Last Call for Think-A-Hol

The other night I was in the Lounge around last call when I spotted this smug little prick (see picture) talking to the Think-A-Holic Lounge bartender, who is the ghost of a big-ass Scot named Angus. I recognized the little guy who was busting the bartender’s chops because he was bragging about something I’d suspected all along. The little turd was telling Angus that he was the alien presence on Earth responsible for making sure that I had no readers.

He clowned around a lot while he yakked it up — buttering up ol’ Angus by telling him that he was the most frightening ghost he had ever seen and that he had a flair for making Manhattans that tasted more sophisticated than the Stork Club’s (as if the little goober had ever been in that elitist New York watering hole) and typical new customer crap — but I got the gist of what he was saying.

He said he put suggestions into people’s heads just when they were about to click on the ADD TO CART button at Lulu.com, usually making them think the phone was ringing or that they had to pee right now or else they’d have an accident. The little green bugger even went so far as to convince prospective buyers that the end of the world was happening at that very moment and that they should hide under their desks immediately. Then, while they were answering a phone that wasn’t ringing or trying to pee when they didn’t really have to or hiding under their computer desks like terrified snails, they would lose their Internet connections and then either get mad at me or forget about me altogether.

I was getting really peeved, sitting there nursing my draft and listening to all this crap, and I finally asked Angus to throw the little prick out. But all Angus did was smile like the big goof he really is and say, "Last Call! Last call for think-a-hol!"

Think-A-Holic Lounge Bartender

Angus McCloud. The 400-year-old ghost of a dead Scottish poet.

"Boo!"

Alien Road Kill (Well, Almost)

The other day I was celebrating Spring by driving out into the countryside, past some of the roadhouse dives that I used to frequent (the ones that are still standing) when I noticed that I was being followed by a strange object that looked a lot like a flying saucer. So, I pulled over and got out and the thing behind me also pulled over and, to my surprise, it was a spaceship of sorts.

A funny-looking creature crawled out and I thought he was going to pull out a ray gun and let me have it. Instead, he said the strangest thing, something you’d never expect to hear from a Little Green Man from Mars or any extraterrestrial.

He said, "Hey, pal, is there any place around here where I could get a thick ham steak and some okry on the side and maybe a big slab of pecan pie?"

I said, "Well, hell, this isn’t Georgia. You’re about five states shy of that kind of stuff."

He looked ticked-off for a second and I thought for sure that he was going to zap me with some awful kind of beam that would make me glow all over and then disappear. But all he said was, "All right, then. Do you know where I could get a shot-and-a-beer and some really scorching Buffalo Wings?"

I wanted to laugh my ass off but I kept thinking about ray guns and hideous alien torture devices and junk like that so I simply answered him. "Sure thing, buddy," I said. "Just follow me."

Still On the Lam from the Illuminati

I haven't been in a bar or a tavern since 1991 when I first suspected that Illuminati agents were gunning for me in those kinds of places. They knew I wanted to write books that exposed a lot of the crap they were pulling behind closed doors.

This is a picture of one Illuminati operative who was recently working undercover as a bouncer at a roadhouse in Potter County, PA, where I stupidly stopped for a beer and a burger last summer. When I recognized him I quickly snapped his picture with a cell phone camera and then I turned and ran like hell, falling down in the gravel parking lot and skinning my knee and everything.

I thought I heard him laugh when I tore out of there in my Ford Ranger, which I just sold last week for more money to buy burgers with. Without the beer, of course.