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Rabbit Stewed

My nephew Rabbit is getting married in Carolina this weekend. Try as I might, I can't get out of Texas long enough to attend the nuptuals. Nobody knows how bad that hurts me.

Rabbit is four years six months younger than I am. I was living in Greenville, NC being kind of an asshole, when he came to East Carolina University. When he was a kid... Well, a little kid, we didn't really get along. We had some very different world views. We were different types of kid. When he came off to college, I spent some time with him and his roommate, Pierre (Really).

We learned to see the world from a little closer angle. A lot of the trouble Rabbit got into, and most of the bad choices he made were blamed on my bad influence. While that argument doesn't lack merit, Rabbit is a man of his own mind.

When I did some stupid things and lost my license, Rabbit was my chauffer. Sometimes willingly, sometimes not so much. I was Rabbit's guide into the darkness. I got him into bars he shouldn't have been in... Taught him tricks he shouldn't know... We got away with things we shouldn't have ever done.

I'm proud of the man he's become. He's more succesful than I am in a lot of ways. He has a nice home, nice vehicles, a big boat, good friends and a lovely soon to be bride. I don't know her as well as I'd wish, but if Rabbit likes her, and she can stand him, that's good enough for me.

I threatened Rabbit with a story about him over a year ago. Well... The time has come.

What to tell, what to tell... Going to the beach in February? Too tame... No girl stories, his wife may read this... Ah... I know... Wrong Way Corrigan's.

Game day! The Pirates were playing at home. Rabbit and I got a keg of beer for the tailgate party. Let's see... There was me... And Rabbit and... Yeah, thats it. Me and Rabbit, and a keg of Budweiser. Never made it to kickoff. After the game (After we slept through the game) we went back to my apartment to get our minds right.

Sober enough now to go out we headed for Greenville's famous Fifth Street. I knew the girl working the door at Wrong Way Corrigan's so she let him in. I was almost 23 so Rabbit had to be 18, the drinking age was 21.

I got a bourbon and coke. Rabbit wanted something sweet. I am evil. I ordered him a "suicide". Invented by myself and another bartender it contains: Wild Turkey 101, Seagrams VO, Southern Comfort, Triple Sec and a whole lot of sour mix. Tastes like lemonade made with swamp water.

Moments later Rabbit wanted another one. "Slow down kid, that's a knock-down drink" He shook his head... "I want a real knock-down drink" okey-dokey. The Specialty drink at Corrigan's was the "Crash and Burn". I don't to this day know what was in it, but it was red and came in a bahama mama glass and we got him one. All I know is that an undetermined time later I was shooting pinball for $5 a game when a bouncer showed up holding Rabbit by the collar. "This belong to you?" I accepted the package, but begged off leaving until the pinball game was over.

I'm shooting... And winning, might I add, while Rabbit stands in the corner and watches the ball go round... And round... And round... And proceedes to empty his stomach of all the recently bought drinks all over the pinball machine. I gave my opponent his money and dragged Rabbit out of the bar, where he then passed out.

His dorm is only a few blocks away, but the problem is that I'm 5'11", Rabbit is 6'5". I threw him over my shoulder, and walked away... His feet bumping in front of me, and his hands dragging the ground behind me. All in all a good day. And remember Rabbit, it could be worse......I still have this picture... And I'm still evil.

Unknown Drives

Austin TX Driving Test (Written)

page 1

Please note that these questions come in a mixture of Multiple Choice, True/False and Essay Questions in no particular order. Note also that you do not actually have to know anything in order to drive in Austin. Apologies to the rest of Texas… What am I saying, “The rest of Texas”? Austin isn’t Texas. Texas is 30 miles from Austin in any given direction.


1) If, for some reason after driving in the left hand lane on the interstate at 5 MPH below the posted speed limit for more than 10 miles you decide to merge right, you should:

a) Speed up to 10 MPH above the posted limit and then re-merge into the left hand lane before anyone can get past you, then resume your previous slow speed.
b) Immediately cross three lanes of traffic to exit the interstate without signaling
c) Turn your left signal on and weave slightly left as you glare at the cars in the left lane for not letting you back in.
d) Any of the above.

