As I've said before, my favorite time to mosey on down to the Lounge is on a Wednesday afternoon. I'm not much of a lounge lizard and never was. My pickup lines are so rusty they couldn't reel in a green Amazon woman from Saturn and green Amazon women from Saturn are always looking to be reeled in. So, this past Wednesday around three pm EST Earth time, I found myself unceremoniously perched atop my favorite bar stool.Yessir, I prefer the relative sounds of silence at the Lounge on a sunny Wednesday afternoon instead of the raucous disorder of a Friday or Saturday night. I like a sunny afternoon because I take some secret delight in being in a dimly-lit tavern instead of at the business end of a lawn mower or a rake. Or even, for that matter, at the business end of my outdated word processor. Besides, when you get older it's easier on everyone if you know your limitations and stick to them.
The other thing I like about Think-A-Holic Lounge in the middle of a work week and in the middle of a sunny afternoon is that there are never any sports or soaps or game shows or even beer commercials on the tube at that time of day. Not at Think-A-Holic Lounge. People who like to eat, drink, watch sports (or game shows and soaps) never frequent Think-A-Holic Lounge in the middle of the week. They're too busy working the business end of a lawn mower, rake or snow shovel. Or the business end of just plain business. And women who frequent the Lounge rarely watch TV here. They're too busy defending their honor against us lounge lizards.
Why they angle the TV at the Lounge so it reflects the window light is a mystery I may never fathom. It must have something to do with the fact that I'm definitely doing something illicit. But who cares? I'll just have to squint and eat that bullet. And the cobwebs on the Lounge TV set are as big as spider plants but who cares about that either? Being here instead of there on a gorgeous sunny day is escapism in all its grimy glory.
Any who, some weird podcast from a far away galaxy is usually on TV in the afternoons and this past Wednesday afternoon was to be no exception. In fact, this was the strangest podcast I'd ever seen. Some buffoon who looked like a cross between Charlie McCarthy and Groucho Marx was whining and crying about how he's tired of being bullied by Reptilians and Grays on some planet called Mars. Wherever that is.
No, I didn't really care for this Mars Broadcast. It smacked of old 20th-Century "yellow journalism" which made it seem out of place for a 21st-Century podcast. Nossir, I didn't like it at all. In fact, I told (not asked) our bigass head bartender, Angus McCloud, to change the channel. Angus didn't even blink an eye as he punched in the digits for a sports channel that featured ultimate fighting between males from one species and females from another species. Highly illegal, mind you.
But anything's better than having your mind assaulted by some lunatic with an axe to grind about some stupid prison planet and alien abductions and the Mallo Cup shortage there, whatever that is. I never caught this pathetic old poop's name but, if he doesn't like it on Mars, why doesn't he get his butt back to Earth? Hell, even a dangerous world run by crooks is better than a boring planet run by lizards.
And any indie author's alter ego could have told you that. Sour grapes or not.
The other thing I like about Think-A-Holic Lounge in the middle of a work week and in the middle of a sunny afternoon is that there are never any sports or soaps or game shows or even beer commercials on the tube at that time of day. Not at Think-A-Holic Lounge. People who like to eat, drink, watch sports (or game shows and soaps) never frequent Think-A-Holic Lounge in the middle of the week. They're too busy working the business end of a lawn mower, rake or snow shovel. Or the business end of just plain business. And women who frequent the Lounge rarely watch TV here. They're too busy defending their honor against us lounge lizards.
Why they angle the TV at the Lounge so it reflects the window light is a mystery I may never fathom. It must have something to do with the fact that I'm definitely doing something illicit. But who cares? I'll just have to squint and eat that bullet. And the cobwebs on the Lounge TV set are as big as spider plants but who cares about that either? Being here instead of there on a gorgeous sunny day is escapism in all its grimy glory.
Any who, some weird podcast from a far away galaxy is usually on TV in the afternoons and this past Wednesday afternoon was to be no exception. In fact, this was the strangest podcast I'd ever seen. Some buffoon who looked like a cross between Charlie McCarthy and Groucho Marx was whining and crying about how he's tired of being bullied by Reptilians and Grays on some planet called Mars. Wherever that is.No, I didn't really care for this Mars Broadcast. It smacked of old 20th-Century "yellow journalism" which made it seem out of place for a 21st-Century podcast. Nossir, I didn't like it at all. In fact, I told (not asked) our bigass head bartender, Angus McCloud, to change the channel. Angus didn't even blink an eye as he punched in the digits for a sports channel that featured ultimate fighting between males from one species and females from another species. Highly illegal, mind you.
But anything's better than having your mind assaulted by some lunatic with an axe to grind about some stupid prison planet and alien abductions and the Mallo Cup shortage there, whatever that is. I never caught this pathetic old poop's name but, if he doesn't like it on Mars, why doesn't he get his butt back to Earth? Hell, even a dangerous world run by crooks is better than a boring planet run by lizards.
And any indie author's alter ego could have told you that. Sour grapes or not.
The other day I was contacted by someone whom I thought to be a fan of my six sci-fi thrillers (all right, I know, I'm Michael Casher's alter-ass ego, but it's the same dumb-ass difference). Boy was I wrong. His message was enough to make me cry in my