Baseball, it is my life
If the Socks can make it to the series,
then all things are possible, what exciting times we live in dear friends.
Last night I enjoyed the company of my friend and mentor Tattoo John. However this morning I found myself laying on the floor of the upstairs bath, can you imagine my shame when the Always sweet and Loving Mrs. John Q. Public, arrived on the scene and informed me that we don’t have an upstairs bath? Alas dear souls, it is never a good way to wake-up. After a fortifying meal of Corned Beef Hash (canned) and a double latte, I still find my head cloudy and my wallet noticeably lighter. The indulging and forgiving Mrs. John Q. Public took me to my panel van (it’s an organ-donation day, and I don’t drink and drive, you know my motto: “stay smart-stay alive”.
A brief over-view of the evening and its many merits, we meet at a little neighborhood bar on the northwest side of our happy community, called the “Black-Beatle” (*Ed. Note: names have been changed to protect the reputations of sites of fine dinning). And we began catching up, well I began catching up, you see Tattoo John arrived at the establishment several hours before me. He told me of his travels and the many wonders he had seen, of earthworms the size of your leg, of the finer points of flat-chested tribal women, of travel by bus from the mountainous land of Bolivia to the sun-drenched city of gold that is Milwaukee. What an adventures he had, the wanderlust, the soul of the gypsy. In short order we were informed by our barman, they we had drunken the last of the Rumplemist. Now I can’t speak for you, but there is something about Rumplemist that makes fermented hops go down easy. That and it does loosen ones tongue (mine is healing up nicely by the way).
At this point those of you who try to emulate me in every possible way might be asking yourselves, what kind of beer does John Q. Public drink? Well, dear reader a bit of insight, into the man…
I drink Miller, no not Miller Lite, not Miller Genuine Draft, but Miller, it is after all the Champagne of beers, and it is Union made, I first developed the taste, while working as a labor organizer for the AFL-CIO, in the salt mines of Utah.
Tattoo John was sampling PBR, which to this day, turns a very special place in my stomach. Upon the unfortunate reality that yes in fact the bottle had run dry; we made the next most logical decision. We went to the local Rugby Bar, it was their weekly Indian food and Cricket night, but after some persuasion and a heavy tip, the bartender/owner turned the television to the game, and yes dear reader what a game it was (please note: I am still a Yankee’ fan, I even have a hat and everything).
Oh, how the Rumplemist and beer flowed. I could see joy on the flushed face, of my comrade and drinking companion. Well there might be a need for some back ground. Nothing good ever happens to me at said Rugby Bar…nothing good, as a matter of fact my last 15 failed relationships were a result of large quantity’s of alcohol and the lovely lady’s of said establishment. That and I seem to get into a fight every time (no, I am not the only one) I am there. Well, after I reached the point where due to my failing eye-sight and acute alcohol poisoning I begged off our reunion and called the Attentive and Protective Mrs. John Q. Public to gather me from what would surely be another famous Tattoo John & John Q. Public Tri-State drinking extravaganza.
Which she dutifully did. However on leaving I did have a chance to get into a brief discussion of the merits of Chaucer and to a lesser extent how Bush is a pussy with a rather large cocaine dealer. During the discussion he was heard to utter something about kicking my ass, (yes, silly isn’t he, what a card) and preceded to flash a pistol, (it was a nickel plated S&W 44 magnum, suitable for dropping say a Cape Buffalo, I however still prefer to trust my 9 mm Browning Hi-Power).
Now, being as I was in the process of leaving and my ride said something to the effect of “I am not bailing you out again this week nor do I have time for a funeral, the boy band I promote is going back on the road” I left. Yes, dear reader, I acted like a grown up (I blame it on the drink and my over all pleasant mood).
But, my point: This is the 4th time in three months that someone has threatened me with bodily injury over a political discussion. What the fuck, why cant right wing pricks even listen to someone else’s point of view, and they want to run the fucking country? So much for America land of the free. Hey, but then again he could of not liked my views on Chaucer. That’s all for now dear reader. I have to go pick up a heart and some eye-balls in Goshen.
