by Bartender
on November 21, 2022
Arnold is staring out the window of the rusty green 1978 Chevy double-cab pickup somewhere in Colorado.
He’s got sunglasses on, and he’s smoking.
And he’s a pig.
He’s down to two cigarettes.
That is a problem. This problem cannot stand.
It’s 20 miles into town.
Can he make it?
He’s a pig on a mission. Cigarettes, smokes, coffin nails.
The dry dusty landscape of Colorado rolls by. Arnold’s in the passenger seat, such as it is and he’s looking at the driver. “Can this fucker pull it off?” Arnold knows it’s about a 50/50 chance that there will have to be violence and he plans to be the one who walks away with all his internal organs intact.
He keeps his big yap shut though, as he can’t actually drive a car on his own, being a pig ‘n that. The rig rattles into the parking lot of the gas station at the far end of town where hope goes to die. There’s cheese fries and the droppings of the emotional leavings of the foodstamps of gawd-aweful desperation.
Arnold watches the driver stick a glock down his pants like he thinks he’s some kind of anti-hero in a Tarrantino nightmare vision. He’s got a toothpick stuck in his mouth like it’s making up for his own personal tobacco problems.
“Ok pig, are you ready to make this happen?”
Who is this pig?
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by Bartender
on November 21, 2022
Tighty-whities. The Stereotypical definition of stereotypical describes what is known as a wife-beater t-shirt, which he has on but he doesn’t have a wife and would not do violence on her if he did. He’s simply not that kind of guy.
He’s staring at the TV. He knows Time Hog is there. The TV is not turned on. It doesn’t need to be. He knows Time Hog is watching.
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by Bartender
on November 20, 2022
Marigold is clearing the bar. The drunks are collapsed in the corners, leaning on things. Marigold pretends to light a cigarette. There are no real cigarettes on Mars because oxygen is not free. And tends to explode if you’re not careful.
The Tiki Bar seems to be accumulating science fiction authors. Marigold slides what looks like a rum and coke to William Gibson. Will looks deep into The Heart of Darkness and sighs.
“The future of yesterday’s past. It’s all in this glass. Cheers.”
As the timekeeper of yesterday’s tomorrow, Marigold has to agree.
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by Bartender
on November 10, 2022
You just can’t make this stuff up.
Many years ago I was in Ron Wyden’s office here in PDX. If you didn’t know, he’s doing good work for us all as a Senator. The staff had a thing for celebrating Darcelle, a local drag queen and inspirational story for all of us.
Where did Darcelle the person live? Just two blocks north of me, just walk up the street and there he/she is…
#howweruinedportland
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by Bartender
on November 9, 2022
“Lanky, long and lean – a laundry-folding machine” he mumbles to himself, a bit of his floppy blonde bangs falling over his deep, dark goggle-like glasses. Hands. Feet. Laundry. Fold.
In his apartment bedroom, Dr. Tomorrow looks up and considers himself in the mirror on his dresser. He stares at his reflection for a moment and then three more. The sun is setting through the window behind him.
“Is this all there is?” he mouths to himself. He looks down at the spotless white turtleneck in his hands.
“This is all there is.”
He gets back to folding.
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by Bartender
on November 8, 2022
It’s fall in Port City, possibly named after the deluge of leaf debris. Zamboni Boy and his mom watch the slow mating dance of leaf collection vehicles. Humans in orange vests and leaf blowers scurry about as if they are tending some great insect queen. The street sweeper rumbles by, brushes gobbling wet leaves into its maw. Zamboni Boy’s mouth drops open. He stares, drawn in by the majesty, the glory a thousand fantasies born.
He points. “Look Mom, it’s a Street Zamboni….”
“Alright kid, let’s get you to piano lessons.” She drags him down the street, still staring after the machines.
“Street Zamboni…”
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by Bartender
on November 6, 2022
Who is Banana Man? Read more here.
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by Bartender
on November 6, 2022
Napoleon and his senior officers are reviewing a map on a hill with a view of the potential battlefield near the town of Waterloo.
The Emperor of the French practically jumps out of his boots when he was startled by a loud horse whinny right in his ear. Surprised he turns around.
And steps right in it. A fresh steaming heap of fresh horse road apples. No horse to be seen anywhere.
“Merde!” he cries astonished looking about for some horse that appeared then vanished without a trace other than the ones he’s just trod upon. How can that be?
From the woods the men hear a nicker, but somehow it sounds more like a snicker.
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by Bartender
on November 6, 2022
“Wanna see my Invisible Jet, big boy?” He-Wonder Woman takes the burley cop’s arm in hers.
Banana Man is still inside the dumpster, rooting around.
Live Zombie has his hands in his pockets, whistling abstractly, kicking the pavement with his feet and generally pretending he’s not there. In the alley, behind Chan’s Szechuan.
The cop is pretending to not seem a bit flustered. “We got a call about a disturbance. Sir, I need you to get out of that dumpster.” Banana Man doesn’t even turn around. “What is he doing in there?” the cop wonders out loud taking in this trio of unusual figures.
The back door to the restaurant kitchen bangs open and an angry, elderly Chinese man storms out, wiping his hands on a soiled kitchen apron. Drops of sweat fly from his forehead as he gestures wildly at Banana Man. “This man, he crazy! Why banana on head? GET OUT OF MY GARBAGE!”
Once again the cop attempts to get Banana Man’s attention. “Sir, what are you looking for in there?”
Banana turns around slowly, holding a broken spatula in his hand. “I’m looking for…” he narrows his eyes, grits his teeth.
“I’m looking for Justice.”
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by Bartender
on November 3, 2022
Here’s the start to a joke: Banana Man, He-Wonder Woman and Live Zombie enter a bar. You may remember them from a previous episode.
This is the kind of place where you can get a 16oz can of Hamm’s for 99 cents and there’s a place worn into the formica to set it on.
Banana Man grouses, “Shit, our plan to raid Batman’s place. Sounds like a bad independent comic book that didn’t get much distribution.”
Live Zombie takes a slurp. “You know you were raiding Bruce Wayne’s garbage, not Batman’s garbage. He’s got a whole cave to throw things into, why would he need a dumpster?”
“Putz.” Time for a long stare at the condensation forming on the can.
Live Zombie has on a clip-on bowtie over his short-sleeved plaid shirt. His glorious uncombed curly mane reins over his skull area. Look like a zombie? He does not.
“Hey Live Zombie, you’re not really undead.”
Live Zombie picks up his beer. “I am the living dead. The job I have had for years… creating TPS Reports for uncaring management losers.” He puts his beer down. “I am the Walking Dead.”
He-Wonder Woman speaks up, “Hey Honey, we all want to be more than we can be.” She puts a supportive hand on his shoulder and he sits down, clearly working to shrug off the groaning weight of the world.
“Alright. We need to fight. Fight for Justice.” intones Banana Man. “This banana is not going to banana itself.”
He-Wonder Woman asks, “Is there someone else’s garbage we should raid?”
“We need to raid… raid all the garbage.”
“All the garbage?”
“All the garbage.”
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