Oh, Monster! Thank you for bringing me to my senses! What was I thinking? Wally would NEVER condone bloodshed! He would have me slay them with words, I have to come up with a better plan.
Say, do we have a psychia tryst, I mean psychiatrist in this town? (It’s hard to keep track of the characters around here without a scorecard)
I need HELP!!!
(sobbing) Scotti
(sneaky peeking through her hands to see if Monster was buying this)
*He walks into Coldfire’s wearing (for the first time in Dopeville history) an un-scorched lab coat. His disheveled hair shows (faint and disappearing fast) signs of combing. Even his canvas sneakers are clean.
He walks up to the bar and chooses a stool.*
“Tequila and Molsen.”
He looks skyward (cielingward, actually), hoists his shotglass and toasts:
“Putz!”
OK, between the lot of us, surely we can afford to buy a small ghost town somewhere and actually set up our paradise on earth? I don’t think the U.S. Census (or whatever) would go for calling it “Dopeville,” and that WOULD attract the wrong kind of people.
How about naming our town Wally World?
The weekly “book club meeting” will be held in honor of Wally this week. I’m not quite sure how the hell I’ll arrange THAT, but . . .
I don’t see why we can’t call it that. There’s two towns in Arkansas (no shit) named Goobertown and Toad Suck. I had a hat from Goobertown but lost it on a float trip.
Cristi, how bout the two of us living up on an old hill in a wonderful house like the two aunts in practicle magic.
I am thinking because of the subtle hints that the job of town mistress is already taken. But one never knows.
Eve, maybe I could help you with the book club. Ya’ know crack the whip every now and then.
Time for all that later.
Damn shots just aren’t as much fun without Wally. I will refrain from body shots on this sad day.
Hey Coldfire…could you make me a Harv Wally Banger?
With a twist of putz?
:wally:
::Enters Larrigan’s and Coldfires, spots Aenea at the bar, sits at the end::
Hey, I was gonna swap flathead Harley stories with Wally, but damn me, I’m too late. Give me a Black and Tan with a Turkey 101 back. I’d like to buy the bar a round if they would kindly join me in a toast to Wally.
::Glass held high::
HERE’S TO WALLY, The wind in your hair, the sun at your back, keep the shiney side up!
::Downs the Turkey::
Well, Eve, I’m not sure that we would want to buy an entire town right off the bat. However, if each of the ~7,000 Dopers were to throw in $2,000, we could purchase about 140 lovely vacation homes scattered around the globe where each Doper could spend roughly one week out of every year without crowding each other. Owning such properties would certainly make all the Doper get togethers a lot simpler, too.
Every one should email me their bank transit codes and account numbers. I’ll take care of the whole thing. No, really, I’m a trustworthy guy.
I heard there was an opening down at the High School?
I’m the new English/Drama teacher. The guys find me inspiring and the gals?.. they find me very inspiring.
You know the type… I’m a but kooky, my clothes are old-fashioned, and I ride a bicycle around town. But man, when I get a’talkin’ people listen.
Erudite, that’s me!
Another English treacher at the high school. Hmm.
I’m far too nice a guy to start a turf war, and heaven knows the children of the Teeming Millions need all the culture they can get. So let’s carve up the territory.
If I take the literary club and quarterly magazine, would you be interested in the drama club and school play?
We’ll discuss being the newspaper advisor later.
Tymp-
I don’t have a bank accout. I keep all my money in a cigar box in the garage. Its right next to the bucket of gasoline and the water heater. Can I pay in some other fashion??
Certainly, winky99. Just post your home address and I’ll send someone over to . . . collect your payment.
Makes her entrance into Coldie’s, wearing her little skin tight black rhinestone number along with the stylish black lace gloves and fancy little black veil in honor of Wally. A couple of her girls. . . . er tenants, follow her demurely to the bar. Although somber, none have lost their signature hip wiggle.
Although Champaign, the real stuff she gets for free from the handsome man who runs the liquor store is her drink of choice, she slams down a tequila shooter in honor of Wally. The girls. . . er tenants, slowly scout the room until they find solace and comfort on the laps of Milo and John (although we are not sure if that is his real name or just what they call him.)
Sitting at the end of the bar, I keep an eye on my girls and remind myself I need talk to Kricket and Cristi. I hear they are looking for a place to stay and I have a few extra rooms available.
I feel a soft hand on my shoulder, I turn around to find Coldie. He gives me a sad smile and says, “Can I get you a bubbly, Madame?”
I shake my head. I’m sticking to tequila tonight.
Hell yeah we got Goobertown! You should see who’s moved there too (hint: his cousin was a jarhead).
As for Toad Suck, it really doesn’t exist anymore. You see, it was a Ferry (I said Ferry, not Fairy!) Landing on the Arkansas River just outside of Conway. There were several taverns (nowdays known as joints) there. When the river was too low to navigate, the boats would tie-up and the men would, as legend says, “suck on bottles til they swelled up like toads.” Thus the name Toad Suck.
Then one day, the men in black helicopters came and put a dam on the river. They stampeded the women and raped the horses. Man was it awful.
Today, the only thing left is a spring celebration known as “Toad Suck Daze.” I remember the first one almost 20 years ago. Just remember, if you want to swell up like a toad, stop at the county line before you get there and drink out of a paper cup or else the cops will get you. If you want more info:
Now, give me some takillya. And make it a double!
How 'bout we call it CecilTown? Or The Cecil Straights?
Anyone running the corner bodega yet? If not, I’m in.
It’s set it up in a nice boho neighborhood that resisted full gentrification. Lots of old timers around to mix with the students. The type of neighborhood I like to live in.
I have a few plastic tables and chairs outside under the awning where people sit and eat their sandwiches or just stop by to set a bit and catch up on neighborhood gossip. Only microbrews in the coolers, I’m a little snotty about beer, and this is my place.
The rest of the place is filled with an odd assortment of staples, cleaning supplies, etc. I’m not trying to compete with the supermarket, but if you need it, I probably have it. The prices are a little too high, but insurance rates are up there.
In one corner behind the cash register is a picture of Wally, with a small brass label that simply reads “Putz”. It’s not in the direct line of sight - it’s not on display, just a reminder. Just outside the door is an Australian Barometer.
V.
kunilou:
I don’t mean to make trouble… I came to the party late and didn’t read all 7 pages.
Sure, I’ll take the dramatics… I’d rather make the little buggers act then write… fewer essays to grade, ya’know?
Anyhoo, I was founder of my own HS Paper… I think that I’m pretty much a shoo-in for advisor of the Dopeville Dope…
(But I’ll let you proofread )
BigJoe: Rack 'em. Loser buys the next round.
sdimbert, I too edited my high school paper, but since you founded yours, I’ll defer. You take the newspaper, and I’ll be yearbook advisor.
By the way, there’s a weekly book club meeting you might be interested in. . .
[QUOTE]
**
There are a few locals who might object to that…
Sassy saunters up to the bar… “Got any decent Irish, Clof Boy? You know I can’t take ta-kill-ya!”
Looking around, she spots Persephone and Kricket. “Just who I wanted to see. I need a new occupation, and I think the three of us together can come up with something!”