(nabs an Oatmeal Rasin)
Sure, come on over! I’m a nice guy. 
Missed the picnic, but while I’m here at the bar, let me raise a toast to Wally.
Bad night, too sad to sing or even hit on girls in the bar. Just want to drink and be alone.
*Finding a clear spot, our lab-coated hero sets down a small crate about the size of a shoebox. The label reads: "Instant Picnic Furniture® (Just Add Water)". Just as he is about to place a dropper full of water on the box, the sprinkler system comes on.
Backpedalling furiously, he falls across the BBQ pit. Rolling out and continuing to backpedal whilst slapping out the flames, he shouts one word:*
RUN!
Usually, I would go home and crash on the couch after another hellish day working for Milo but for Wally, I’m going to this damn picnic. I’ll stop at KFC and pick up a bucket of chicken (or whatever it actually is) and grab a Coke or something. Hell, I’m even dragging a sober hubby and (somewhat) well-dressed and behaved kids with me. We’re gonna salute one of this board’s best posters in style!
After a frustrating few minutes trying to discern what ‘beeg baff towses’ are, I ring for Manuel, our bellhop from Barcelona who we are currently training and teaching English to. Manuel keeps the guest occupied while I deal with the drunks, explaining that the the big conference room is currently in use by his mother who had an unusually good night with all the conventioners in town, and found that just one hotel room wouldn’t be enough for the night. As for the rather furtive looking individual, I cut him off at the exit and ask if he would like the candy dishes gift wrapped and explain that while those items are not usually complementary, I will make an exception in his case. I proceed to undress do I can also give him the shirt off my back. As I do this I talk about an exceptionally fascinationg documentary I saw last night on cable about the judicial system in the Middle East and in particular their dealings with theives and smugglars. This naturally reminds me about my time in the Gulf War and how I once killed a man for stealing my socks, laughing all the while as I describe the look on the man’s face as I strangled him with my bare hands. (“I can’t believe how that left eye just popped right outta the socket like that! Ha ha ha!”) I return to the guest who needs 'beeg baff towses, and unable to discern what he wants, I send two of everything up to his room.
I’ve just hooked up two fresh kegs of Molson Canadian. Let’s all get really drunk.
holds glass high
Here’s to Wally!
Lexi… I will not have you abusing Marvin Gaye songs in here…
Hey, did we get any applicants for the position of Bar flies?
and of course, we’re having a Wake.
Raises Stein
Wally!
Entering Coldfire’s Bar
Sitting down at the table and orders a wine
Opens up a box, pulling out a ouija board
Placing hands on the ouija coaster thing
Crowd gathers around my table
“Wally, I need a sign, any sign…”
Ouija coaster thingie starts moving across the board
p…u…t…z…
Ah, I think we’ll close the diner down early today. Have the gang go over to Coldie’s for the evening.
We even have a Wallyburger now, for our loved one now gone. He sure will be missed at the breakfast and lunch crowd.
::Hangs up the Closed Sign::
Let’s get over to Coldie’s.
(Orders a round of tequila shots, the way Wally would have wanted it …)
All right, all right. The wimpier among you may use salt and/or lemon, but everybody’s doing one.
I say, in the grand tradition of wakes, we tell our favorite Wally stories. Not about what thread you liked best, but about how he effected your real life. I’ll begin. On Sunday, I was telling my father, an avid BMW motorcyclist, and someone whom Wally always reminded me of, about Amy’s thread on trying to sell the Putzmobile. My father was howling, until he asked “What kind of bike?” “A Harley,” says me. “Harley? Yea, it’s a Putzmoible. You’ll notice I never asked YOU to join MY mailing list…there’s a reason.” It’s not much, but I rarely talk about the boards with my family.
. . . I guess it was appropriate that the whole town gathered in the park on the night was first lost one of our own . . . Dopeville is a sadder and less witty place today.
how 'bout an exhibit. A grand opening of Wally Art Gallery in downtown Dopeville, with the first showing being that of the wonders of Wally. Any contributions of art for the showing will be accepted for the Wally Exhibit.
I have a portrait I’d like to submit.
It’s Wally, still giddy from his first cybersex experience, walking through a spiderweb which results in his killing a gerbil in a freak gas grill explosion.
closing up the Dopeville General Store & Agitpunkt… hanging a portrait of WallyM7 framed in a wreath on the door… and a sign:
“Closed until further notice, the Guinness kegs run dry, or the hangover dissipates - whichever comes first.”
Point me to Coldfire’s, boys; let’s make a night of it.
Is it the golf or the opening of the diner? Hmm…
Is it the golf or the opening of the diner? Hmm…
Since we’re all getting hammered at Coldy’s and remembering a cherished citizen of Dopeville, I think we should do it right. Lets hear some putz stories. When and how did you live up to your putz destiny?
[me being a putz]
On a business trip to New Orleans recently, a co-worker and myself decided to kill some time. (In other words, drink) We went to a local bar&grill on St. Charles. The place was packed. We snagged a table on the patio and began our descent from sobriety. The night progressed and the empty bottles grew thick. Soon some young ladies asked if they could sit at our table. Umm, sure.
We made some small talk and it turns out that they were there with one of the girls father. I said, “Oh, what does he do?”
Her: He’s a politician.
Me: Ah, a Louisiana politician, huh?
Her: Yeah, you know Louisiana politics. :rolleyes:
Me: (Turn to co-worker) Louisiana politics. The state that produced David Duke.
Her: Yeah, thats who that is. That’s my Dad.
Me: ::jaw hitting floor and foot being shoved into mouth::
[/me being a putz]
Needless to say, apologies spewed forth and a hasty exit was made minutes later. Putz!! I saw him and didn’t even recognize him when they came over. One night in NO and I meet one of the states biggest sleazebags AND insult him in front of his daughter.
Another beer, here, John!
backs up semi, hops out
One advantage of being a trucker… opens truck to show kegs of Guiness, Molson’s Canadian, and PLENTY of tequila
Hey Coldy, Olent…give a girl a hand in unloading this? picks up bottle of Jose Cuervo and prepares to get drunk
Only if you promise to learn how to spell Guinness correctly, Falc… laughs
…peers up a post or two… Whoever felt bad about being a putz at David Duke’s daughter - don’t. I woulda kicked her off the table faster than you can say “Klansman”, even if she was hotter than Claudia Schiffer, Tyra Banks, and Halle Berry combined. And felt proud about it.
So, Falc - where you want these kegs?