Thinkers Can't Be Choosers

This past Saturday night I found myself over my limit of think-a-hol once again. It was disconcerting, to say the least, when Angus shut me off before I was ready to go home.

The big old Scot, who is the ghost of a dead Scottish poet and the head bartender at the Lounge, saw that I was beside myself with embarrassment. He tried to make it up to me by offering the services of his limo and driver to take me home. I was so over my limit that I accepted. This also proved his point that I needed to be shut off.

Before the limo got very far, I fell asleep. When I woke up, this is what I saw from the back seat. I heard the driver say in a glib, matter-of-fact tone that he had to pick up something for Angus at his home before he dropped me off at mine. Then I fell asleep again.

To be continued...

A Frog With Attitude

Wednesday afternoon is my favorite time for taking a break from writing and moseying on down to the Lounge for a quick shot and a bubbly chaser. But this past Wednesday I got a shock that I'll never forget.

Angus was off that day to bar hop in another solar system and everybody knew that was the biggest reason for his new limo and driver. Anyway, the creature pictured here was his replacement, sitting behind the bar on a high, round stool. I approached the bar and sat down on one of the many vacant bar stools. Just as I was wondering how in the hell a frog on a stool could possibly get me a shot of think-a-hol and a draft, it spoke.

"What?" it asked me, with a challenging stare. Its voice was human and quite masculine.

"Uh, I'll have a shot of think-a-hol and a draft," I told the frog bartender.

The frog turned around but never left the stool. I watched in utter amazement as its front legs stretched to incredible lengths, pulling glasses and bottles and working spigots that were even out of reach for a human being, unless he or she got off that damn stool. The frog served my drinks on two paper coasters, just like Angus does, and took my money. Then he sat on the stool and stared at me as I drank. He knew I had issues. He knew I had questions. But I held my tongue.

"What?" he asked me once again, in that big challenging, almost hostile voice.

"Uh...nice weather we're having," I replied in a small voice. He said nothing and I finished my drinks in silence.