Imagination Fired

I couldn't have imagined it. How does someone get fired from a job they don't even have? But the list came down, and I was on it. Who wasn't, I guess, but it didn't make any sense to me. Thought none of it did. What hurt more than getting fired from an imaginary job was that I figured since I never received a non fictional pay check, I was safe. Turns out even fictional employees can be terminated. What troubles me most is that the world needs imagination now more than ever. Dismissing it in these times seems so counterproductive. Man, what do I know about it? It's what you gotta do. It was a no brainer.

Stinky Resurrection

Sunday the 21st, it was supposed to be a corpse by days end, the rotting Goose. But it didn't die. It snaked it's way back into our world, fooling us. The paradox of the whole thing was that we were at once thrilled by the predicted demise and troubled by it. Thrilled that the dysfunctional watering hole we had come to despise would dry up but also worried that we were losing a sacred meeting place. Now with brewing uninterrupted we must come to grips with our future:
A) Kulpa will continue to haunt us. 2) Bitter Santa/Sea captain wont stop farting, no brainer. C) The Dwarf is the worst bartender of all time, by far. 4) More talking about the Chiseler's Blago hair will keep getting older. E) Rene is donezo with Goose and everyone in it. 6) Candidate 5 wont stop sexually harassing Becky. 7) Hornings will get repeatedly deep sevened. 8) If someone doesn't smash that piece of shit TV to bits, I will!

End of Times Ale

To celebrate the mangled economy and its cut n' stay implications for the Goose, a new beer is reeking. This ETA promises to medically bankrupt everyone down to the last murky drop. Brewed with rotten barley and topped with moldy hops saved from the dumpster, it will taste,"like a rotting corpse, to reflect the state of the Nation," lamented the broken spirited pub brewer. He continued,"no sane person will be able to stomach this shit, just like the market." In an attempt to honor current events that have allowed the dying brewpub to linger, this fetid liquid will be drinkable only in the worst of times.

Another Round for Cut N' Run

The Rope a Dope worked. Cut N' Run was theoretically on the ropes looking donezo and then with astonishing economy of motion it violently weaseled its way back into our collective wheelhouse. The strategy was as effective as ever: play opossum, take your lumps and then explode with a flourish. We sat there ringside dumbfounded as the jubilant Proprietor announced victory thus guaranteeing diminishing "quality" and continued shady cost cutting tactics for three to five more years.
"Drinks on the house!" shouted the victorious Proprietor. My new found sobriety was challenged and my feng shui fucked. Things were out of order. Free rounds, sobriety, a black president, and the oxymoron of endless C N' R rattled reality. I turned to Hornings and mentioned my regret for falling for the closing and turning down the free rounds. Hornings shrugged and replied that all of his rounds were free. Order was restored. Then the madness. The pints were hoisted, and the cacophony was that of cheers turned to spewing, spraying and gagging. Mel chanted joyously until he fell face first into the bar with a sickening thud. Rene, crooked drooling mouth agape and looking more disoriented than normal, could only mutter meaningless gibberish. Kulpa, grasping his throat and foaming, menacingly predicted further poisonings as his eyes spun like Frisbees; and Becky impossibly managed to sink further into her stool. Being on the wagon saved me. Turns out the "free" beer was tainted, particularly the IPA. Suddenly the fight was ringside, and it was a fight for life. The faithful were falling left and right, writhing in bad beer agony. Hornings found the poison palatable but suspended his imbibing to set up triage. He discerned that the waitresses needed immediate attention although they hadn't drank the toxic brew. He was useless as always and dumber than dirt. I was in a desperate fight to save the chumps who bellied up to the bar for what they thought were the last days of Goose. Now it looked like THEIR last days. The place looked like Jonestown. Adan furled his brow refusing to acknowledge a problem and slithered out through the kitchen with the dueno. I was alone. Becky looked peaceful so I figured it was too late. I couldn't get close to Kulpa so intense were his convulsions, and Rene was too weird to even look at. Mel was long gone.

Cut N' Run has become a relentless beast. Rene's last lucid words before the blight were prophetic. He wished Goose was still closing. We all sadly nodded in agreement.

Fear and Floating

"Do you believe in God the father...do you renounce Satan?" recited the priest. Creepy organ music played. The Don's son was now baptized. Shortly thereafter the bloated bodies started floating face down in the river behind Home Depot. First it was the Ecuadorian, thank you, and then J Kruz. The next floater was Lil' C. I pleaded with the Don to let me off the hook... for old times sake. His reply is not printable, nor is how Luca will butcher my emaciated body.
The Moe Greene effect is nothing new, but for me it has become personal. The Feds say I'm safe. Who trusts the Feds? Just a bunch of lifers who've failed upwardly. My mind wanders into dark places, death stares at me knowingly. The torture is when, where, and how. I wake up aware that the Don doesn't sleep and ask myself if this is the last day. Sometimes I want it to be, praying it's quick.

Ron Kut 1996-2008

Ron was a good kid. He was a bright ambitious boy who had dreams. I had come to know Kut during the waning days of Goose and thought of him as a rising star. For a 12 year old he could pound mayors by the dozen and looked older than Hornings. He had a funny way of observing the worst in people and disregarding the good. I loved the little rat. It's truly a loss for us all to lose such potential. I summoned Kulpa to provide justice and a proper burial for the youngster and was blindsided. He launched into a tirade that spared no mercy for the deceased young man. "Justice!" he screamed,"justice was that faggot ripping his a-hole to shreds!". It hit me like a brick wall, I immediately knew Kulpa wacked the poor little bastard with the Palin dildo glass. What a sick fuck I thought as I dared to look at his crazy homicidal face. "Kut was not long for this earth PTJ, he had balls, but he was a fuckin mess!" I felt like I was talking to the devil himself. I needed a priest, but I was left with Kulpa. "He had it commin, he was a maverick, to big for his britches, he wrote his own obituary, that gay little son of a bitch!" It had all the earmarks. The Don and Kut were engaging in man boy sex, and Kut was ready to cut and run. No way the Don was going to let that happen so he jammed the glass up the little prick's ass. Then the cover up ensued: Tragic accident, RNC recall, Palin dildo flawed... flawed my ass! I used to fear the Don, but no longer. PTJ has gone into the witness protection program because of that poor little fella's fate. I can't live in a world where the neo-cons are ass raping our future with heinous butchery.

Palin Pale Ale

There's a big buzz brewing over Goose's latest curious concoction. In a last ditch effort the dying edifice is waisting $150,000 in Cut N' Run funds as a diversionary tactic. The fading frugal franchise is aiming to silence Cut n' Run critics by buying all ingredients retail(non C n' R)in a tax dodge, buying frenzy freak out. The extravagant shopping spree will produce an Ale that looks great and tastes great, but has no head. Joe the Brewer has been working his fingers to the bone so he can serve this magnificent PPA to real Americans who can afford the upper class brew, not Elitists. This ostentatious libation will be served in a designer glass and is projected to cost around $1200, and you get to keep the glass! Joe will get to pay $100 for a sip which he will be grateful for.