2) It is safe to cut off another vehicle if they have a “No blood for oil” bumper sticker. (circle one)

true/false

3) It is safe to cut off another vehicle if they have a “Bush/Cheney” bumper sticker. (circle one)

true/false

4) When driving in east Austin the most important thing to have with you is:

a) A boomin’ sound system.
b) A firearm.
c) Your greencard.

5) You have been driving in the left hand lane of the interstate at 5 MPH below the posted speed limit when you realize your exit is coming up. You should:

a) Swerve right across all lanes of traffic without signaling.
b) Swerve right across all lanes of traffic after signaling.
c) Slam on the brakes and sue the driver who hits you.

6) A police officer has pulled another driver over for some offense and is out of his car writing a ticket. You should:

a) Slow down below the posted speed limit because you feel guilty
b) Slow down below the posted speed limit to gawk
c) Slow down below the posted speed limit in case he can magically make his car appear directly behind you and pull you over next.

7) When driving in the left hand lane at 5 miles an hour below the posted speed limit on the interstate, with no traffic in front of you and 150 cars behind you, is it possible to not know you are an asshole? (please answer in 50 words or less)

You Bet

So, This guy is sitting at work when he hears this voice in his head, "Quit your job, sell your house, go to Vegas"
All day every day, over and over, "Quit your job, sell your house, go to Vegas, Quit your job, sell your house, go to Vegas, Quit your job, sell your house, go to Vegas"
Finally he quits his job, but the voice won't let up, "Sell your house, go to Vegas"
All day and all night, "Sell your house, go to Vegas, Sell your house, go to Vegas, Sell your house, go to Vegas"
So he sells his house and the voice gets louder, "Go to Vegas, Go to Vegas, Go to Vegas"
It's so bad he can barely stand it. He buy tickets and flys to Vegas. Upon landing the voice is calmer but still there. "Go to the Sands, go to the Sands."
Once inside the door the voice says, "Third Roulette table from the door."
Now very confident the voice says, "Put every penny you have on thirteen black."
He places the bet with his entire life savings, the wheel spins, the ball goes round and round.
Finally everything stops and the ball is on 23 red.
The voice says, "FUCK!"

2 days to my birthday.

Valentines

Wisdom Of The Ancients

I used to be a dumb ass. I am now a smart ass. Someday I hope to be a wise ass. Anyone who even remotely knows me knows I can be sarcastic, snarky and flip... Many times in the same breath. I love a good double entendre, a decent pun, a play on words and phrases. I like my wit like I like my martinis: Strong and dry. I love being at a party and making an aside that only one or two people get, it's a special feeling.
I present you with two stories today. Two stories set twenty years apart, and the only real commonality is me and that fact that the other active character was a senior citizen... An actual Wise Ass.

When I was a tender teen I stocked shelves in the grocery store. Back in those days employees were urged to be helpful and interact with the customer. You NEVER pointed and said "over there". At the very least you were as descriptive as possible. "Middle of aisle 7, third shelf from the top, next to the disposable enemas" or some such. Normally you would take the customer to the item, take it off the shelf and hand it to them... but, I digress...
This gentleman, a septagenarian at the youngest, was shuffling down the main aisle of the old A&P. He would stop at the end of each aisle, bend forward, look around the corner and call out "Crisco! Crisss-cooo!"
Being the good little stockboy, I hurried over and said "Sir, Crisco is on aisle 4, bottom shelf, middle of the aisle. (strange what you remember after twenty years) I'll show you if you'd like"
He looked at me kind of oddly, blinked a few times, and then broke into a great big grin. "No son, you don't understand. I was looking for my wife." He leaned forward, placed a wrinkled hand on my shoulder and continued, "Around the house I call her Lard-Ass, but you just can't do that out in public."

