
Damn, I wish I’d thought of that. I almost know that whole movie by heart, but I forgot it.
OK, Monster, here’s the deal. I’m still the bouncer until I get word whether or not I’m hired as concierge of the new hotel.
(BTW - my military background will come in handy too. I know first aid for when we have to operate as a triage center)
So as long as I’m still the bouncer, Monster the Shrubber, I got your back no matter what you do. You wanna cop a feel with the waitress? Go ahead. You wanna ‘accidentally’ wander into the ladies room? It’s all yours. You wanna hump the table leg with your pants down? Knock yourself out. Anything for a fellow Python fan.
But I never gave myself a job. I work at the local animal shelter, and I end up taking home most of the kittens myself. Everyone in town has a pet from my shelter, but no one remembers ME.
I have a secret crush on Coldfire, who is too busy with life at the bar to notice me. I think about him when I am in the shower.
Hello Coldfire? We just took in this 16 pound, one eyed, 3 legged cat at the shelter. I think your bar could use a mascot…
(Belly-up at Coldfire’s, three sheets to the wind on stout, talking earnestly to someone next to me who has been ignoring me for quite some time …)
Have you ever heard of those contests at county fairs where you guess in which square the cow’s going to do his business? I thought the same idea in the courtyard around the tower where UkeIke occasionally goes off would give the town a happy diversion - guess where the innocent bystander gets dropped by the deranged sniper.
In hindsight, I guess it was in poor taste.
Did I mention my secretary has a nice butt? I’m afraid to pinch it, though, because I think she can beat me up.
) Do we get cute uniforms? What’s the name of the joint? Adams Arms? 
