Tag Archives: scare

The Barroom Chronicles… Vol 15 Freaks of a Feather

Sometimes is best to leave an event alone, allow the dust to settle, before gloating about ruffled feathers and sandy vaginas left in its wake. As the proprietor of ‘The Evil Bar’ in our tiny town, and a person who may or may not have been involved with the genesis of such a stunt, I believe the smoke has cleared enough to let the world know of such hijinks. This thought is based on the equation: Comedy = tragedy  + time.  Though there was no tragedy involved, there may have been numerous pairs of soiled underwear and/or attacked hearts, unless you take into consideration those without a sense of humor, their skipped heart beats and dirty drawers could be construed tragic.

On July  19th, 2012 at approximately eleven PM Mountain Daylight Time,  roughly an hour before Aurora, Colorado entered the cultural lexicon,  a couple of cohorts had a nasty idea for a practical joke. Of course, I couldn’t resist.  Those of you who follow this blog know about the ‘old west gunfights,’ we hold during Railroad Days, our little town’s yearly celebration. The night in question, we were walking through the scenarios for the following Saturday.

Krash Montana… Also known as Number 1

“Hey,” Cohort #1 said, “I have an idea.”

I should have known it was a bad deal.

Cohort #’s 2 and 3 said the idea rocked. “Let’s do it.”

I wasn’t at the ‘other bar’ to witness the event. But, I’ve heard the story enough, it goes like this:

Cohort #3 walked into the other bar and said there was a bunch of drama up at ‘The Evil Bar.’  Cohorts 1 and 2 were arguing about money that 2 owed 1. Being that both 1 worked for 2 and as someone said later, 2 owed a few people money, made the premise believable. A few minutes later 1 and 2 appeared in front of the other bar in the midst of a heated argument.

Now, Number 1 is an actor. He has the ability to get into a role and make it work. Outside of Al Pacino, I’ve never seen a better Tony Montana. Being gangster isn’t a stretch.

Number 2 is a loveable giant. Everybody in town adores him and he can possibly be the kindest person alive. Not to mention he can cook up a storm. So imagine the scene when 1 called out 2 in front of a small crowd of people who have drank with 2 since Camden was a prairie. Then he has the audacity to pull out a replica revolver and fires a shot into 2’s chest. Number 2 did his part and fell back against the outside wall. People scattered, the manager came unglued and the bartender, who happened to be walking by, allegedly peed her pants.

Meanwhile, those of us left behind at the ‘Evil Bar,’ were listening for two shots. Like Number 1 demonstrated before leaving, holding the revolver gangsta style while saying: “Pop, Pop.”

We giggled like kids hearing the first shot, imagining the mayhem. “Hey,” someone asked. “Where’s the second shot?”

The simple answer, things never go as planned. After the initial shock and awe, Number 2 had to jump up and proclaim “It’s just a joke!”  The manager, a mellow 50 something gal, instantly turned into a grizzly bear and allegedly read the riot act in numerous languages, leaving the three Cohorts pleading their case why they shouldn’t be eighty-sixed.

“What’s going on?” I asked a regular who had tagged along to witness.

“Oh man, it didn’t go good.”

“What happened? Where was the second shot?” I asked, panicked. I imagined 1 getting the tar beat out of him.

What I thought may have happened.

“Nothing that bad,” the witness said. “1 and 2 are buying rounds to make it good.”

It would be an hour before the three amigos returned. “So?” I asked.

“They called us freaks and told us to go back and drink with the rest of the freaks,” Number 1 reported. The comment confirmed my suspicion that freaks of a feather really do drink together.

Ghosts, Goblins and Giveaways

Welcome… Watch your step…  my apologies it’s so dark in here.  What’s that? You think it’s creepy? Is the floor creaking or is that your heart beating? Oh, you felt something scamper across your feet, don’t fret, it’s only the rats – they’re hungry and in this blog they eat cats. This place is their favorite haunt. Rats like treats too, even if it is you!  :evil laugh:

You better duck, the cob webs are atrocious.  The last person got a mouth…  Oh my, what’s that creeping up your back? Why so jumpy? Did I mention the spiders?  Don’t scream! Be quiet! You will wake the dead!

Oh my, look at what you’ve done! You did it! You woke the dead! Look at her, sitting there, crying because you’ve interrupted her eternal sleep.  Very good,  now that you have control of yourself, you may notice  other screams. Please ignore them, they’re the last  visitors to this blog, they got lost in another post and never  got out.  Now they’re stuck, in this written hell, waiting for the cemetery to call their name.

Instead of these cemeteries, wouldn’t you rather stroll down Cemetery Street? There are no zombies, werewolves, ghosts or goblins; but there is a Count, and his friends Shannie and James, who thrive on the tears their story brings.  Tell me the truth, don’t lie, I know you’re dying for a good cry.

Speaking of dying, are you dying for a treat? Would you like something sweet? You will find that on Cemetery Street…   Click on its cover and enter HA38J.

Or maybe your mind prefers something dark? You may want to fall into Shangri-La Trailer Park. Don’t be fooled, heaven isn’t easily found in this psychological yarn.   To fall into The Park, click its cover and enter YU69H.

Pick you poison, before the poison picks you. There are no smoke and mirrors here, but you better hurry, both coupons expire at the witching hour Halloween Night!

If you would be so kind, visit Cemetery Street and Shangri-La Trailer Park Facebook pages and drop  a line.

Thank you for participating in the First Annual Trick or Treat Blog Adventure. Click here to continue the tour. Hopefully you’ve found a new favorite Author and I’ve found a favorite new reader. Happy Holidays!