A.G.E's Joint

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 ...

Monday night and it's late. The Busch cans are stacked on the table in front of me and the last thing  I remember is  a fast food law commercial before drifting off. "Over $1 Billion recovered. Call today to get your best settlement..." ******************************************************** I find myself in a large room, maybe a warehouse. A stack of storage containers sits in the corner of the room, each contains a dream.  Eenie, Meenie, meinie, moe. I choose a pink one, the second one from the top. The effort it takes to pull it out is exhausting. I hesitate briefly. Is it showtime in my dreams? Will it be comedy or tragedy? The room goes dark. A light flickers to my right and I enter it. I am in a river gorge, Palisades Shoals. Teenagers are climbing the cliff that runs along the bank. At the base is a group of girls dressed only in twelve-pack beer cartons, daring each other to jump naked into the water. Some boys nearby overheard and began to cheer: "Show us! ...

The damp handkerchief couldn’t keep up with the rivers of moisture pouring down his face. Savannah, the land of sweating and gnats. Heat rose from the faded pavement, something he never liked. Nothing had a clear view, just a shaky look. Only place he’d been to worse was New Orleans. At least here you might catch a breeze. A halfhearted attempt to squeeze the cloth out didn’t help. Laundry was going to be gross this week. Kathy would hold it by one corner and wrinkle her nose as it landed in the washer. Oh, well. Can’t be helped. A feeble attempt to wind dry it was made before putting it back in his pocket. It had been a productive trip. Somebody at the VW store had mucked up their inventory system. It turned out to be an idiot using an unsecured site had downloaded a a virus. He’d seen it before. Floor traffic gets slow and the sales folks get bored. The fix ended up being two software patches and a quick code rewrite. A reboot later, and everything was working properly. Before ...

"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...

Hey, heidy and howdy.  It's your randy, dandy DJ, Harry Handy here on WOFT-Old Farts radio.  Lately it has come to my attention that there are YOUNGER people that like the music here on the Fart.  Well, let me be the kindly uncle to those whippersnappers who want to know what real music is.  And SOME of them want to know what Ol' Harry's greatest hits were. Well, back in the bad old days, Harry liked to party.  And he lived in one of the better party towns of the 1970's, HOTlanta, Georgia. Harry himself got to see Big George and the gang at the Omni.  And then we would hit Underground Atlanta for a beer at the old. We'd get home at sunrise and sleep a bit and go out to do it again. One day, I was invited to a party.  I mentioned it to my Program Director, Nightfly Sourpuss, and he told me He knew the people hosting the party and only sorrow would come of it.  Well, I never was one to listen, so I went.  There was the usual...

In the early years of our marriage, my wife and I loved to go out to eat.   It was just something we did every Friday night after work.   I’d pick her up at the train station and we would head out.    One fall Friday, we chose one of our favorite places, Good Ol’ Days .   It was a bar with an outdoor patio that we loved to sit on cool nights. It was a converted Dairy Queen that sat between a tire store and another bar on a very busy road.     I’d had been a regular customer and an employee of this place long before our marriage and the management always extended the best in southern hospitality to us.   Even to the point of a cold pitcher of beer being at the table any time we were seated.     But this night was going to be a bit different. As he handed us our menus, our waiter, Karl, nodded to the table behind us where two very drunk guys were sitting. They had a hard time keeping their heads erect and It looked like they w...