The second story happened just recently. I was doing some work for a lady 86 years young. I was putting some things together for her, working on the floor. I assumed she was watching TV while I worked. I squatted down to tighten a bolt and ripped my pants. "Damn." I grumbled "Now I have to walk around all day with a hole in my crotch" Her voice came from right behind me at the door of the room where I was working, "Honey, I've been doing that all my life." (she had to leave the room, I was laughing so hard if she hadn't walked away I would have blacked out from lack of oxygen)

Just A Taste

That story about Dave made me think of my old roommates. After Dave & I became friends we hung out a lot. We'd go out drinking and crash at his place. I always slept on the couch in the living room and other hangers on would sleep wherever. Saturday morning I would wake and quietly watch TV until Ren & Stimpy would come on. Then I would crank up the volume as Dog Pound Hop (the theme song) played and little by little everyone would come out and get coffee, watch Ren & Stimpy and then go to Golden Corral for brunch buffet.

That's how I met Mike, Dave's brother. At the time Mike lived in Fayetteville, NC. Think Fort Bragg. We called it Fayette-nam, and with good reason. Dave and I went to see his folks down there one weekend. One of Mike's college friends, Patrick, was visiting and staying with him.

I have to say a little about Patrick. Nervous, skinny, uptight and slightly anal. Mike, Pat and I shared an apartment later in life. Patrick would come home, still wearing his tie and start to vacuum. You just wanted to smack him with the remote control. If he hadn't been such a nice guy I probably would have.

Anyhow, the four of us dressed up in our silk shirts and baggy pants (Shut up, it was the early '90's) and went out on the town. We hit all the nicest places (both of them) but ended up on Hay Street at midnight. Red light district in a military town. You do the math.

We stopped at a place called Rick's Lounge. You could tell it was classy by the marquee over the door... "TONIGHT ONLY- STEPHANIE EVANS & HER SNAKES"

Just inside the door Dave stopped me. Mike and Patrick kept walking. "Wait" was all he said. Up on stage was a huge champaign glass filled with (I'm supposing) water and a naked girl. She climbed out of the glass and proceeded to shoot water across the stage... Across the floor... Across the bar. She was NOT using a water gun. Yeah. That. Ohhhh-Kayyyy.

She left the stage and out came a girl with a 15 foot python. Dave and I then made our way to the bar where I found Patrick. Sweet, quiet Patrick.

He was banging on the bar like an angry gorrilla, yelling "GIVE ME A BEER. A BEER... I DON'T CARE WHAT KIND OF BEER, GIVE ME A BEER! GIVE ME A BEER, NOW!" Now, I had just met Pat, but I could tell this was way out of the ordinary. So I asked him, "What's the matter, Pat?"

He just turned to me with a crazed look in his eye and said, "I got some of that water in my mouth."

