I popped into a favorite establishment to have a drink the other night. I like to hang out over there. The food is good and the proprietor is nice. And nobody knows me over there. It's great.
There is usually a band playing over there on Fridays and Saturdays. It is supposed to be background music. These guys evidently were a little too loud because they had been asked to tone it down to no avail.
At the break, one of the guys in the band came up to the bar to get a drink.
" You guys need to turn it down," the bartender said.
" Look, why don't you worry about tending bar? I'll worry about the music."
" I see," said the barkeep as he reached beneath him. " Why don't I just go ahead and hit you in the fuckin' mouth with this bottle of vodka?"
The musician looked over at me. I nibbled on my olive and shrugged.
They turned it down.
The bartender looked over at me and smiled.
"Another?"
"Don't mind if I do, son."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
but ... everybody knows you. You're the MF!
Huh?
I have a hard time believing there's a place where nobody knows you. Also, this was a lame attempt to call you a "motherfucker"
But here's the long explanation. Your "name" listed on blogger is TMFW. Your title is "the moving finger writes" You take away the verbs and descriptive words and it's "finger" but "F" is no fun.
So it's "MF"
My inner child is a 12 year old boy.
Yeah, you're the MF, you MFer.
And where is this alleged bar?
Post a Comment