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.

Cut n' Run Ale

The Goose is now the proud recipient of a posthumous Life Time Achievement Award. The venerable institution's tireless work over these last 20 years has been heralded as unprecedented by the Great American Brewing Society. The press release reads, "No other brewery has overcome inevitable death with such denial and flavor." To add icing to the farewell cake the Goose was also handed an edgy Honorable Mention Award for their Cut n' Run Ale. Made with common household products the judges were said to have been geeked up by the "cut and run" style that seemed, by one judge's review, to use whatever was left in the hopper including kettle cleaning products. He added that it kept him awake for over a week, and he couldn't stop talking about it.

War Room Pt. II

I wake up to the brutal rays of the early morning sun beating on my heavy eyelids through my upturned levelor blinds, and I have no recollection of how I ended up here. My French night(mare) hangover has only just begun, but the deep pang of guilt and regret have long been building. But these are not the important issues, friends. The issue at hand, O my brothers, was the blaring incessant clang of my ringing cell phone pounding my fragile temples. I wanted sleep. I ended up with Kulpa. Turns out The Don received my rambling voice mail once he awakened from his own "Vegas-style" druken stupor and was chomping at the conservative bits to make arrangements for me to come to terms with the J Cruz bartender situation. He gave me instructions that were completely opposite of cut-and-run and threatened me with a swollen face and dead relative if I didn't carry them out. The choice was simple, but who would I turn to for much needed timely assistance? Badge, Becky, and Hornings were surely still intoxicated from the fifty-plus glasses of wine that we each put down last night, Rene is probably too depressed to make a judgement call, and the rest of the War Room crew has been brutal of late. These are decisions that only one man can make. One man with experience with the matter at hand. That man, some may say, is the most interesting man in the world.

War Room Memo

The Goose has become a palace of shame and depravity. The invasive "cut and run" mentality has apparently extended its diabolical tentacles into the hearts and minds of those we cherished more than our own blood, our bartenders. Recent events have revealed an unprecedented mean spiritedness. The intentions and implications are clear. A shunning of the regulars is being surgically executed with hubris and impunity with an end in sight. Bartender Kruzchev may be savage, treacherous and crazy, but we enjoyed his dancing and his dancing pint glass. His blow drying shtick dried up, but his rudeness didn't. After all that bourbon under the bridge however, the bridge is burning and Kruzchev smirks like Nero holding the match. His craziness has become deep and malignant and potentially contagious. In an effort to dowse the flames I called on Kulpa. I reached him at his Las Vegas suite, but he was too cranked up in an alcoholic gambling frenzy to make any sense. I had hoped to enlist some of his half-mad thugs, but I'll have to wait until Nutsy's not so strung out. So I went in the other direction and called Hornings, dreaming that he could draft a peace and love treatise to quell the inferno. He received my call but not my concerns, instead he went into a "Peterman" like dissertation about the Corporate gin he was drinking strait out of the jigger. As usual he was useless and dumber than a sick animal. Out of options I turned to Rene. Meeting him at a secret location, Goose, we talked strategy...more to come.

Cut and Run Laminated

In what some are considering the boldest and most daring move at the Goose in months, the storied Cut and Run Menu has been laminated. Days after speculation that the written menu would be replaced by a spoken menu in broken English, the Honchos at La Isla did an about face. Armed with the latest accounting technology, the bean counters crunched the numbers and that equaled lamination. An anonymous source reached by phone confirmed the move and sighted "cut and run" costs as the driving force. The source would not elaborate.

Vises

So I stop in to corporate to pay some respect, you know respect. A mean grinning Kulpa greets me at the welcome mat and my unnerved glance gets shifty and betrays me. He says, "Heyyyyyy, what's wrong you f in' mess!?" His eyes are spinning in his tilting unstable head, and his hands are held aloft and pinching themselves. "You should come by to see your Godfather more often", he threatens. What did I do? He says, "I got my eye on you you piece of shit." Then he slowly turns away from me and looks out the window. His hands go to his belt and in a quick and short jerking motion he pulls up his pants, then takes a deep breath pointing his chin upwards. I'm ready to piss myself. "You know what PTJ?", his voice rising steadily to a crescendo, "a guy could put himself in a spot sometimes by gettin' smart, get his head put in a vise cause he got smart!!!" There's this crazy look on his long face and his head tilts this way and that; suddenly he breaks into this big nut job grin, leans over and squeezes my shoulder. He looks into my wavering eyes and in a soft nasally voice says, "I like you in the blogosphere, I don't want you to wind up somewhere else." I assured him that I agreed, and he released me and moved back. A long awkward pause with a wiggling stare and bam! Kulpa violently claps his hands together and barks, "OK now get the f outa Corporate you f in' scumbag!" I was never so happy to get kicked out of a joint in my life.

