Fan Monster

I was on the verge of crying in my think-a-hol the other night around last call when Angus, the big-ass Think-A-Holic Lounge bartender, picked up on my blue mood and made a friendly remark.

"What are you stewin' over?" he cautiously asked me.

"Oh, nothing," I fibbed.

"C'mon, Jonco, I can tell when you're down," the big ol' Scot responded, "and I can also tell when you're lying. Now give, or I'll twist your ear until you do."

I knew that Angus, the big-ass ghost of a dead Scottish poet, was just being kind and polite so I gave in.

"Well," I acquiesced, "the other day I thought my other ego finally had a fan of his science fiction novels when this guy called Michael about his books and I answered the phone."

"Yeah," Angus urged me, "go on."

"Well," I continued, "he claimed to be a friend of a friend who was the nephew of a cousin I had who died last year. Or something like that."

"And?" the ugly old spook persisted.

"And he wanted me to burn some CD's of our e-books and give them to him so he could copy them and put his name on them," I blurted out, filled with anger and righteous indignation. "He didn't even have a clue that we published paperback novels and haven't done any e-books yet."

"Wow!" said Angus, his face and body language showing shock and utter disbelief.

"Wow, indeed," I said. "And I thought he was interested in buying and reading our books."

Angus said nothing. He simply patted my shoulder and poured me another shot of think-a-hol. And a double this time.

"This one's on the house, pal," he said. And then he disappeared into the kitchen to leave me alone in my misery.

By the way, I never met the insulting, outrageous caller who wanted me to help him steal my literary work and Michael's sci-fi work and make him a famous writer who would then compete with us. But I imagined that he probably looked something like this (see pic).

One Way

Angus and I get a kick out of this one guy (pictured) who strolls into the Lounge every Friday night for a single malt scotch which he later chases with a Canadian brew and a bag of pork rinds (go figure). We call him One Way but only behind his back.

Every road in the universe apparently leads to this prick's doorstep but he'd be the first to deny it, if confronted. Hell, he'd probably be shocked if someone suggested that his whole life was a one-way street headed his way. The last time One Way was in Think-A-Holic Lounge Angus was in the process of telling me how much he was enjoying the hot summer weather when One Way rudely interrupted him. "Not me, man. I like winter. I don't understand how anybody can enjoy this sweltering July shit." Angus said nothing and went about his business.

A couple of minutes later I ordered some onion rings to go with my cheap draft beer and before Angus could depart for the kitchen One Way remarked, "Y'know, I don't understand how anyone can eat those onion rings and wash them down with that domestic stuff." I usually don't rock the boat and just let One Way have his say and tonight was to be no exception. But then he said, "Me, I'm a single-malt man. And a big fan of Canadian beer. Hell, that's all I drink. That's all I ever want to drink."

I turned to him and said, "Y'know, I don't understand how anyone can drink that overrated sour booze and drag on that over-priced brew like it was mother's milk but then I don't have to understand something to accept it. Or to just leave it alone. Here, let me buy you another round."

One Way looked at me like he'd been slapped in the face. Then he gulped down the rest of his imported beer, stuffed the half-eaten bag of pork rinds into his blazer and left in a big huff.

When Angus returned with my onion rings he asked me what happened to One Way and I replied, "I don't know. I guess he had too much reality for one evening."

The Glass is Always Greener...

Our dedicated doorpersons tried to refuse this odd-looking creature entrance to Think-A-Holic Lounge this past Saturday night (see pic). This green-faced person wouldn't tell us who he or she was and couldn't produce any ID and he/she certainly didn't look like any think-a-holic I'd ever seen before. A loud argument ensued at the door and that brought Angus, our big-ass ghost bartender out front, ready to kick butt and knock heads, if necessary.

He immediately recognized the green face and aplogized profusely to the miffed patron who then declared out loud that it had no genders or gender bias and was, in fact, a trans-species of some sort. I was just heading out of the Lounge, myself, at that moment, to go home and blog a little before bed. That's when I heard Angus tell Heckle & Jeckle (the names he recently gave our unnamed doorpersons) that they should "damn well remember" the face of the person they just tried to refuse entrance to because it's the face everyone sees in their mirror whenever they're envious of someone else's achievements.

I had to laugh my ass off out in the parking lot at that remark because I knew damn well that our doorpersons and everyone else, for that matter, would purge that tidy bit of advice from their brains as soon as possible. If they even heard it at all.