Yours truly,
JQP O.V.C
then all things are possible, what exciting times we live in dear friends.
Last night I enjoyed the company of my friend and mentor Tattoo John. However this morning I found myself laying on the floor of the upstairs bath, can you imagine my shame when the Always sweet and Loving Mrs. John Q. Public, arrived on the scene and informed me that we don’t have an upstairs bath? Alas dear souls, it is never a good way to wake-up. After a fortifying meal of Corned Beef Hash (canned) and a double latte, I still find my head cloudy and my wallet noticeably lighter. The indulging and forgiving Mrs. John Q. Public took me to my panel van (it’s an organ-donation day, and I don’t drink and drive, you know my motto: “stay smart-stay alive”.
A brief over-view of the evening and its many merits, we meet at a little neighborhood bar on the northwest side of our happy community, called the “Black-Beatle” (*Ed. Note: names have been changed to protect the reputations of sites of fine dinning). And we began catching up, well I began catching up, you see Tattoo John arrived at the establishment several hours before me. He told me of his travels and the many wonders he had seen, of earthworms the size of your leg, of the finer points of flat-chested tribal women, of travel by bus from the mountainous land of Bolivia to the sun-drenched city of gold that is Milwaukee. What an adventures he had, the wanderlust, the soul of the gypsy. In short order we were informed by our barman, they we had drunken the last of the Rumplemist. Now I can’t speak for you, but there is something about Rumplemist that makes fermented hops go down easy. That and it does loosen ones tongue (mine is healing up nicely by the way).
At this point those of you who try to emulate me in every possible way might be asking yourselves, what kind of beer does John Q. Public drink? Well, dear reader a bit of insight, into the man…
I drink Miller, no not Miller Lite, not Miller Genuine Draft, but Miller, it is after all the Champagne of beers, and it is Union made, I first developed the taste, while working as a labor organizer for the AFL-CIO, in the salt mines of Utah.
Tattoo John was sampling PBR, which to this day, turns a very special place in my stomach. Upon the unfortunate reality that yes in fact the bottle had run dry; we made the next most logical decision. We went to the local Rugby Bar, it was their weekly Indian food and Cricket night, but after some persuasion and a heavy tip, the bartender/owner turned the television to the game, and yes dear reader what a game it was (please note: I am still a Yankee’ fan, I even have a hat and everything).
Oh, how the Rumplemist and beer flowed. I could see joy on the flushed face, of my comrade and drinking companion. Well there might be a need for some back ground. Nothing good ever happens to me at said Rugby Bar…nothing good, as a matter of fact my last 15 failed relationships were a result of large quantity’s of alcohol and the lovely lady’s of said establishment. That and I seem to get into a fight every time (no, I am not the only one) I am there. Well, after I reached the point where due to my failing eye-sight and acute alcohol poisoning I begged off our reunion and called the Attentive and Protective Mrs. John Q. Public to gather me from what would surely be another famous Tattoo John & John Q. Public Tri-State drinking extravaganza.
Which she dutifully did. However on leaving I did have a chance to get into a brief discussion of the merits of Chaucer and to a lesser extent how Bush is a pussy with a rather large cocaine dealer. During the discussion he was heard to utter something about kicking my ass, (yes, silly isn’t he, what a card) and preceded to flash a pistol, (it was a nickel plated S&W 44 magnum, suitable for dropping say a Cape Buffalo, I however still prefer to trust my 9 mm Browning Hi-Power).
Now, being as I was in the process of leaving and my ride said something to the effect of “I am not bailing you out again this week nor do I have time for a funeral, the boy band I promote is going back on the road” I left. Yes, dear reader, I acted like a grown up (I blame it on the drink and my over all pleasant mood).
But, my point: This is the 4th time in three months that someone has threatened me with bodily injury over a political discussion. What the fuck, why cant right wing pricks even listen to someone else’s point of view, and they want to run the fucking country? So much for America land of the free. Hey, but then again he could of not liked my views on Chaucer. That’s all for now dear reader. I have to go pick up a heart and some eye-balls in Goshen.
Yours truly,
JQP O.V.C
posted by John Q. Public esq. at 6:44 AM
<< Home