[QUOTE]
**
Not only can you dump a drink in my lap, but if I get too fresh, you can even toss one at my face.
Ridiculing’s fine, heckling’s okay, but at the end of every night, you have to join me on stage for my traditional finale, a booze-induced version of “The Lady is a Tramp”.
Who loves ya, baby?
I’m the local moonshiner, I live just a little ways out of town, up in the hills.
Coldie, Mulli and I have an “arrangement”.
And I’ve got several fast cars that look like junk.
Don’t forget, if you get TOO out of control, the bar has a bouncer now, and I won’t hesitate to knock your drunk ass down. (Especially, because as the bouncer here, I see Sue our slutty waitress every night and have a secret crush on her.)
“Hey! I didn’t say anything about getting SHOT!”
–Ike, did you expect us to just walk around under the clock tower like clay pigeons for your amusement?!
Olentzero, you DID get in that new shipment of opium for my next “book club meeting,” didn’t you?
There seems to be a crying need for a right-wing, reactionary, bigoted clergyman who goes around preaching hellfire against the townsfolk. (Especially the teenagers!) Fortunately, you’ve made my job easy with the large number of volunteers for saloonkeepers and women of easy virtue.
To complete the stereotype, however, I’m required to have a secret vice.
I do, but I’m not going to tell you what it is. (That’s what secret means.) I might give you a hint: I know what really goes on at the book club!!
:: Walks across the bar ::
"Hi, Pandora I noticed your reading a book on hiking. The last time I went hiking it was so cool I used my nipples to pitch the tent . 
What’s your poison ? No actually let me guess , Vodka right ?
I’m the curmudgeonly late middle aged woman who loves to keep the town prigs dancing to her tune. I have enough money to have quite a bit of clout with the local powers-tht-be; and I’m not shy in voicing my opinions. As the widow of the largest landowner in these parts, I am the “A” of the a-list. The “ladies” try their best to curry my favor but they wish I’d go away because I don’t quite meet their standards - and they don’t like my standards. I manage to defeat them every time they try to ban some book from the library. They all love to speculate about my past. I supply the “entertainment” for Eve’s parties.
Okay, since Ike took away all the depth I had by not letting me shot him in the head and wrack myself with inner guilt, I need to flesh myself out as Trip Stoneway.
Uhh, let’s see. Maybe my first wife threw herself into the deep end of Lake Macon? Killed by the ravening hordes of trolls?
Help? Anyone?
I want to own the golf course, with the 19th hole, where BratMan007 is the bouncer, jubei2k (while singing karaoke drunk) constantly hits on Sue Duhnym, the slutty cocktail waitress in the tight t-shirt, where Shayna sings, Resevoir Dog washes glasses for Bartender Aenea, and ShadowFox does weekend karaoke, that is owned by Coldfire, but run by John Larrigan.
As owner of the golf course, I hereby bar the following residents: BratMan007 (I don’t care if you are the bouncer), Odieman, ChiefScott and Mullinator. You guys know why!
Since I am running of office (Vote Mully in '00, let him go and be your hero!) I need to do some serious fundraising. I made a trip to the book club, and while lots of things were raised, none of them involved money.
I end up making a trip to the bar where Swiddles is set up like CliffClavin, BratMan bounces people, jubei2k (while singing karaoke drunk) constantly hits on Sue Duhnym the slutty cocktail waitress in the tight t-shirt where Shayna sings, Reservoir Dog washes glasses for Bartender Aenea, and ShadowFox does weekend Karaoke that is owned by Coldfire but run by John Larrigan.
Of course, the meeting is held in the secret back room. The password is Cletus.
Oooh, there’s an angle I hadn’t even considered. You don’t think the supplier would be able to get a life membership to the book club, do you?
I am the reclusive “inventor” with a 1926 Doble in his garage (disassembled, due to lack of parts), a Beech staggerwing in the barn (the fabric’s shot and the engine lies in several crates around the barn) and (unbeknownst to everyone) a mechanical monster (also partially disassembled – lack of parts).
When I’m not trying to track down the technical drawings for a 1930s-era Electronic brain, I make costume swords from scrap metal (did I say I also run the town’s junkyard?) and go hang out at the bar when something unexpectedly explodes – that is, once I put the fire out.
No, I’m not a Mad Scientist, just an Irked one.
~~Baloo
For those who know. . .
The blackjack table is now open.
Geez, kill a couple birds, hit one guy with a drive, and you’re branded as a bad golfer. As if I’m the only person to ever drive a ball backwards.
And Baloo:
**
This is why you haven’t finished any inventions! You have to think positive: They aren’t partially disassembled due to lack of parts, they are partially assembled until the proper equipment arrives.
{checking watch}
Hmmmm…2:40…Dopeville Elementary should be letting out soon. Time to go climb the clock tower again.
Flyp, I’ll help give ya some depth and background if you figure out something for me to do. Deal?
I sell insurance. I’m one of those mostly colorless guys in decent suits that serve to make up the background of all important actions.
Some of my most famous lines:
“You don’t say!”
“Well, shucks!”
“You shouldn’t awtta let the kid do that!”
“Well sir, I don’t like it.”
I would never consider joining a book club. I always vote Republican, and will run for an opening on the school board next year.
I’m suspected to not have a sense of humor, but that’s because neither of the spinster ladies who work for me ever laugh at what I say.
I am unmarried, and assumed to be celibate, though I take business trips to the local big city and (twice a year) to “the convention” in some hedonic place like Altantic City or a cut-rate Carribean resort.
I’m the decorator who remodeled Eve’s playroom (yes, that large basket with no bottom is supposed to be like that).
And I win all the trivia contests held at Coldy’s Bar.
He’s got yoooooouu under his skin…
You don’t seem to understand. That’s why I’m an irked scientist!
~~Baloo