December 16th, 2013

  • roybot

true story

The bouncers were not having any of my nonsense. I wasn't on the list, and the cough lozenge I offered was not deemed a suitable bribe. Clearly, I had to bust out the big guns.

"Let me through," I yelled. "I've blown Eric Estrada."

The words cut through the air like a rancid fart. I seized the moment, and charged past the bouncers. You can always count on ol' Eric to clear the way for ya.

I knew I had but moments until the bigger, less-hoodwinkable bouncers showed up to render me a persona ex discotechque. Worse, I had even less time until they spotted me, and if they did, I would no longer be able to blend in.

"Pardon me, ma'am" I said, squatting behind a negro with an excessive gucci bag. "But I can't help but admire your purse!"

"Thankya Dahling" she drawled, smiling wetly, loose lips almost melting amongst her bedazzler glitter, whatever you call that stuff. I got the impression she had taken a recreational dose of Xanax, and as such, pharmacology was making this interaction possible. Amazing what they can do, these days.

She reached into the gucci bag, and pulled out a pen, writing her phone number on a napkin. I wasn't particularly expecting this, but as deep into the charade as I was, I didn't dare refuse. Besides, I felt like it might come in useful, some how.

I slinked up the stairs, pondering what a corker of a word "nondescript" is. Long and pointy at the end, "Nondescript" is about as nondescript as dropping a colon-cleanser in an echo chamber. "Inconspicuous" is a sight worse....

I spotted Louie The Chin playing poker with his boys. Zach, 12, and Lourve, 9. I didn't like to interrupt the boys when they were playing poker -- they got testy -- but this was urgent.

He spotted me coming.

"For the last time, I'm not a gangster, and I can't sell you gouda, whatever the fuck that is!" He yelled.

"This ain't about that," I snarled. "This is about me. And you. And what brand of refridgerator you have!"

"Amana!" he barked, livid with anger.

He was furious about his choice of fridge brand. I didn't understand why, but at least I could respect his passion.

"Fair enough," I said, and left the club, walking past a cluster of bouncers. Their appearance reminded me of a pack of sour, frustrated roomba vacuums, and I did not pity them in the slightest

Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker