It's "Stool Night" at Bobby's. You gotta bring your own stool. I've never attended this type of theme night before, so I'm uncertain if patrons are required to bring furniture or a sample of their own poop. I'm betting on the poop thing, so my suggestion is that those who plan to attend work up a good one and dump it in a zip-lock bag. When you arrive, it's probably best to just hand the bag to the bartender in order to be eligible for drink specials. I understand that Feces Joe turned down the request to be guest bartender in order to attend court mandated drug rehab, so he's gonna miss out on one of his favorite theme nights. Returning for another run is "Bowels-so-Foul and the Pit-Tones" Get your bags ready in advance so you don't have to wrench one out in the parking lot.

It's "Seduce Feces Joe Night" at Bobby's. None of that predictable touching or lubing is involved. All that stuff has become rather vapid in a world where excitement has been reduced to endless lines of sheeple following one another, nose to bunghole. What Joe is craving is what folks who dwell under bridge abutments call "the real thing". All drinks are served frozen, in plastic "push up" fashion. All "finger foods" are served on the heaving breasts of "Miss Lily "Piscatonni, a geriatric exotic dancer who has agreed to work "for tips". Drink specials include "The Auger", "Shaved Labia", "Tonsil Tingler" and "Don't Touch Me There". All meals come complete with phallic-inspired utensils. Tumescence of any degree is not tolerated and offenders are thrown head-long down a flight of stairs in order to dissuade such physical reactions. Feces Joe is the only exception to this rule. After all, participants are trying to seduce him. A contest is held to see who can inspire Feces Joe to produce a hard-on, without touching him, while he is seated in stall #1 in the mens room. The winner gets a burned DVD copy of "Behind the Green Door" and all the Don't Touch Me Theres they can handle. There is usually a good crowd for this one, so alternative parking is provided in the Latchkey Funeral Home parking lot across the street. If anyone tries to give you any sh** about parking there, just tell 'em, "I'm going to give Feces Joe a boner." They'll know what ya' mean. There is a small cover charge.

Once Budd wrapped his soup-coolers around life's popsicle, he went the other way. His closest friends, acquaintances, and even his biological mother thought he was someone else. He enrolled in a projectile-vomiting class, he combed his pubic hair, he told everyone about it, he was not the only one in the world who buttered the bread before putting it in the toaster and thusly causing an electrical accident that killed Auntie. Budd's soup-coolers and his combing. I never really liked him much.

I feel as if I have been too harsh in regard to Budd. However, I still harbor a cultivated disdain for him. His ability to predict his next paristolic evacuation coupled with a penchant for announcing the same often left me cold. When asked to speak at his wake, I offered the following:

"As I surrender my world, a lozenge is a 'drop', no one has a telephone mounted on their kitchen wall. I can't say 'good morning' without being maligned. The use of a turn-signal is a lost art. And I have it out under my coat."

This was the best I could offer considering I didn't really like the guy.

They were ready for doing the nothing. Flapjack style. They planned it all week. And now it's going down. You could join them. If you could do that little.

Timmy thought about the 'continue the story thread' and then said to no one, "My scolded resurrection came all throbish and with cheap coffee. I didn't say a word".

THE BAND

Day 4: Since Moogie was electrocuted at our second time playing out, we decided to rename the band. We are now "John Wild's Racing Pigs" We plan to do a tribute show for Moog this Saturday at The Turtle's Mud in Monessen. We kept most of his equipment. He would have wanted it this way. Moog...we hardly knew ye.
I've become indifferent to my indifference. Now I'll never go home.

Day 5: We sold most of Moog's equipment. He would have wanted it this way. We're nearly ready for Saturday. During the night, Raul passed in his sleep. In his memory, we renamed the band. We are now "All-Out Daddy und The Entrails" Raul would have wanted it this way. Raul's primo Lora will be filling in on bass.

Day 6: The Moog tribute show and extravaganza sold out. The fire warden intervened when the crowd swelled to more than 16 persons. Sal Tantoon, our drummer for more than 30 days, perished on stage while attempting to repair the very same circuit miasma that took Moog so long ago. In his honor, we have renamed the band

DAY 8: 'The First Time I Saw A Spork' premiered @ Lansing's Riot in Irwin last night. It's the way Lora would have wanted it. She fell head-long down the stairs in the parking garage on Tenth and Ferta while going for the van. Her primo Dujuang will fill in on bass. I think Jova, the new drummer wants to change the name of the band. I'm up. She brought on expensive equipment and a aether phone/etherophone. She has a cousin who plays upright organ. Maybe she'll work out.

Day 9: 'The Fulcrum Upon Which the Future is Pivoting and Timmy' packed the house at The Domino in McKeesport tonight. I went for the Tortured Ravine Special during Timmy's quitar solo. When I came back, the owner was chasing us out the door with an ax in his hand. I don't think they want to resign us. Maybe we should change the name of the band. I dunno.

We held hands at Timmy's funeral. We vowed to one another that we would forever keep the name of the band 'The Fulcrum Upon Which the Future is Pivoting and Timmy'. The next day we hired another bass player named Timmy. She expired within hours of meeting the rest of the band. The EMT (his name was Timmy) said," she died of fright." (I don't know what that means, but I think I would like to die of it.)

