"Lou's Bar 'N' Grill"

There was a time as a young hoodlum, that a kid could steal some chump change from his Aunt Rosie's purse and go down to the local bar to kill some time while quaffing down a couple brown pops. Taking in a girlie show afterwards, was of course the highlight of the evening.

This one place I used to go to, was "Lou's Bar 'N' Grill" down by the Bowery. Or, a 21 minute walk from where I lived. It didn't matter how old you were as long as you had the money you got served. The place stunk of pee, farts, body odor, and stale beer all mixed together with the stink of cigarette smoke. Forget about using the can. Any fluid or solid, you could excrete from your body, didn't find it's way in the toilet or urinal. Add to that, there was nothing to wipe with.
This is what I was told so I didn't go in there.
Besides, the door was locked. Pissing was done outside in the alley, crapping was done in your pants. That was the code at Lou's.
While inside, the heavy smoke burnt your eyes and burned in your nostrils and lungs. Everything you touched there, either felt greasy or sticky. Lou was ex navy, heavy built with a brush cut and a beard of purple ache scars. I could only imagine them when he was younger, hanging like grapes. The service was curt and lousy but the booze cheap. When you're really thirsty...cheap is good!
On one particular night, as my mudder was entertaining an ole friend from outta town, I snuck out to Lou's. Armed with a knife and a hundred in small bills, I was gonna get a good glow on that night. Hell, I was gonna take a hit for the team.
It must have been after switching to Sloe Gin from beer that I puked up my mudders tuna and bean casserole all over my shirt. I panicked, the old lady was going to kill me, if I went home like this, she would know that I had been drinking.
As bad as Lou could be, he still had a soft spot for a kid who was in trouble with his ma.
"I'll fix things kid. Gimme 5 bucks" Said Lou as he snapped his fingers. I handed him the money and he put it in my shirt pocket. "Tell your old lady that the guy next to you at the bar, puked all over your shirt but he gave you 5 bucks to get it dry cleaned. Problem solved." He then smacked me on the head as I slurred out a thanks and ordered another round.
What Lou forgot to explain was, why a fifteen year old teenaged boy was at a bar late at night to get puked on.
I don't remember how I got home that night, all I remember is my ma screaming at me and shaking me back to reality. Apparently I had passed out on my back in the hallway of the apartment with my feet keeping the door open.
"Wake up you bum! You've been drinking haven't you! You've got puke all over your shirt." She screamed.
Then I remembered what Lou told me to say.
"No ma, you got it all wrong, some guy at a bar puked on me. If you check my shirt pocket, you'll find the 5 bucks he gave me for the dry cleaning."
She then checked my pocket, pulled out the money and said. "Hey? Why is there twenty dollars in your pocket?"
Then I realized the other accident I had that night and said.
"Oh yeah. He crapped in my pants too."

Moist Musings from a Post Coital Perception

It's 12:46 PM.
I'm at my Lady friends apartment, for what's turned into a late night sleepover.
The only blanket on the bed, is totally wrapped around her like a cocoon and she's snoring with her mouth open like a man.
The greasy spoon's sour burger I ate on the toilet earlier, is slowly reacting with the pickled eggs I had for breakfast.
And guess what else?
I'm also crowning with a 3cm dilation.
And yes, the bathroom in this rooming house is down the hall and with no toilet paper.
Yep, that's pretty much my evening so far.

Oh yeah...and I had some fun 'n' fux earlier.
Filthy.

El Fonzo Magnifico

Simple Minds - New Gold Dream
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GWAC4UeWGd0

Operator?!...23 Bell Island Views please.

An interesting picture of...
my fathers friends sisters aunt at her cousins boyfriends house, for his uncles brothers costume party. Who was actually my dads father.

She's in a Channel dress, with a Correl fish bowl, make up by Liz Claiborne. Smokes provided by Lucky Strikes.
Circ.1954

My old man kept this picture in his wallet for years.
He took it out whenever he started scratching the nape of his neck.
And just stared at it in such deep thought, that he would spook himself if you disdurbed him out of it.
To our female readers...ahem...Like a douch chill.

Now I'm a man of the street because that's where I get my respect from.
I go once a week to Louie's BarberShop to get a fresh trim.
Louie's street moniker is "Lookout Louie" on akinda the fact he's two blocks away from the local precinct.
Cops are aways walking by his place.
And when they'd do, he gets on the phone, speed dial quick.

When you opens the front door to his establishment, a bell would ring and suddenly you're the center of attention.
The place is always packed, so all these eyes are on you, watching you walk through a hole in the room.
The door.
What I would usually say is something like...
"Can I use the bathroom Lou?, I'm really itchy."
And Lou would say something like...
"Why can't you do it out here?"
Then I'd say something like...
"Because I'll need to wash my fingers afterwards."
Everyone would laugh.
And then someone say something like...
"Hey! El Fonzo Magnifico, why I no see you nomore?"
To which I would say...
"Because you don't turn around when you walk."
I usually get an insulted look back.