Bitter Sea Captain's Galley Swamped

It was supposed to be a beach party to end the season instead the party is over for the gritty little boat house by the steel mills. Unprecedented flooding in the region forced municipalities to spew billions of gallons of raw untreated waste into Lake Michigan when sewage systems became inundated. The resulting Tsunami of crap forced many residents at the "bottom" of the Lake to flee to higher less fetid ground. When reached by satellite phone Greg Wootwart, the man some call "the most interesting man in the world", was quoted as saying, "hold on, here's the deal." He then trailed off before realizing he hadn't been asked a question yet. "I was getting ready to have a party today", he stammered, "and the next thing you know I'm jamming all of my worldly possessions into my car." The Bitter Sea Captain saved most of his nautical gear and all of his Amazon Herbs. Lost was his prized vintage Santa Claus suit which may have been the toughest blow. "I wasn't thinking Christmas yet and that's gonna cost me", said an emotional Wootwart fighting back tears. "If there was a God THAT wouldn't have happened!" cried the former Santa pointing at his sullied red suit, "there is no God!" Today it was by no means a day at the beach for residents like Wootwart of Miller Beach which now appears to be by far more of a cesspool.

I'm back and taking names!

So I stopped by Sam's the other night for my bi-nightly requisite box o' wine and I realized a few things: 1) Jeff and Horning are clearly lovers. In the relationship, Mark is the butch and Jeff is obviously the beaten and abused whore...youall know what I mean. 2) If Kulpa wants to take a walk down the street, he needs permission from his wife (not that there's anything wrong with that...I'm just saying). 3) Contrary to previous reports, Angel and Becky's first kid was never on the way, it was aborted five years ago. And if Angel knows the address to this blog, this will be the first time he has ever heard of it. 4) Rene is Mr. Denial. I won't elaborate, just heard through the grapevine, I'll just leave it at that. Stay angry mi amigos. Peace!

fright night

you're frightened, but why should you be? you think this might cost you your gig - your eight dollar an hour piece of paradise. but trust me, it won't. the last thing anyone in charge of the place wants to do is prove a point by axing some lowlife data entry guy. get a life. besides, i know what you're up to...

Cut and Shunned Memo

As we all know in the Fall the days shrink and darkness starts its ugly takeover. So too do the days shrink and grow darker and uglier at Sams. I was denied booze at 8:01 PM Tuesday as a hapless Hornings looked on with remorse. As a result new rules have been imposed. The 8 PM closing now requires that all employees commence drinking one hour earlier. Anyone not in compliance will lose their discount and all respect. Thank you and carry on.

Five reasons I'm going on the juice.

1 - Defend myself against Kulpa.
2 - Maybe Becky will like me.
3 - Outlive Horning.
4 - Bear's in need of new O-line.
5 - Interested in roid rage.

Is Kulpa trying to kill me?

I heard the footsteps again last night. I know he's out there. He's just waiting to spring out on me and slam my head repeatedly in a car door. I gotta stay on his good side. He's in the mob right?

D-Lee - popouts and double plays

I can't stand that guy. We're doomed! He's got a cut and run approach at the plate and its pissing me off!

Goose - cut and run?

I hate that place. The menu is brutal. Becky thought she was playing it safe by ordering pretzels and onion rings, but you just can't play it safe anymore.

Becky - pregnant again or just plain angry?

Rumor has it that Becky has had five abortions since 2003. I personally don't believe it. More like 10!

Sam's Talk "the beginning"

The Drama of Sam's deserves a blog that can only be narrated through the lenses of an unbiased observer... PTJ is the man for the job! Details to come.