Stretch-ing The Truth

Dave. My old friend Dave and I led kind of an interesting existance for a while. A limbo of being broke, sudden windfalls, bad luck and worse judgement. David was/is a good looking guy. I mean good-looking almost to the point of effeminent... Almost. (Think Ashton Kutcher. Dave doesn't look like him, but you get the idea.) Hanging out with Dave made me swear to myself my next close friend would be a troll, but the run-off was great... If you get my meaning.
Dave and I met in the grocery business. I was in charge of the warehouse and stock crew and he worked customer service, computers and the front desk. I never really spoke to him, until I was going to lunch one day and loudly announced that if anyone wanted to come, come now. Dave came. Uneventful is the best I can say. We went to Boli's pizza on 5th, got a pitcher of beer and a stromboli, then back to work. About a week later the same thing... Lunch, now. Dave came. We got a pitcher of beer and ordered the food. The food didn't come. The food still didn't come. By the time the food came, the pitcher was empty. After we finished eating, and drinking the second pitcher of beer we were a half hour late back from lunch. So, we did the only thing that seemed right at the time... We ordered another pitcher of beer. We arrived back at work two hours late from lunch and not a little intoxicated. We would have gotten away with it too if we hadn't forgotten that we took lunch orders for all the girls working in the office. We ordered their food. We paid for their food. We just forgot to bring back their food. They ratted us out. The manager in charge had a wicked sense of justice. He made us work out the rest of our shifts. Man, that sucked.
On the side Dave ran this limo service. A Night Out Limo. Sometimes if I was bored or needed extra cash I would ride shotgun on the big parties. Dave had (aside from the limo) this piece of crap mustang that ran sometimes, at best, and a roomate with no car, Steve.
Dave got us set up on a blind date with these two girls, we were to meet them at the Attic. We met, they were nice, and attractive, and we started to drink and have a good time. After a while they went to the bathroom (together as girls do) and we waited at the table. We waited, and waited, and waited. Finally we realized we had been ditched. (Actually we hadn't- there was just a really long line at the ladies room. The girls really liked us and were having a good time. Needless to say after what happens in the rest of the story they refused to go out with us again, though) So already drinking, and believing ourselves ditched we picked up the pace. Angry and drunk we proceeded to woman bash our way through downtown Greenville. We made our way loudly and obnoxiously to the Sub Station II, a sandwich shop and the last bastion of angry drunks to eat before making their way home at the end of a night. I had driven downtown, but was in no shape to drive back, so we called Steve, who at 1 am was less than pleased to hear from us. Never the less he is on the way. We had been having a heated argument with a table full of drunk girls about the worth of women who would ditch guys in the middle of a date, especially fine upstanding (which we barely could) men of our caliber. They in turn were deriding (and rightly so) our character until...
Into the parking lot rolls this Cadillac super-stretch Limosine. The mustang wouldn't start. Dave and I stroll across the parking lot, still holding our beer and climb into the back. Steve rolls down the divider window and said, "I got my ass out of bed to come get you, where's my (explitive deleted) beer?"
So, I climb back out of the car, go inside to order three more for the road. There is silence at the Sub Station. Every eye is on me. I just turned around, took a swig and looked at the table full of girls we had been arguing with and said, "You just never know, do you?"

The Wedding Mafia

Doc, over at All I'm Saying Is..., is having a birthday. So if you havn't been there to congratulate him on his first male progeny, do so when you go say "happy birthday".

In his honor, and in honor of his son, I'm going to tell another tale.

I've already ratted him out once before, so I don't think I can hurt him much with this one.

As I have previously noted, I did a reading at his wedding. So... Before the wedding we had an impromptu bachelor party. Very small, very quiet. Before I get into the tale I need to add some description here. Doc is a big boy. Somewhat over 6'5" and weighing in over 250 he would be really intimidating if it weren't for the normally friendly look on his face. This particular night he was dressed up in a shirt & tie. His friend Havoc is built nothing so much as square. about my height black hair and goatee, broad shouldered and dressed all in black down to his boots. You've seen me when I was a little younger and in better shape, blue eyes, goatee and I was wearing a collarless shirt and a vest. I believe there was one more guy there also in a tie... A lesser character to this particular tale.

Over the years we, as friends, have given each other zippo lighters as gifts. Doc's has a medical symbol and "Doc" engraved on it. Havoc's is black, emblazoned with a skull and crossbones and "Havoc". Mine is a little more simple, a small vertical "K9".

We were out at one of those places where you bring your own beer, and then the wait staff bring it back to you. We picked a little table off to one side, broke out the cigars, popped open a couple of beers and sat back to relax. We must have stood out some, a table of young, well dressed men quietly drinking beer and smoking good cigars and of course it being Doc's night we were all defering to him somewhat.

Havoc was talking to one of the girls working the floor when she noticed the lighters. She looked at his then Doc's. She got kind of a strange look on her face when she picked up mine. "K9? What does that mean?" I always have to have a short remark on hand, and what I said was completely innocent... I thought. I replied, "I'm just a guard dog, honey."

