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.