Faces In The Crowd

Yesterday STEWED (the Space Tavern Employees Watchdog Entity Directive) allowed us to replace that old Comedy/Drama logo mask (see right pic) with a new one (see left pic). The other day, Michael Casher turned us down on our offer to make him our official mascot. He said just because he's trapped in the P.O.D. matrix was no reason to represent another bunch of P.O.D. outcasts.

But the pepper-tongued old recluse did agree, however, to let us use his trademark masks logo if we altered it beforehand to fit our "sorry-ass loser decor" (his words), here at Think-A-Holic Lounge. Then the P.O.D. S.O.B stole my design and made it his official logo. What are you gonna do?

If you're an alter ego of somebody with a big-ass ego, then you do what he says and learn to like it. The old POD poop said now that he's got his branding iron out he's not stopping until the smoke clears. So, as of yesterday, Michael Casher's brand is all over us. It still smarts a little but we'll get used to it.

That's right, the little POD Napoleon put his altered brand on all his blogs, not just this one. Most of us don't give a damn anyway. As long as we get to stay mobile and exclusive, we don't care whose label we're under. If we inadvertently made a pact with the Devil none of us will ever be the wiser for it.

Besides, life is too short (and, in some cases, too long) to be worrying about whether or not someone has branded you for your own good or just tattooed something on your ass for the hell of it. If the "shoe" fits, just wear it. That's our motto. Besides, Angus McCloud might be the big-ass head bartender around here but this is still my barstool journal.

Man in the Moon

One night last August, I stumbled down the steps of Think-A-Holic Lounge after closing time and when I looked up at the night sky with my new binoculars I saw what appeared to be a hideous face inside the Earth instead of the usual collection of celestial bodies that hover above the Lounge. I thought I was going crazy or maybe I'd finally got the DTs from reality withdrawal or caught something contagious and terminal. Thank heavens for that little lounge lizard shit who reminded me that the Lounge is "mobile" and has been for a long time and that I could very well see anything up in the night sky around here.

So, I asked myself last night what the hell was up now because when I rolled down the front steps of Think-A-Holic Lounge and looked up at the sky this is what I saw (see pic). I knew it wasn't the DTs from reality withdrawal because I've never been that much in touch with reality in the first place. And, in the second place, I'd had my usual shot of think-a-hol and a bubbly chaser and nothing more and nothing less, so my "vision" certainly wan't impaired by any kind of inspiration.

I didn't tell anyone about seeing my own image in the moon last night — especially not Angus McCloud, our know-it-all big-ass head bartender — because I know damn well what I'd have heard. They would have said that having my very own website finally went to my head or something like that. And ol' Angus would have probably punned that I was simply a "lunatic" after all. Har de har har. So damn funny. I'm so glad I never even gave him the chance to unleash that lame puppy.

The truth of the matter is probably a lot less psychological or symbolic. I probably just need new contact lenses or something. Or maybe I should stop eating those sausage sandwiches I crave every summer. Or maybe I should "up" my regular infusion of the ol' elixir to a double shot of think-a-hol and maybe a schooner of Buxx Brew. Or... maybe I'm in deep doo-doo and don't even know it.