A.G.E's Joint

  Open your mind Before you open your mouth Canapés are so yesterday Quiche is the new way For the new day At the tavern.

 I had just gotten in from work when the phone rang. 'Hey, Hoser!'" Jim was as close to being Doug McKenzie without being from Canada.  "Yeah, Jim?" "Want some strange brew at Good Ol' Days?" My favorite converted Dairy Queen. It was Friday and I didn't have overtime tomorrow. Easy answer.  "What time?"  "About 8. Carol's coming." I had forgotten he was dating her. That woman can't hold her liquor to save her life. I wonder how long it will be before table dance? I think for a minute "I'll be there." It's better than watching the game. In ten minutes I've changed shirts and ready to go. Traffic was light for once. I get to the bar early and get a table outside. Molly, my regular waitress, comes up.  "Hey, Chirs. What will it be?" "A pitcher and three glasses, Jim and Carol are on their way." Her face fell. She knew it wasn't going to be Patty Cake.  "Tab or separate c...

The beer was warm and flat, but it was free. It wasn't the first time Jerry had subbed in the middle of the set, but it was getting old. Something had to give. The Spock Brothers not being able to deliver just couldn't keep going. They drew a crowd, for sure.  Kirk was as solid as ever, though. But S'Chin seemed to fade with every performance. Maybe it was his Vulcan life force finally winding down? Who knows? He wasn't going to live long and prosper if he didn't get his act together.  Jerry looked at his watch, 2:30A.M. Should he stay till close or should he go? Looking up at the TV above the bar, he noticed someone had changed to TCM, probably Charlene. Old movies were her bag. He'd spent the night at her place a couple of times. They would play Spencer and Katherine where the scenes extended far beyond the Hays code.  The sound was off, but West Side Story was on and Officer Krupke was trying to instill his "wisdom" to miscreant Jets. Almost without...

There was a bar I was a regular at called Good Ol' Days, so much so the waitresses would have the pitcher (and however many glasses we needed) by the time My friends and I would sit down. And like any good bar, there are bar stories, one's you wonder how it happened.  The best one happened right after I got married. It was a pretty fall day and my wife and I sat outside watching the butterflies play on the patio railing as we watched the sunset across the road.  Since this was kind of a "date", she insisted I dress up a little. I had on a white sport coat with an open collar shirt. I was working out a bit then making me look a little like a bouncer. A couple friends stopped by our table and we waxed loquacious about jobs, relationships, and who would be the next spouse to get knocked up.  A =band was butchering a cover of "You Spin Me Around (like a record)", making it sound like "My Big Ten Inch (Record). The crowd was lubricated enough to substitute ...

Funny thing about Google searches. You start down one path and you find yourself in a world you never expected. Seems as though Turtle Boy may have been on to something. In the last several months, several writers had disappeared, one after another. One of the more puzzling was a guy named Dave, writing dispatches from the Snowy Badlands. Most people found his folksy humor endearing and his audience looked forward to his stuff every week. One day, Dave’s empty Stetson was found on the grounds of the Arboretum outside St. Paul, with no indications on where he went. No witnesses or evidence was left behind. His car was still at his residence along with all of his belongings. A missing person’s report went into the round file, since he was (supposedly) an adult and there was no indication of foul play. A rumor he was feeding loons in Lake Woebegone circulated, but no one really believed that. Nothing had come up until I stumbled on a cryptic message from the Northwoods indicating t...

      The bandstand was deserted hours ago and almost everyone else had gone home. A red, white and blue neon sign screamed BBQ, Babes and Beer! The screens above the bar were silently running the day’s latest tragedies. But Jack wasn’t having any of that. That all smacked of celebration. This was a vodka and depression kind of night. A wave brought the bottle and the glass was emptied and slammed back as soon as it filled.    “Damn, man. You hardly let me pull up.”   With a sigh, the glass was filled again.   “But this is your last one. Got it?”   “Sssurre.” Came the slurred reply. Using the edge of the bar for balance, Jack slowly stood up. Picking up the glass, he stumbled over to the jukebox. A dollar in the slot brought solace.   The bars are all closed…It’s four in the morning and I must have shut them all down…   He had enough. Or could he really get enough? Damn woman took off out a word, change...

Jeremy became more alert in the cool night air. The Toyota hadn’t been towed yet. Breathing in, he felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The glow from the Kroger sign warmed him.   He faked calling the taxi; he knew the bartender was going to take his keys.  And he need time to think on how exactly to bring the ascendant swine down to their appointment with the butcher. The image of the car bomb blinked silently in his mind.  Twisted metal shredding bodies.  "In Kandahar, a car bomb was detonated in front of a local police station…" . The words came out involuntarily.  Echolalia, he thought.  Common among the autistic and epileptic was what the article at the hospital had said.  Didn't someone say he was autistic at some point?  The doctors never could agree on what they thought of him.  And he didn't care. The reaction voiced what was inside. He wondered if Kandahar could be replaced with Sandy Springs, Dun...

"Paranoia is just another word for ignorance." Scotch spun in the glass as these words sprung from the page. Thompson was right, of course. He feared for of a lack of knowledge. The world is crazy. Can't explain why he spent three days in the nuthouse any other way. Shrugging his thin shoulders, he took an unfiltered cigarette out of his battered leather jacket.and placed it in his mouth. Couldn't smoke in the bar, so he just chewed the end like a cigar. The bitter juice jolted his nervous system and muted the drag from the shots.  They knew him well here at 3 Sheets . He had been coming here since before he could legally drink, because they never carded. Comfortably dark room and always the same seat overlooking the bridal shop. The Crack Kroger across the parking lot with it's comforting blue neon glow. Always the same drink, Cutty Sark on the rocks.A very ritualistic existence. Counselors, Lawyers, Cops...all those pigs were watching, asking questio...

"Starbucks.  The art of socializing alone." Jared said out loud. Eyes slid his way and then back to what they were doing. He didn't care anymore what these rude people thought.  Shifting in the soft leather chair, he   looked  on the darkening sidewalk.  Was she coming? The eyes lost some focus.  New York wasn't Birmingham, for sure. He wondered why he'd left it behind. Oh, the job with ad agency was alright and it was kind of cool to have a bunch of stuff in walking distance. But people here were more interested in climbing the ladder and chasing money stacks than socializing. They tended to scatter like rats when the illusion was interrupted. Energy wasted in Jared's opinion.  You can't take it with you. There few people at the office he felt comfortable with. Melanie was one of them. The thought of her red curls and crinkly eyes make him feel a little warmer. He really didn't know her that well. But she was friendly and that served her well as ...