After she left the table a strange thing happened. Our service got better... actually amazing. We couldn't finish a beer without a new one being handed to us. The girls seemed to be paying closer attention to us. It was just odd.

Eventually, as we were leaving the DJ, the bouncer AND the manager came over, shook our hands, thanked us for coming and invited us back any time. Now that was REALLY odd, especially in a place like that.

When we got out to the lot Havoc explained the situation. Looking like we did, quiet corner, big cigars, we stood out. My comment put it over the top.

They thought we were made men. They thought we were Mafiosos. We were The Wedding Mafia.

Happy Birthday Doc. And many, many more.

Just A Little Prick

My good friend Sean just called me. Turns out that our old boss back in Greenville, NC just passed away. Boss spelled backwards is double s-o-b and that's twice as bad. I'm not one to lightly speak ill of the dead, but he knew it just as well as we did. His ex-wife supposedly said "Rick's #1 fan was Rick." I'll buy that. He was good to me from time to time, and pretty damn hateful others. He could cuss me in the morning, take me to lunch at noon, and threaten to fire me that evening. He was 47 (I guess that means his late 30's when I worked for him) and maybe 150 lbs. I'd personally seen him take enough purple xanax to kill me and my 200+ lb frame.
He'd come in to work with a cup of coffee, that ever present cigarette, say good morning to everyone, go in his office for 30 minutes, then come out and fire EVERYONE. The whole store. If you got fired, you had to show up the next morning on time to prove you wanted your job. Really. I swear.
He could be funny sometimes, in a nasty, perverted sort of way. One of the things he used to tell women-friends on the phone was "If you can guess what I've got in my hand, you can have it." Twisted bastard.
He got pissed once and posted one salesman by each door and me by the phone at the back desk (thus insuring that I wouldn't get an "up") The back desk, and by extension the phone was near the TV section. Since the phone wasn't ringing, and no customers could get past the cordion of salesmen, I started watching TV. He came over and said, "I'm gonna hang a mirror over those TV's so you can stand here and watch yourself starve to death." (commision sales)
He took rude to a whole new level. Once one of the salesmen came over (with the customer) to ask some pricing. "The customer is not ready to buy right now, but wants an estimate on a package deal" Rick replied "Not buying now? why don't you drop them and go get a customer that's worth a shit?" Right there, out loud, in front of God and everybody.

So, here's my favorite Rick story. Be advised, there is some foul language here that I don't normally use, but this story is verbatum... And I have witnesses in case you dont believe me... Multiple witnesses.

Weekday. Mid afternoon. Sales desk in the center of the showroom floor. All the salesmen gathered around the desk, Rick gives a motivational speech. (I swear on my mother this is true) He starts in...
"Uh, Ya gotta want money, more than ya want pussy or ya ain't no fuckin' good to me. Cause if ya don't want money more than ya want pussy, you ain't sellin' no (product) and you can FUCKIN" LEAVE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!" Yep that man was a class act all the way. In the middle of his sales meeting, one of the salesmen's wives brings in a brown bag lunch. So while he's grabbing the bag from his wife Rick continues... "See (salesman) over there? His little wifey all lovey-dovey bringing him lunch. Well let me tell you, the first time he don't pay the bills, she's gonna leave his ass. You know why? Because his wife is a gold-diggin' bitch. (pointing around the circle) Your wife is a gold-diggin bitch. Your wife is a gold-diggin' bitch, and your wife is a gold-diggin' bitch." It kept going on and on like that... I pissed off the other guys, because I kept baiting him, (I told him I wanted to be a history teacher) but that was pretty much par for the course.
I actually even worked for him twice due to a stagnant job market. Between Sean and myself we could write a book on his "motivational technique".

So, Goodbye Rick, I hope you get better than you deserve in the hereafter. I was surprised to find that I was a little sad when I found out that you had passed, but I suppose what I feel for you is appropriate... Just a little prick.

