The Shithouse Poet… Another Installment of The Barroom Chronicles

Considering this series started with a quote from the Ladies’ room wall, maybe it’s time to take a deeper look at thou holiest of all places and the artistry scribbled upon its walls.  (Men, you’ll have equal time, Men’s room poetry will be featured in later post.)  If you are a minor, or do not posses a sense of humor, you are not welcome here. Go Away! We don’t want your whining to interrupt our good time. Without further ado, may I point you to the last door on the right.

As with all quality pieces of lit, this is dedicated to the poet of the house of shit, whoever and wherever you are!

 

Welcome to the Ladies’ Room:

- If you love your man and have some class-  Don’t write his name where your wipe your ass!

-You cry, I cry -   You laugh, I laugh – You jump off a cliff, I laugh even harder.

-Why do men like being on the bottom during sex? They only know how to fuck up.

-I’m starting to see double and act single.

-Whip me, beat me, bite me, blow me, suck me, fuck me, very slowly, then walk away like you don’t even know me!

-Some people are like Slinkies… Good for nothing; but they still bring a smile to your face when you push them down a flight of stairs.

And that’s only what’s written on the door.

My personal favorite:

The right pic is a close up of the verbiage so elegantly written above the toilet paper.  Gives me a chuckle everyday, but I have an eight year old’s sense of  humor.

 

Continuing our tour:

The Bar Nazi demanding that the toilets flush on time!

The Female’s Prayer:  As he lays me down to hit, I pray his dick ain’t small as shit – and if his dick ain’t long and thick – I pray that he’s good at lickin’ it.

Of the Philosophical realm we have: (Please ignore the Bar Nazi.)

- You’re born…  You die… And somewhere in the middle… you live. If you make it happen.

- Wage + Debt = Slavery

Shithouse Poet busted in the act!

- Life is like a cock, when it’s soft you can’t beat it – when it’s hard – you get fucked!

For the Epicureans:

A blowjob is the healthiest breakfast -  you get sausage, 2 nuts and a shot of protein.

If it tastes like chicken, it’s good for a lickin’ -  If it tastes like fish, add some sauce, it’s a dish -  If it smells like cologne… leave it alone!

If vodka were water and I was a duck, I’d swim to the bottom and never come up. But vodka ain’t water and I’m not a duck, so slide me the bottle and shut the fuck up!

 

A Tale of Eternal Love:

Here’s to the man  -  I love the best – I love him the best – when he’s undressed – I’d fuck him – Sitting, standing, lying

If he had wings – I’d fuck him flying

And when he’s dead – and long forgotten – I’d dig him up – and fuck him rotten.

I’ve hope you’ve enjoyed our little tour, if you didn’t, there’s the f’ing door!

For those of us remaining. Repeat after me…  (You have to say this out loud for full effect:)

I’m sofa king…  I’m sofa king we-Todd-it!

 

If you fell for it, you’re in good company, I bit hook, line and sinker the first time a barroom prankster pulled that classic on me.

 

Till next time, keep a Sharpie in hand, because inspiration may find you where you sit or you stand.

 

 

 

 

 

A Wise Monkey… The Barroom Chronicles Pt. 1

“A wise monkey once told me don’t mess with another monkey’s monkey unless you’re holding the banana.”  I’m not sure what it means but considering it’s written on the lady’s room wall at my place of employment, I believe it’s a reminder to the inebriated which monkey keeps the bananas. You see, I own a small town bar in rural Montana, and these are my stories (Cue Law and Order Theme.)

We’ve all seen obnoxious drunks, the kind of ogre that just pisses you off. When you’re the customer, you can tell him to shut up, remind him that he is a rip roaring anal aperture and wish him a painful hangover. You’re lucky, you’re on the fun side of the bar.

Behind the bar, such dealings call for a bit a diplomacy, a heaping of patience, and when worse comes to worse, an eye for retaliatory measures.  As an owner, I have to bide my time and take my shots when I can. Being a small town, customers are not in unlimited supply. In other words, even though I hold the bananas, it doesn’t behoove me to piss off too many monkeys.

When that magic moment comes I can assure you we’re not slipping Visine into drinks – that’s downright cliche’.  For those unfamiliar, that’s an old bartender’s trick. A dash of the eye drop into a libation and obnoxious customer is suddenly puking up his guts. What follows are my favorite acts of vengeance:

1)  What’s that, you only have a dollar ten in pennies and nickles?

Regular number 1 walks in, orders a bottled beer, pays for said beer. Drinks beer, orders second beer, pays for beer, drinks beer, orders third beer, whips out a bunch of nickles and pennies and says this is all the money he has.   Hey, I’m a nice guy, under normal circumstances I’d let it slide.  But remember the law of the jungle: give a monkey a banana, and he thinks he’s entitled to two.

But this isn’t the second or third time it’s happened with dear #1, it’s become habit.  What do I do to get even?  I open his beer, pour half of it down the drain and slam the bottle on the bar.

“You can’t do that,” he says with wide eyes.

“You bet I can,” I say as I dump out a little more.   “You’re paying for a dollar ten cents worth of beer,  you’re getting a dollar ten cents worth.”

It worked,  he’s never short changed me again.

Regular #1 again…  There’s a pattern developing, people receiving such actions are beyond diplomacy.   Said patron was cut off for the night and refused to vacate the bar. You must understand #1 is a harmless fellow, his worst offense is getting in people’s space, playing air guitar while articulating delusions of being in Van Halen.

For such circumstances we keep a valuable tool behind the bar. Technically the act could be construed as chemical warfare, and as far as I know it may violate the Geneva Convention or whatever laws govern warfare.  I walk behind him and apply  a liberal dose of  Liquid Ass upon his backside.  If you haven’t experienced this joy, think of fat ole’ granddad letting it rip… on steroids.   Of course I risk clearing the bar, but because #1 smells like #2 peer pressure quickly mounts. Everybody thinks he  shit himself.  The remaining customers harangue the confused customer till he leaves. Not to mention, next visit he gets his balls busted for shitting his pants.

3)  Regular #2   aka   The Crankiest Prick in Town.   He is also a recipient of two acts of barroom karma.   #2 is such a prick that revenge is justified with every sip.  Words just can’t explain this wonderful human being. If you ever met him, you would be instantly creeped out.  Imagine an old, defrocked priest and you have an accurate picture.

The inspiration for these acts of retribution aren’t even remembered, but I can assure you they were just another clash of symbols in a very long parade of hostility.

On a summer night, #2 irritated me sufficiently to slip out into the parking lot and urinate on his driver’s door and a tire.   An act of silent vengeance that allowed me the honor of serving him with a smile the remainder of the evening.

4)   #2 plays his own trick. The man is so despised that if customers see his rig in front of the bar, they go to the next bar, or simply turn around and go home. #2 has figured this out and parks his truck in front of the bar he’s not drinking in.  One glorious afternoon, #2 parks in front of the bar and walks down the street.  With afternoon business shot, I sat on the deck and watched the local riding club trot their steeds down Main St.  Remember, this is rural Montana.  Along with the horses comes pucky, and lots of it. An evil smile crosses my face and I set off to find a shovel.

Within minutes not only have I found a shovel, I’ve found help. We load #2′s pickup bed with #2.  I get a good laugh. Apparently, my help dislikes #2 more than I do. He asks if I have a pair of gloves that he can keep. Notice, he didn’t ask to borrow a pair of gloves. I say, “but, of course.”  The help proceeds to don gloves and spread some of the horse’s cheer over #2′s windshield. I”m wondering if it was a shitty ride home?

The moral of the story? Even if your bartender is an ass, he often gets the last laugh!