Thursday, September 28, 2006

So, This Dude Almost Slapped Me

In The Face At Mick's

Sunday, Monday, Happy Days,
Tuesday, Wednesday, Happy Days,
Thursday, Friday, Happy Days,
Saturday, what a day,
Rockin' all week with you.

Which wasn't as bad
as that time that
crackhead jumped me
from behind and sucker-
strangled me in a Ralph's parking lot,
where some police could conveniently be found inside.

This day is ours
Won't you be mine (Oh, Happy Days)
This day is ours (Oh, Happy Day)


It started, I suppose, when I was in the bathroom
drunkenly chatting with Monica as she
washed her hands, when a white-haired, red-faced
man stuck his head in, screaming
into a phone, then taking his whole self out, but leaving
the door open part-way, barring
access, intruding
into makeshift bar womb, resulting in us having
to force our way by him, which is what
prompted me to suggest that he find a better location for conversation.

Hello sunshine, goodbye rain,
She's wearing my high school ring on her chain.
She's my steady, I'm her man,
I'm gonna love her all I can.


We sat down back up front, me looking disgruntled,
and the whiskey makes this hazy, but next thing I knew,
the crew felt surrounded
by crazy.

This day is ours
Won't you be mine. (Oh, Happy Days)
This day is ours (Oh, Happy Days)
Oh, please be mine.

About two inches away from my face, red-face
was thrashin, seething to gain
some kinda strain on me, screamin'
that I should never
talk to him or anyone again when
he was on the phone with his family, freshly
whitened teeth knashing,
my temper valiantly not crashing.

Gonna cruise her round the town,
Show everybody what I've found
Rock 'n roll with all my friends
Hopin' the music never ends.


"You need to move away from me,"
I said once; the tirade
continued.
To my left, I heard Monica shout, and saw Chad
's jaw drop, in between super-square-clean-mean teeth.
"You need to back up," and he did, taking his hand
away from the face it was coiled to slap
for the first time in what felt
like far too long a frame.

These Happy Days are yours and mine (Oh, Happy Days)

These Happy Days are yours and mine (Oh, Happy Days)
These Happy Days are yours and mine, Happy Days.

Next time,
instead of expecting base-level
decency whilst in the women’s room,
I will simply dial information, ask for the number
of Mick’s bar and have them forward me
there for assistance, so that I don’t have
to contend with knashers, and Monica doesn’t need to shout, and Jonathan won’t need to stand up and say:
“You do not talk to a woman that way,”
then disappear outside, after
Thrace and I entreat him not to follow...

And, still later, I won’t have to feign hollow
through one lameass apology, unwanted arm now
across my shoulder, dirt off your:
“Don’t go into the women’ s room.”
“All right, now –“ as if
I better not talk back – Snap, jack!
Don’t make me give your miniscule dick
a good, swift ax.

Check 1, 2
Check 1, 2.

2 Comments:

Blogger anomaly76 said...

I feel really bad for suggesting that spot now. Maybe I should have let John "handle up".

I hope that aside for "the incident" that you had a good time.

8:03 AM  
Anonymous arajay said...

I hate Mick's and would not have been in attendance if not for Chad's short visit. It is among my least favorite bars in the city, yet among my most favorite places to play pool. All the pool-playing patrons there are pretty much assholes, and I take great pleasure in administering 8-ball ass-whoopings, both APA regulated and casually.

11:55 AM  

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