The 7 Or Was It 9 Of Us?

WALK INTO A BAR

Stop.  Back Up.  To The Beginning …  

Okay, we didn’t actually get in to the bar.  Not on the first couple of attempts.  That would’ve been way too easy.  Of course, My Brethren don’t Do Easy easily.

Epic Fails also isn’t our thing.  And, No is never an option.  Such was the elevated conundrum in imminent need of a viable solution.  Then again, collectively-speaking, we had 3 Undeniably “Jealous Much?” Essential Things Going For Us:

Southern Charm (√).  Sweet “Too-Old-To-Be-A-Boy-Band-Forever” Dance Moves (√).  The Not-So-Obvious, It Should-Really-Be-More-Obvious-To-Count” Factor (√). 

 

FIRST, WHO SAID I’M NOT FROM THE SOUTH?

We’ve Already Covered The Charming Bit.  My Idiosyncrasies, I’m talking about.  And, Dancing.

Fun Fact Confession Digression:  I’m Native to The Canadian South.  Born on The South Side of Tarana.  Immortalized in an ’80s Party Song by The Kings:

Hey, Little Donna, I Still Wanna, Ya Said To Ring You Up When I Was In Tarana’.” 

Like that.

 

THE ENIGMATIC

Parkdalian Dialect is a dead giveaway …

Because no one ever says, Tore ·​ RON ·​ tow.

It’s Tah ·​ RAW · ​nha.  Like, Pi ·​ RAW ·​ nha.  Okay, Lackawanna … Get Over It.

So, yeah, I’m as South as a Hogtown Snowflake gets.

 

CLEARLY, NOW

It’s Been A Few (Too Many) Decades Since I’ve Surpassed The Legal Drinking Age … 

There’s no debating.  Its not even close.  I almost look my age and never act it.

What’s My Secret?

Oil of Olay® Regenerist.

 

JUST ASKING THEN …

Why Must I Be Carded For ID?

To purchase Libations.  I’ve Got The Money.  Or, get into a licensed establishment?

In ‘Merica.  Of all places, Carl.  Imagine, here I was thinking I’ve had Diplomatic Immunity all these years.  Exactly what is the Statute of Limitations on Ignorance? because I need to cop a plea.

… So, Why Make It Such An International Incident … When I’d Cleared Security At The US Border And Was Issued An Irrevocable Weekend Hall Pass – Get Out Of Jail Card Free – From The Chief?

 

IT HAPPENED TWICE, IF ANYONE’S COUNTING

Precisely Two Times More Than Necessary … 

I know, because I was there on both occasions.  Body.  Mind.  Spirit.  All present.  In fine working order.

Luckily, I brought along just enough Common Sense and Incredulous as key witnesses in case further evidence was called in my testimony against:

You Must Be Sh!tting Me, Really?”

 

THE SHORTY VERSION OF ANOTHER FRIDAY NIGHT

We’re At A Lively Joint … South of Richmond, Virginia.

A Small Sampling of The Tribe.  Out On Night Furlough from the Monday-to-Thursday Gig.  Misbehaving.  Low Brow Entourage.

The 7 or Was It 9 of Us?

We may’ve lost a couple of Great Guys in route from the last place … Attrition after the last, last place … Trapezium was it?

 

2 STRAPPING BRICKS

Mind The Door.  Just Doing Their Job.

Congenial, leaning toward Deflective-cum-Dismissive in that, “Oh, No It Ain’t Gonna Happen Tonight, Boys” kind of way.

The jacked Bricks were unremarkably efficient at not letting some of us in.

Shoo.  Shoo.  Snowflake.

 

WELL, NOW

I’ve Seen Nearly Every Cool Flick Ever Made – being a notable Cinephile – To Know This Is Where Money Talks …

And, The Benjamin’s Come-Out-To-Play.  Make some noise.  Without saying a word.

The solo Benji I was nursing stayed tucked deep in my slim Dungarees.  Out of Sight.

Because, as if, I’d spring a Crisp Hundred to usher the Crew Through.

 

LEFT MY WALLET & PASSPORT

Back At the Hotel – Likely Story (Never Gets Old) – Greenback’s Only Tonight.

Brick No. 1:  “Can’t let y’all in without proper Eye-Dee.”

My Turn (Bringing It Now):  “How ’bout this.” I point to the platinum-feathered highlights coiffed in The Great Mane That Is adorning my extra-medium size melon. “This proper Eye-Dee ‘nuff for all y’all?”

… I’d momentarily forgotten that sarcasm laced with futile stupidity in the shadow of burly doormen are wholly incompatible with pleasant endings.

 

I FEEL THE BENJAMIN ITCHING

To Pop Up From My Pocket.   I Exhale.  Slide My Hand Down … Pause …

Brother Apache – The Entourage’s Front Man – comes to the rescue.

“Hey, Honey.”

There is Ice.  There is Silk.  And, there’s Apache.  Slick.  Smooth.  Whatever He Said, You Know This Wasn’t Girls Night Out.

 

COULD BE CHIVALRY IS STILL TRENDING IN DIXIE

It Got Us Through The Door … Across The Dance Floor … 

And, the Bricks are Cool.  Head Noddin’ Us In Like It Was Their Idea.  Stepping Aside.

Boss Lady (aka Honey) running the Joint has got this.  Covered.

… The Lone Benjamin Goes Back Into Hibernation.

 

AT THE BAR

The 7 or Was It 9 of Us?Conspire The Only Way We Know To Make ‘Merica Great Again. 

An Impromptu North American Summit of a half-dozen-ish Native Sons of Anarchy, a deuce of Frostback’s and the guest of honor, Los Caballero.

We’re introduced to the Mexican Ambassador.  Cuervo, he said.  Jose Cuervo.

We Toast.  Elbows Bend.  We Sing. 

Apache is Dancing Like He Doesn’t Suck At Dancing.

 

2ND ROUND

It’s Lager’s All Around.  I have no choice.  It materializes and disappears instantly.

And, this bit of Tomfoolery-inspired Nincompoopery … 2 of The 7 or Was It 9 of Us?are Klutzes.

Spilt Beer does not defy Gravity.  Also, I’ve left my Teflon-coated shiny pants and sharkskin shirt at home.  So, its a situation.

I’m wearing a freshly pulled Pint of Lager.  All over me.  Full Frontal Saturation.  Mid-Torso to the Undercarriage.  Like I Wet Myself.  Swear, I Ditten.

 

THEN COOKIE – YEP, THAT’S HIS NAME – SAYS,

“Hey, We Just Booked An Airbnb for Munich.”

My Turn: Oktoberfest?

“Next Year.  I’m Renting Lederhosen.  You In?”

My 2nd Turn:  “We need Eye Dee?”

 

“This Beat Goes On / SwitchinTo Glide” Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

Songwriters: Aryan Zero, David Warren Broadbent

 

Photo by Pixabay

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