Re-Marg-able

Margi is one of my best friends from college. I think at one time she may have been a sweet little girl, but by the time I met her she was a bartender at the Wash Pub, a laundrymat/lounge combination in Greenville, NC frequented by ex-cons and lowlifes. I was one of them. I had a pretty big hand in turning her to the dark side, but we never dated. I did one or ten times call her while a date still was with me and put the two of them on together to chat. (yeah I know, I said I was a lowlife.) I think if we had ever become more than friends we would have killed each other, as it was we had a few doozies of fights. We always came back together again though. I helped her move... several times, I did stuff around the house for her, protected her from other lowlifes (lower even than me), and pissed off all of her boyfriends... all of them... Every one... as often as possible.
I also became "token guy". This can be a hateful gig sometimes, it can also be a blast if you handle it right. For those who don't know, a "token guy" goes along on a girl's night out. NOT as one of the group, but as a chauffeur/bodyguard. My job was to sit at the end of the bar and watch them for the forefinger-thumb L for loser sign. Then I would come over and pretend to be boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, old friend, brother, whatever until the loser goes away. Then I would go back to the bar and drink and watch. Once I had found a wedding band on the beach and wore it on my right hand until it got lost... (By lost I mean stolen and sold for drugs by an ex-roomate) a week or so later at the Attic Margs was being hit on by this big redneck. I went over grabbed the beer he had bought for her and took a big 'ol swig of it. He looked down at me and said, "I bought that for her" I held up my left hand with the newly transfered shiny gold band and asked why he was buying my wife beers. I'm not sure how far he thought he would get buying a girl Millwalkee's Beast anyway. I was not allowed to make any moves on the carload of drunk girls I was with, but in return I got set up on dates &tc. Margi in particular pimped me out on multiple occasions.

One of my jobs back in the old days was QA Inspector for a company that made cases for Night Vision goggles for the military. We also made and assembled hardside gun cases and the like. I only worked there for a short time, but one of the things they tried to get into was Maritime Emergency Lights. Basicly a MEL was an encased lightbulb (sometimes xenon) with a lithium battery. Watertight bubble with exposed contact points. If you made the connection, say with your fingers, the light would come on. They were designed to light up when they were emersed in liquid, ie over the side of a boat. One Friday I put a handfull of them in my Jacket pockets to play with over the weekend. I went out for Pizza with the guys. We ordered a pitcher of beer. I dropped one of the lights in, and called the waitress back to the table. "Hey, I think you gave us light Beer" She looked down into the pitcher and was shocked to see the brew glowing golden. (I sometimes wonder how often my food used to get spit on... and maybe still does. Hmmmm.)
Saturday Margs gave me a call. One of those "token guy" deals. I picked up the girls and off we went to the bars. I was drinking Bourbon and Coke (some things don't change) remembered the lights in my pocket and dropped one in my drink. Bing! Suddenly I'm more than Token Guy. I passed these things out to all the girls, and sat back to watch. Margs was the best. She had ordered this big dark drink in a Bahama Mama glass and had one of those lights in it... It was glowing red in the center... And she was explaining to everyone that it was a layered drink and they set one of the middle layers on fire, then poured the rest on top. A couple bartenders must have gone nuts trying to figure out what those people were trying to order.
Margs is a little waif of a girl and she was wearing a white blouse and a lace bra. By the end of the night she was surrounded by a big group of guys and my protective instincts kicked in. I pushed my way to the front of the group in time to see Margs with her "high beams" on. She had two of those lights inside her bra, and every time one of them would go out she'd take it out and lick it to make it come back on. I think she was hated by every girl in the bar that hadn't come with us by the time we left.
I don't really have a good ending for this story, It never really ends. I still talk to her from time to time. We're both still evil people. I sure do miss her.

*(I took the above picture of margi at her house when I was hanging something or fixing something. She wouldn't ever let me take a picture of her, so I cheated. It's out of focus and blurry, but it's one of my favorite pictures that I ever took.)

side note: Just so you know Rabbit, you're next...