Of course there's always a smart guy in the room, lying to try and make himself bigger, while I'm lying to try and make myself smaller.

Le Peuple de l'Herbe - Back Against the Wall
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NO470yfzmmQ&feature=related


El Fonzo Magnifico

"Come ta think of it... the ladder is technically close enough, mission control." ... "I'm not really steppin' down on this thing?"...over."

And that's how I imagined it to be, having a wireless ham radio and I'm picking up Armstrongs musings, as he made his way down the ladder, only to plant his foot onto something disgusting.
Of all the places to land. What are the odds?

The picture we see of the imprint is of the clean unsoiled second foot.
The right foot.
Note picture above.
It's his left foot that steps down...but onto what?

Alien guacamole toilet anyone?
I'm just saying...

Wait! Who took the picture of the first asto-nut?
Well, the mystery thickens, like a fridge cooled crawfish gumbo.
Why it's our pals at the inter-galactic federation, stationed on the moon.
And they don't mind taking pictures of us "EarthlingAsses", as we are derogatorily know by them.
I'm sure they're always thinking two steps ahead like...
"Hey, lets have one of our alien friends, drop a green mush bomb for them to step on."
Nothing says "Welcome to the moon" like that.
Damnable, evil, conniving moon men.
Don't make this personal.
I'm just saying...


K W

Well, we've finally gone Green at FEECE

That's right, we now use both sides of the toilet paper.
It's a lot better than the Sheryl Crow method, which involves putting a hole through a single sheet and inserting your finger.

Filthy!

Now I know it's a small step in bringing back our normal weather but here at /'mi:m/...

"We care about our holographic planet."

El Fonzo Magnifico KW BlackLight

Sambuca, Tequila and Whiskey!!!

That's right I still call the shots here!


My nephew, finally got out of adult supervised Day Care.
His prison sentence got commuted.
(See photo of him to my left, your right.)

So I have the fancy boy stay over for a night, what's the worse that can happen?
A male face slapping fight?

Now I live in a rooming house, without an extra room or a bathroom.
That's down the hall by the way.

In the evening I'm a karaoke lounge singer and a travelling salesman by mid-afternoon.
I sell female stuff.
I'm pretty good at it to and I can prove it.

After a few hours with my nephew, I can't take it anymore.
I'm ready to shave my eyebrows because all my nephew talks about is how great he is.
In the space of his release, which has been almost two days, he's helped more people in their lives, than himself. And he doesn't charge them for it.
He then goes into tiny details about how he's changed their lives for the better.

But it don't add up for much in my opinion.

Now my questions is this...How do I wake him up and how come I don't hear him farting anymore?
He once was a farting soprano at Sunday dinner.
You could start Ode to Joy in D minor from one of his pitches.
That was then.
Now all I'm smellin' is his prison pruno but it's expressionless.

In a nutshell, I'm not getting a warning anymore.

Filthy!



El Fonzo Magnifico

Pretty bad Drug.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eljKZjYGp0M&feature=related

Opprobrium

When I have to leave town on business, I usually take K W with me, like I did last year.
You know it feels kind of good to have my buddy coming with me to some exotic locale down south.
And he doesn't mind the stale air in the trunk.
Don't worry, after a good 300 mile ride, I'd let him out of the trunk.
Then I would clear out all the empty ThunderBird bottles and wipe the inside with a rag soaked in bleach.
Getting him back into the trunk takes a bottle of Night Train.
Now I don't have any air conditioning in the car because it's a late model.
By midday the sun makes the car reek. To be more accurate, the stink comes from the trunk.

When we'd finally make it to our destination, I usually give K W a good hour in the trunk while I checked in and also to help him climatise to the area outside.
If it works for goldfish, it's gonna work for him.
After about an hour and a few brown pops later, I would slowly open the trunk.
He would lay there snoring like a woman and I'd clutch a filthy handkerchief to my nostrils, lean over and poke him with a stick.
Once he was awake, I had to entertain him.

Now the motel that we were staying at last year, had a diner called Stella's Eats.
As we stumbled over, we could smell the deep fry coming from it's chimney. Once inside, I went straight to the restroom, undressed and went to the bathroom.
K W did the food ordering.
After drying my hair in the hands drier, I made my way out of the restroom and joined K W at a booth.
Gay.
He ordered finger food. No cutlery and all deep fried.
re: Hobo food.

A few radishes after the meal and my stomach was settled.
The best part of a radish is the sulfur fart you burp up afterwards. It can clear the room and offend yourself all at the same time. Think about that next time you...aww forget it.