We violated the vow. But still. Now we're 'Labe Afrikaner und Timmy'. (We don't have a Timmy in the band but we thought it would be nice to pay tirbute to our last Timmy. She only lasted for moments, but still.) Our new CD just released this week. "Cleat, Nothin' But" which includes most of the following cuts:
1) My Dentist
2) She Wore Cleats
3)She Shunned Cleats
4)Her Sister's Cleat

THE BAND (cont.)

I steeled-up. I had to offer some semblance of order in the band. I was the worst person for the job. It was time to change the name of the band. We hadn't done it since the Timmy. "Felipe's Pussy Has Sideburns" seemed to reflect our thing at the time. We had hired Lorna Garber's daughter, Lorna Garber on keyboards. She actually looked like Yoko, no shit. I knew it wouldn't last, but before we broke up and renamed the band, we Youtubed “Chanteuse Services by Triple Louise" in which Lorna seemed to be channeling Bette Davis, Carmen Miranda, and Marlene Deitrich all at the same time, again. We killed.

Been a minute...

Being an hour

Len sidled up and settled into the stool next to me. I hadn't seen him since "Strangulation Night at Bobby's". The leather on the stool made its leather-fart sound as he adjusted his ass. The bar was half empty. He could have seated himself anywhere else and it would have been fine with me. "Dear God, please don't let him start with the tales of woe", I thought as pulled on my gin and ginger. The ice in my glass hadn't even stopped doing their jingling when I heard him take in a deep breath. He was gonna start talking. Before he could speak, I gave him this. "Len, last night I lashed myself to the helm, as I sensed it was time to become undone. That is nothing compared to what is going to happen if you attempt to tell me another cat story." I stared him down until he took a seat in one of the booths. Problem was solved. Next.

Len sat down across from me in my booth, which is shaped like two licorice incisors facing each other. He had a tall glass of Anisette, but his continence was not as sweet. Before Len opened his mouth to bemuse me with fresh frisky stories of his lolcat, I said to him, "Lenmussen! I have to tell you, last night I lashed myself at my helm. Then I lashed myself at the bow, at stern, in the mess hall, and then lashed myself ever so slightly just before my long late night shift at the helm of the ship. There, I latched myself to the helm, because I was expecting some rough seas, and I didn't want to get blown overboard."

lash·ing
/ˈlaSHiNG/
Learn to pronounce
noun
plural noun: lashings
1.
an act or instance of whipping.
"I threatened to give him a good lashing!"





2.
a cord used to fasten something securely.

transitive verb

lashed, lash·ing, lash·es
To secure or bind, as with a rope, cord, or chain.

::big grin:: I know you were using lashing correctly. I know the definition and that 'lashed myself to the helm' is a common phrase used for centuries, I've read and heard it many times. I even looked it up before my prose for a little research. I was just humoring myself with how lashing could be misunderstood in the modern vernacular.

Understood, Ed. Just working off some humor off of your humor. I appreciate your input. Len. He has always been the loquacious one. Perhaps we should get together and visit Len on "Throttle Len Night at Bobby's"

Poohdawg the Clown joined Hufflepuff. It wasn't the affluent house. But he knew what sort of sorcerers to sort out, sort of. His mother was a clown. And a damn good one. But what a wizard his father was. He could ride those coattails, or fit as many as possible in that car. So why not join his buddy, Mowgli, who was left outside, and raised by the jungle wizards? Better halfblooded than be tainted by Kaa in Slytherin.

Snowing like crazy in Pittsburgh, Pa. " Le Tits Now"

It's getting cold, down by the banks of the Ohio. That's where I took my love to stroll, down beside where the ice does flow. She will not open up to me. Says she can only offer company. Three months same, she stills comes over. If I reach out, then I'm the bother.

Shent Tantoon und his sister Elaine watched and re-watched "Shemmie's Jail Bait" to such an extent that they both forgot to take in sustenance. Shent would explain, saying, "If this is my first time being here, then I am destined to become everyone. If it is my last time to be here, then I am finally no one. Ecstasy."

Shemp Drastictown und his yin Venus couple-two-tree saw Beautiful Three Branch Bud beyond chow time. Sam Sara Alpha, Sam Sara Omega, Obliteration.

Last night, there was a guy in my living room in a guillotine and on fire. In an effort to make him feel comfortable, I let him change the station on the radio. He went for the baseball playoffs. I had to insist on classical music. Moon all crying like something that was just born, weeping and mourning. Another sun, all new and prickly.

The moon rolled off the sky loafing into the soft water paradise of palm trees and spewing pumpkin spice, smushing the last tiny bubbles of wine that made him happy.

He emerged from the putrid sludge within the pages that he wrote. He took Sleep for tens of Her years. He looked down at his trousers. He had it out. In church. Dog with bi-lateral lisp says, "Wooth".

As she horked upon my opera slippers, the gravity of the situation caused me to be reminded of the time she offered me tonic and tit. I swooned at the end.

I was there when they installed the statue of liberty, I took a bullet for john lennon. I took a submarine for ringo. I was there when you mother stated you. I was bloody, purple and sad.