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from: Mugtoe
3/11/01
1:48:11 AM
205.188.198.36
So I figured that I wasn't going to know for sure if the snake with the transmitter on my head was trying to kill me or protect me. I knew that I had to get it off of me somehow. I reasoned that I'd just get drunk and try using a screwdriver or some sort of prong to dislodge it.
I'd been tripping for a couple of days and felt like shit, but I couldn't approach a task like this without getting a few drinks into my system first. I ambled down the block to this little, dark dive of a neighborhood pub and took a seat at the end of a line of about five people at the bar. My stomach was mighty sour and I'd been having those burps all day that tasted like dog farts. The distress in my stomach was quickly moving south. I let loose one of those hot, moist farts that smells of rotten eggs or sulphur tinged with apricots. The cloud diffused down the bar one patron at a time, and they quickly moved to the other end of the bar almost against their will and unable to articulate their visible protest for fear or inhaling some vestige of the lethal cloud. The bartender removed their drinks without prompting as if to say they were no longer fit for human consumption after having been tainted by my billowing billiousness. I wasn't fully aware of my indiscretion at first and thought perhaps I should join the others at the end of the bar. I knew that I was somehow a part of their complaint, but I was rather preoccupied at the moment. I ordered another bourbon.
"Not today", said the bartender with tangible distaste. This was a man who had seen much that would turn a weaker stomach, and he was obviously at the limits of his tolerance. He continued, "You can come back when you feel better, or not at all. You need to get yourself to a vet and have whatever it is that crawled up your ass and died cut outta there. You ain't right, boy!"
I realized that I would get no help here. I quietly made my apologies and returned to the grey gloom of the November Texas dusk.
That's how I got eighty-sixed from a bar for passing gas.
ANTI POPEYE X FAN CLUB
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