The motel manager was as dim as a light shade. Whenever he finished a sentence I tried to fart. I got the odd one in but half the fun was trying.
K W was disgusted.

The sleeping arrangements were awkward and I still can't talk about it. But I'm glad to say, I'm making progress in therapy.

The morning brought hope, not entitlement.

Eye snot, made my eye lids hard to open. I slowly ripped them apart and took advantage of the situation. Getting up quickly, I realized I was fully dressed.
K W lay nude, sleeping and on his belly on the floor. I made my way to the car, got inside and peeled out backwards, while looking out in reverse. A few seconds later I felt then heard a loud thud on the car hood.
It was K W .
Stopping, I stared at him.
And him naked at me.
I wasn't going to shake him off easy that day.

Making peace with K W was not as simple as breaking bread with him.
Effort was involved and it was effort that I lacked.
But I made up for it in sarcasm.
So I belittled him.

El Fonzo Magnifico

Le Peuple de l'herbe - The Fall

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FojTGILnT3w&feature=PlayList&p=ADE47FAAF12E0647&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=6

Fast forward to the Future...

"In ten years we'll look back on this moment, laugh nervously about it, then quickly change the subject."

K W

Grandma had the best parties.

What? You don't believe me?
Then look real hard at the picture to your right/my left.

Exhibit A: Grandma is seated to your left/my right, on the couch. She's in shock. "...this situation can't be happening to me?" She mumbles.
Please note the shades.

Exhibit C: Exhibit B was accidentally flushed. The only solid evidence we had was flushed. Dammit!

Exhibit D: The Lady next to Grandma is Uschi Klein and she's scared. Who knows and who cares but apparently she was always in sight of the apartment door and stared at it when seated. If there was a loud noise, she got up quickly and made her way towards it.
Once she left her purse behind.
Guess what was inside?
No. Something gross.
We'll never know exactly what it was because my mother grabbed the purse, opened it, then preceded to puke into it.
To this day, it's not mentioned in the family and Uschi never brought her purse over again.

Exhibit E: Next to Uschi Klein was Aunt Rosie with some guy who belched every second word and farted when he laughed really hard, then laughed harder until it left a stain in his underpants. He implied this and none of us bothered to check.
Aunt Rosie was no catch. There I said it.
And she was not a guy, just to dispel some rumors.
How do I know?
Third party.

Exhibit X: My Uncle Louie.
He had, what I considered the hairiest nostrils in the universe.
Until Uncle Milty eventually took over that title.
Uncle Louies shoes always stunk of dog poop whenever he came over. But was always encouraged by my parents to keep them on. Later in life I found out why...when he took them off.
Never a kind word for my parents and acted like he never forgave them for something. If you were under sixty five he ignored you. That pretty much just left grandma for him to talk to. So when he did try to talk to her, she pretty much acted like she was absolutely offended when he tried.
Add to this, when he took his glasses off to wipe them, he looked "stupider" and yes I spelt that right.

The evening suddenly ended, when Grandma wanted to go to bed. Usually at 7:30 PM and on the couch.

So there you have it, the proof that Grandma had the best parties.

by
Man About Town
Dickster Evans

We are now entering the stage of "Clonus 5" Maximus.

by
Mike cäcä Schtinkt

The "Silent War" continues...

While leafing through a trade magazine on metallurgical matters in a doctors office.
I couldn't help but sense a spasticity on the part of a Junior Metallurgist, discribing the lattice structure of a carbon mixed steel alloy.
Frustration seemed to overwhelm me, so I started to rip the magazine to shreds. The people in the doctors waiting room, were of course apprehensive to my actions but this did not deter me.
Looking down I saw my clammy feeling shaking hands, beyond them was a mess.
Uncomfortable laughter came from one of the older women in the waiting room. I didn't look up. Nervous feet shuffling followed it.
As I looked down, I noticed that the puzzle had finally come together. You see, on two separate shards of magazine, showed the words...
Hearsay / Conspiracy theory
They were one and the same.

Hearsay

–noun 1. unverified, unofficial information gained or acquired from another and not part of one's direct knowledge: In a sentence - I pay no attention to hearsay.
2. an item of idle or unverified information or gossip; rumor: a malicious hearsay.
3. Improbable.

Conspiracy theory

–noun 1. a theory that explains an event as being the result of a plot by a covert group or organization; a belief that a particular unexplained event was caused by such a group.
2. the idea that many important political events or economic and social trends are the products of secret plots that are largely unknown to the general public.
3.Improbable.

Unbelievable.

I got up quickly and made my way to the door.
Beads of sweat raced down my forehead and into my eyes.
Wiping them only made them sting more.
I reached the threshold of the abyss and breached it's hull by opening the front door.
Sunlight flooded my eyes as I made my way outside and tried to adjust them quickly using my arms and hands.
When things sharpened up, I began to run.