Holiday Cheer

The Secret Room Part 2

Continuing with this little story... About three weeks ago I found myself at Think-A-Holic Lounge again after a long summer absence. I was on my way to the male species room for a little relief when I decided to lift the lid on the peephole they installed on the door to that new back room here at the Lounge. The hair that's left on my head stood straight up and I got goose pimples all over my hairy arms when I saw what was causing all that pig-like squealing and snorting and those creepy undertones of what I thought were illegal sports betters making cute, innocent pigs fight one another for sick fun and profit.

Well, to make a long story short, the snorting and squealing was coming from pigs. Two of them, in fact. And the unmistakable sound of gambling junkies in a secret room placing bets on illegal sports action was, indeed, the sound of our big-ass head bartender Angus McCloud and a handful of regular Lounge lizards. Their fists were full of solar dollars and solar fins and solar sawbucks and I even saw an occasional Intergalactic Quid note being peeled off big fat bill rolls. They muttered and blabbed and barked out new bets to each other out of the corners of their mouths.

But the pigs — two pale-pink, full-grown, big-ass bacon makers — weren't going at each other with hoofs and snouts and teeth. Nossir. They were both sitting on their haunches in front of their own personal computer with a big-ass plasma screen and specially made keyboard with only five keys on it. That's when I saw a big brown eyeball staring back at me through the peephole and the door was opened by Angus McCloud himself.

"Got money?" he said, pulling me into the dimly-lit back room. Before I could reply, he closed the door and locked it. Then he flipped the peephole lid back down and led me to the betting table.

to be continued...  

Stealing My Thunder

It's no big deal but I have made a few bucks peddling my novella on the Internet. When Michael Casher gets paid by Amazon.com for ebook sales I eventually get a piece of that action if anyone bought any Kindle copies of Blind Fool Running. Michael's never stiffed me yet. So, naturally, when the old indie author got his first royalty check from his publisher today I'll get a piece of that action if anyone bought the paperback edition of my novella at either Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble.com or Lulu.com. As a matter of fact, I moseyed on down to the Lounge tonight to blab about it but I immediately saw that someone had beaten me to the draw.

I wouldn't mind so much if the real Michael Casher had gotten to the soapbox here first but it wasn't him. The joker in question (see pic) doesn't have the trademark Vineyard ball cap on his head but under what looks like an English snap brim cap just has to be the face of The Author From Another World. I can't wait for Angus McCloud, our big-ass head bartender and the 400-year-old ghost of a dead Scottish poet, to throw the otherworldly bum out on his keister. Of all the unmitigated gall (I always liked that worn-out phrase). There's more to this Author From Another World royalty deal than meets the eye. I'd bet a solar sawbuck on it.

Man, the things you see on this side of the space-time continuum. No wonder I stay on my side of the looking-glass most of the time. The other side is just too unpredictable and way too scary.   

Cosmic Power Balls Warning

Warning to Powerful Earth MenFrom The Big Black Hole of Hell

The Secret Room Part 1

Now that summer's a distant speck in my rearview mirror, I was eager for a little diversion the other night so I moseyed on down to Think-A-Holic Lounge for a quick belt of think-a-hol and a refreshing bubbly chaser. I'm trying not to think about Hurricane Sandy and the American 2012 Presidential Election that's finally over and done with. That's reality. I mosey on down to Think-A-Holic Lounge to escape from reality. Especially since two chapters of my latest novella manuscript mysteriously disappeared a couple weeks ago, leaving me with the option to either eighty-six the whole project or face a grueling rewrite of thirty pages from memory. Only time will tell.

Anyway, after I'd slugged down two shots of the ol' elixir and two bubbly chasers and made sure to totally avoid imbibing that overpriced think-a-hol knockoff they call Death-A-Hol, I headed to the male species room for some relief. That's when I spotted the door to the new back room they added since I was last in here. I immediately suspected that an illegal poker game was probably in progress in there or maybe a little senator tossing tournament on the Saturn Outernet or maybe some nuns from Uranus were bowling for dollars (highly illegal on Uranus) but there was no TV sound at all coming from the back room.

I had to go like the proverbial Russian bull but I decided to indulge my curiosity for a minute because my curiosity was bigger than my urge to go. Suddenly, I heard what sounded like pigs squealing and snorting and squealing and then some muffled voices and then more squealing and snorting. My scalp snapped back and the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up as I entertained terrible notions of animal torture and illegal sports betting. I wanted to run but I held my ground. There was a little peephole lid on the door and I had no qualms whatsoever about lifting the lid and taking a peek. If people want to put up a peephole they'd better be ready for Peeping Toms, that's how I looked at it. But I was in for a big surprise.

to be continued...

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Author's Note 8-9-12: this video was changed from an uploaded Blogger video to a YouTube embedded video in order to enhance the viewing experience and for better playing performance on this blog.

If you've been following my barstool journal on a fairly regular basis, you know that Fred Fortune cancelled the contract that the Fred & Red comedy team signed last year with Think-A-Holic Lounge before they even did their first gig here. Fred nipped their Lounge opening in the bud because he found out that it was Angus McCloud (our big-ass head bartender and the 400-year-old ghost of a dead Scottish poet) who had reported Fred Fortune to the Pluto Police way back in Earth Year 2008.

When Red got a job as emcee at Retro Comic Spotlight earlier this year, Fred decided to go solo at The Red Room in underground Cydonia. Naturally, the left TV at Think-A-Holic Lounge (the one that normally broadcasts hacker podcasts) picked up Fred's Nightclub Debut and began broadcasting it every hour. Today, when I waltzed into the Lounge like I owned the place (something I really love to do), I saw that the entire lunch crowd was watching Fred's comedy routine. If a comedy act stinks to high heaven it always goes over really big at Think-A-Holic Lounge. Don't ask me why.

Hacker From Hell

This past Wednesday I waltzed into Think-A-Holic Lounge and bellied up to the bar like I owned the place. Our big-ass head bartender, Angus McCloud, always gets a kick out of the way I let on like I'm this big-time author from Earth and he usually sets me right up with a shot of think-a-hol and a cold, bubbly chaser. Today was no exception.

As soon as my butt hit my favorite barstool the left TV — the one that shows hacker videos instead of Mexican soaps and illegal sports — began airing this disturbing video. After it aired I asked ol' Angus to set me up with a double shot of Death-A-Hol instead and no bubbly chaser. Then I asked him to turn off the left TV and turn on the regular one.

After seeing an independent author reaching out to the entire universe from Hell, I preferred to watch Saturnites toss their senators around or watch nuns on Uranus bowl for dollars. Watching illegal sports is always a lot less disturbing than seeing your own fate played out before you in living color.