I walk in and I see two familiar faces, people, apparitions or torsos with a soul kicking
around somewhere in their guts. They motion for me. I oblige.
"Hey Tyler, hey Lil' Brunch."
I take a seat with midnight jackasses.
"What are you drinking?" I ask.
"A Belgian wheat ale. Seasonal," says Tyler.
I take a sip.
"Sorry, but I don't have a taste for swamp water and nail polish remover."
The bartender walks by and I motion for him.
"Can I get a Dead Guy?" I ask.
He brings me a Miller High Life.
"This is not a Dead Guy, it's a Miller High Life," I say.
"Not it isn't, it's a Head Pie," he says.
"Dead Guy. DEAD GUY! I want a Rogue Dead Guy!"
The bartender pours the High Life into a pilsner glass and slides it back at me.
"You poured the beer in a glass. This is still a High Life."
"No it's not. It's a fancy beer in a glass that you would expect a fancy beer to come in," he says.
"No, it isn't!" I proclaim.
The bartender puts a tiny umbrella in the glass.
"There you here. Fancy enough for you, your majesty?"
"This is still a Miller High Life! I am completely dumbfounded at this."
The bartender places his forhead into his palm.
"Jesus Christ...Fine then, governor, I'll see if I have some fancy schmancy lime wedges. Wouldn't want you to ruin your chances at re-election."
"See, now I have no idea what you're talking about."
The bartender walks off and I continue to sit with Tyler and Lil' Brunch.
"It's a campus bar," says Tyler, "They don't know the difference between Heineken and Nesquik with Whole Foods brand Vodka in it."
The barkeep comes back and I order the German wheat ale that Tyler was drinking. He hastily pours the brew in a glass with an excessive amount of head, damn near killing the buzz for me.
"You know, I don't get you beer connoisseur types," he says.
We drink, we relax, we rid our minds of middle-America and all is good for an hour.

Lil' Brunch looks over his shoulder and spots a girl reading at a table by herself, sipping from a tall, thin beer glass. He taps me on the shoulder.
"Look at this asshole," he says, "reading at a fucking bar."
I turn around and gaze at what she's reading.
"That's Kierkegaard," I say.
"That sounds like your kind of woman," says Tyler. "You should say something to her."
No no no no no no no no NO NO no no NO nooooo.
Tyler continues to antagonize me.
"Seriously, man, quote from what she's reading. Be all like, 'At the bottom of enmity between strangers lies indifference' or some shit.
Lil 'Brunch chimes in.
"During the first period of a man's life the greatest danger is not to take the risk."
Tyler slams his glass on the counter and nearly leaps from his seat.
"See? See? Brunch has the idea! Stop being a pussy and get your dick wet for once in your miserable hops and barley sucking faggot bitchy ass fucking life!"
I console him, leave my stool and walk over to the fair-haired girl reading the wisdom of the soul by her lonesome.

I quote her Kierkegaard.
"Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom."
She stares at me.
"What the Hell?" she says.
"It's Kierkegaard," I say.
She sets her glass down.
"Oh, yeah, this is school shit."
"Can I join in your school shit?"
She invites me.
I plop down and run my thumbs along the smooth edgings of the table. I ask her what she's drinking out of such an outlandish glass.
"Peebs," she says.
"What?" I ask.
"Pabst Blue Ribbon."
"They actually serve that shit in a glass?"
A twenty-something blone hostess walks past our table and stops, with her black apron and miniature composition notebook of drink orders.
"Can I get you guys anything to drink?" she asks.
"Do you have Hop Devil?" I ask.
"We do.
"Oh, thank Christ. I'll take one."
"That'll be $4.50."
I slip her the cash and she walks away with my drink order.
The girl across from me raises an eyebrow.
"$4.50? Are you expecting company?"
"No no, that's all for me."
"Are you fucking retarded?" she asks. "Do you not know how to manage money? Didn't you take that class in High School?"
Befuddled, I hunch over into the table and peer out from my wall.
"E-excuse me?"
She slams down her glass of gut rot and continues on her personal attack.
"You're well on your way to being bankrupt before you even get out of college, you stupid fuck!"
"I-I'm not in college...I-I got my...degree last year, why are you talking to me like this?"
"Get away from me you financial wreck of a poor irrational fiscal planner, you!"
She rises from the table and walks into the backroom. She draws attention to herself and addresses every patron in the bar trying to forget about layoffs, the holidays, children and money. She acts as if God should step into me as if I'm the one who doesn't exist.
"We've got the CEO of Enron over here! Watch out! Hold onto your wallets! Fight the MACHINE!"
She disappears.
The hostess brings me my Hop Devil and serves it to me on an Evan Williams napkin. She rubs my back and leads up to my hair, brushing it out of my face.
"I don't know what that was, but I'm sorry, sweetie."
She leaves.
I grasp my beer and drink half of it in one felt gizzle, slamming it on the table like a shot gloss. With fists clenched and spine jerked, I put my head down into my arms.
"What the HELL was that all about?"
At last call I arrive home, clip my toenails and browse AMC hoping it's
a Western night.
Poor advice.
Last edited by stellar_legs at Dec 24, 2009,
you're one of the last good things about this place though.

besides hating the nickname 'lil brunch',
you convey every aspect of your stories perfectly, you're better than a lot of my favorite authors in plenty of ways. definitely better than this place.
Youre a great writer. It would be really cool if you could write an entire book like this. I thought the womans dialogue though, just seemed unnatural. It was weird how she just freaked out over 4.50 bucks of beer. I know that was the point, but I thought it seemed really forced and you were just looking for a quick ending. Up to that i thought it was really descriptive with out slowing down the pace. You know how to make mundane things like ordering at a bar enthralling. I thoughtt it was good writing though overall.
Quote by turd_ferguson
[0:17] If my parents knew I was part of a group who celebrated christmas by drinking cough syrup they would probably cry

WEATHERER, the greatest band ever.
Btw, you're supposed to hate the name Lil' Brunch.

Think about it.
That's the worst name anyone could ever have next to Obie Trice.
Poor advice.
the enron drop seemed out of place but i guess it adds to the ridiculousness of that section. The dead guy with the bartender might have gone one step too long i think.

this was really good.
Anatomy Anatomy
Whale Blue Review

Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me
Dead Guy is a real beer (my favorite beer).
That tet-a-tet with the bartender happened the other night.
Poor advice.
yeah i figured dead guy was a beer. That's pretty shitty that it happened for real. I just thought the conversation was two lines too long. Maybe not.

At last call I arrive home, clip my toenails and browse AMC hoping it's
a Western night.

oh and this was great.
Anatomy Anatomy
Whale Blue Review

Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me
sounds like your weekends go over pretty well

"Success is as dangerous as failure. Hope is as hollow as fear." - from Tao Te Ching