September 21, 2007

I’m writing this for Con because he worries.

It’s been a busy couple of weeks.  I was contemplating my existence the other day over at O’malleys.  I was nursing a rum and coke because it beats slamming shots when you’re in a rut.  Slamming shots when you are in a rut almost always results in a felony or two, and getting them miraculously turned into misdemeanors isn’t cheap.

O’malleys is not Cheers.  O’malleys is Cheers amped up on reality and testosterone, and then inebriated beyond the point of reason.  Nobody yells “Hey Norm” when Norm walks in.  Half of them have kicked Norm’s ass, and the other half had theirs kicked by him.  It doesn’t mean they won’t buy Norm a drink, but they are neither happy nor sad to see him. O’malley’s Ambivalent Bar and Eatery. Except they don’t serve food. 

So I’m sitting there when Smiley Joe walks in.  Since creativity and drunkenness do not comingle, he is called Smiley Joe because he smiles all the time.  A tourist mistook this affability for weakness once, and was literally slapped silly for it.  Smiley was smiling the whole time.  He smiles a lot, but he’s nobodies punk.  I bought him a Jaegerbomb ( a strange concoction that mixes booze that tastes like castor oil with an energy drink that tastes like shit), and we talked about the mundane for awhile.

I’ll finish it later…i need sleep.  I work tomorrow and then head for Michigan.  My latest scheme to enable me to quit working is turning into an awful lot of work.