Rest your head you dick, for you have found a home

It was so beautiful outside yesterday that I spent all of it in the local yokels bar up the street getting pole-axed drunk and yelling at the stupid Redskins. This bar is the place that new bars try to be when they work hard at evoking the down-home locals spot, you know where everybody knows your name, elbow up on the bar kind of shit. The problem is that you don’t really want these freaks knowing your name let alone where you live. They are a scary group of wastrels, vagabonds, bikers and pipe-fitters and were it not for my burning desire to stay close to home I would avoid them like the plague. I guess it says something about me that I am a regular in this world of carnival trash rejects and ignorant hammerheads but thanks to my overwhelming ego-mania I don’t really let it get to me.


Yesterday I drank with the following lunatics amongst many others -


Jim the retired CIA officer – Jim lives a few blocks away from me. He is retired from the CIA and has a fugly ass wife that is a dead-shot with a 44 Magnum. They have a Boxer dog that responds to “disarm” and “maim” commands in Gaelic. The “kill” command is a secret word that Jim and deadshot made up and “he won’t even whisper it aloud.” Jim is blind in one eye, has odd sores on his arms and yesterday announced that he “hates Latinos and thinks Koreans are like ticks on a dog.” I told Jim he was an idiot and he actually seemed to take that pretty well. Jim always drinks Budweiser drafts with a shot of Jack Daniels poured in and wound up his afternoon by stumbling out of the bar and getting into an altercation with Popeye the drunk over a cab. The bartenders all hate Jim. Jim sucks.


Jack the Cheerleader - Jack is a greasy maniac, not the “party till you puke” (though he does) style maniac but the “this guy really scares me and I wish he would evaporate” style maniac. Jack has a brother who died under mysterious circumstances that he rants about whenever he is seriously drunk which is all the time. Jack went to Stuart High School and loves to yell “Raider Pride!!!!” whenever he sees me even though I did not go there. The bartenders all hate Jack. Jack sucks slightly less than Jim.


Boob the reader – Boob seemingly lives at the bar. He brings stupid John Grisham books with him and chain smokes GPC cigarettes and drinks Bud Light all day. Boob is the self appointed “king of the remote control” and always turns on dumb shit when the rest of the bar would rather watch Cops or football. The bartenders like Boob because he spends all his Social Security and disability money on them. Boob took an instant dislike to me from day one and the feeling was mutual. I can’t really say that Boob sucks as much as Jack or Jim being that he is pretty harmless. Still, I loathe him and wish he was dead.


Toenails the bartender – Toenails is a bisexual freak that is in love with her girlfriend Mary who is the heavy metal drummer for a local metal cover band. She once told my friend Marc about her green fungus encrusted toenails while he was eating a cheesesteak, (hence the Toenails moniker). She takes frequent breaks from working behind the bar to go out back and get high which has caused some admonishment from the boss but nothing too serious. Toenails has a daughter that lives with her and the metal maniac and I have actually found myself praying for the welfare of that poor little destined to be a stripper waif. I think Toenails wants to have sex with Marc so she constantly insults him. Physically she looks like a big fat carp with an acne problem and big hair. Despite her faults she is nice to me and even if she wasn’t she gives me lots of free beer so overall I am a Toenails fan.


Popeye the drunk – Popeye is a harmless little old man that looks like a tiny wrinkled up version of Anthony Quinn. He is drinking himself to death and doing a pretty good job of it. Popeye rarely talks but he does sigh a lot. I actually sort of like Popeye even though we have only exchanged about five words in untold hours of barstool neighboring. The fact that Jim fucked with Popeye underscores what a festering idiotic cockpunch that Jim is. Popeye deserves better but seems OK with what he’s got.


Bobby the Owner – Bobby is a Pakistani guy that is the ringleader/prison warden of the goofs and freaks that frequent his bar. He bears a striking resemblance to the Great Gazoo from old Flinstones cartoons. Bobby is a really cool guy and for putting up with the lunacy that he does from the amazing array of shitheads that darken the door of his establishment he deserves a humanitarian award or a free pass to empty a few magazines from an automatic rifle into his patronage. Bobby rules, big ups to Bobby.


Danny the father – Danny sucks. Danny should be thrown in a wood chipper, have his chips thrown into a Port-A-John and have the Port-A-John sent in a rocket ship to burn up on the face of the sun. He is a toothless, greasy, illiterate fuckfaced shitdick idiot that has unfounded opinions about everything on the planet and feels it is his holy birthright to make you hear each and every one of them. If Danny could type he would be an excellent blogger. He is in the bar ALL the time making a fucking jerk out of himself and immortalizing himself as one of the Top 10 most hated people out of all the people I have hated in my life (which is a lot…I know you find that surprising). Danny has his kids one weekend a month and brings them to the bar so they can sit in a booth being miserable while their dad annoys the fucking shit out of everyone else. Danny sucks worse than Jim and I am cooking up a plan to tell Jack that Danny was responsible for the death of his brother so they can either kill each other or end up in prison where they belong and leave me and Popeye to quietly poison ourselves in peace.


Billy the bartender – Billy and I went to high school together. He has been married and divorced three times since we graduated. Billy still talks about how awesome high school was despite my constant reminding that I thought it was the most atrocious and soul crushing time of my life. Billy gives me horrific amounts of free alcohol and for that I respect him immensely.


The hot chicks – There has never been a hot chick in the bar and there never will be. It is a home for the lost, the stupid, the ugly and the broken; not the hot and cuddly. No wonder my wife doesn’t really mind me hanging out there.


More profiles as I get inspired to write them. For those of you who have joined me at the bar I encourage you to join in with your comments. We can discuss them later at the bar.