Drunken Death-Match

The world's a busy place. I don't have time to get into broken-bottle bar-room brawls with foxy hollywood lesbian step-sister stripper hookers anymore. I just wanted a goddam drink.

Bourbon with a pal is good until Mr. Crusty Guy mistakes me for his wildest dream. I tell him, in my most genteel fashion, that if he pursues this I will have to kick his ass to the curbside. He knew I wasn't serious about the threat part, he laughed and bought drinks. Cheers!

But No! I'm getting the death-glare from two tongue-locked babes. I thought they were mad 'cause I was watching them kiss, but they were mad because they saw me as some kind of skin-head Nazi homophobe cross burning robe -and-a- lynching kinda guy.

The brunette with dishonest eyes launches in on me. I'm a fiend! I'm a Nazi! A gay-bashing son-of -a bitch! I'm everything that's wrong with the world!

I'm only a small part of what's wrong with the world, I admit with humility. Lie-Eyes insults the size of my manhood. Lucky guess.

Nothing I say can help me. Mr. Crusty Guy gets the joke , but Lie-Eyes has no sense of humor. Halfway through her tirade about my white supremacy I stop listening. I don't need to explain my beliefs to this person. She's wrong about everything. I'm bald because I have no hair-it's not politics. I am not a fuckin' stormtrooper. Don't equate me with that. I get mad.

My pal is getting more drinks, I'm drunk and defensive. Ah, ha! Change tactics! I'll seduce the witch. Bad idea. She's a stripper. I watch her tongue stud wag. I wonder if it heats up when she smokes crack. She looks at me like I'm a Fifty-Dollar Bill floating in a toilet.

Last Call! My pal gives me a ride home. We laugh. I escaped intact.