Not The Policeman's Ball

The Headline read "Sex raid nets five arrests". It was a sting operation in Columbia, South Carolina. My brother saw it in the newspaper "The State" and mentioned it to a friend. She read it and told him to go back a pay attention to the article itself.

It’s the second raid in a little more than a month.
“Operation Hoe-Down” resulted in the shutdown of Atlantis II at 540 St. Andrews Road and LMR (Le Masser Rendezvous) at 2301 Bush River Road, Suite F.
The Richland County Sheriff’s Department assisted in the raid.

Only in South Carolina could they get away with that. I can't do anymore to this than was already done, so I'm just gonna let it stand.


Hat tip to my oldest brother for alerting me. Too funny.

El Doctor Is In

I just found out that one of my best friends ever has a blog... and has had since a year before I started. I should really pay more attention. I met Doc when I was living in Raleigh, NC over ten years ago. I was a loudmouthed, leather jacket wearin', motorcycle ridin', hard drinkin', 3rd shift workin', womanizing pain in the ass with violent tendancies. He was an intelligent, well spoken, jovial, friendly, polite educator and basketball coach (he still is) who lived two buildings over in the same apartment complex.
We became friends... Good friends... He stood up for me at my wedding, and I did a reading at his. One time he got me good... Hot day, humid in NC. I was out back of the apartment working on my bike... hot, sweaty and greasy, and not in a good way. Phone rings- It's Doc "Time to hit the pool... Be there in 5." Sweet. I saw him inside through the window in the kitchen. Cold mugs in the freezer. So, he pops out the back door with a tall cold mug of amber liquid. I thanked him and took a huge swig of... Schlitz. Yikes. Back in those days I was not a beer snob like I am now, but SCHLITZ? Anyway, we drank those... and several more as I recall.

So, now I'm going to tell a tale on him... and me.

There was a mexican resturant down from where we lived. Busy place, full of yuppies. We managed to end up there a few times a week.
This one was a cold night, freezing. Doc, me and Beth (one of my upstairs neighbors). Man, that bar was packed. Square bar in the middle of the room, open ice tank at one end... right in front of us. The bartenders could not keep up with demand. Doc and I can empty beer bottles as fast as the brewers can fill 'em. We spent too much time with empties.
Two bartenders and a barback, so timing was everything. I looked at Doc and snagged a beer, big 'ol smirk on my face. He gave me the "you're not a cool as you think" look... And snagged a beer.
Wait a damn minute. Who's the criminal type here? ME. You're gotdammed right, so I snagged another one. So did he. Damn. Me. Him. Me, Him. Me-him before mine completely cleared the ice. We had beers lined up on the floor by the bar-rail all in front of us. On top of all the ones we drank. OK smart-ass. I put one back. So did he. Here we go again. Me. Him. Me... What the Hell are we doing? I was wearing my biker jacket. The one I still wear. Lots of zippers... and pockets. I took it off and draped it over my barstool. Bent down to tie my shoe and filled every pocket with beer. 8 or 9 as I recall. We put the rest back (minus the two more we drank) and I told them I'd meet them at my place. I picked up my coat (hung down by my knees) and headed for the door. Clink, clink, clink.
There was always a bouncer at the door, usually an off duty cop. Clink, clink. I made it to my bike, climbed aboard (clink) and put on my jacket. BOOM! It sounded like a shotgun going off. I looked down and saw an exploded beer bottle at my feet. One had fallen out of my pocket and hit the asphalt. Busted. Damn. I looked over expecting to see the cop running me down. I hadn't even started the bike yet. Screwed. Instead I saw the door close. He had gone in to get warm. I must've pulled rubber in three gears getting the Hell out of there.
They were some of the best beers I ever had. Me, Doc and Beth lounging around my living room, drinking and laughing. What? Were you expecting the "Wedding Mafia" story? Maybe next time.

Go check him out. He's good.