Tots & shots

 

I need to write something. Anything really. I need something delicate to launch me back into blogging. But, delicate is a new born baby, to be handled only with the softest of gloves. Delicate is a flower so supple, it will snap at the snap of the finger of the snapping woman it is meant to appease!

So, no! I do not want delicate. Delicate is…just too freaking indelicate!

In any case, this is not one of those Eastern European pub situations where everyone has a gun trained on everyone’s kisogo( kisogo is that part in the back of the head that pops out so nicely like a little corner in the middle of nowhere.) Let’s  just call it, the corner of the head. I don’t know what God was thinking when he created that corner. He was probably thinking that the Occipital lobe needed extra cushioning from all the bully knuckles clenching with great anticipation upon the sighting of a nicely popping kisogo!

Honey, do not ask me how much extra cushioning a corner made of bone can provide. I couldn’t be bothered to find out. I’m still stuck on the word Occipital. It reminds me of a group of intellects who simply cannot say the word hospital to save their lives. They always say Osiptal! Thus far, I have snickered and sniggered every single time the word Osiptal courted my ear. This bad behavior shall be no more. Henceforth, the word osiptal shall make me visualize (with a poker face) the Occipital lobe, shaped ever so indelicately into the visual capital of the brain.

That’s right! Everything you see, the beautiful sunset, the stillness of a lake at dawn, the broken wing of a flightless bird….every little detail is processed in the occipital lobe. No wonder we see stars through tightly shut eyes when bare knuckles connect with our skulls. The visual center is simply processing the impact, and all it can see is little shockwaves of electricity – much like the sparks we see when live wires touch. Quite visually stimulating, if you think about it. It has been said that men are visual creatures…is this why their kisogos pop out so much? Or is it the other way around? Are their popping kisogos the reason they are such visual creatures?

I sound really smart, don’t I? Total fluke. I was going for goofy and silly. Honest!

Anywho…where was I? The delicate situation in the middle of the dingy pub in Eastern Europe…yes! It is so tense, we might as well be inside a really big guitar. No guitar strings required – just reach out and making strumming motions. The entire room will fill up with that tension music we keep hearing in movies.

One guy is particularly tense…you can tell by the steady trickle of sweat from his brow – it rivals the sound of the rain outside my window. Then there’s that coward whose knees are shaking so hard, they threaten to give away his hiding place under the bar. Then there are all those brave people cowering under little tables and chairs, cursing cousin Dimitri for talking them into a beer tonight. If the movies are anything to go by, everyone in Eastern Europe has a cousin named Dimitri. He will be the guy with the steady trickle on his brow.

Then there’s the quiet guy sitting nonchalantly on a high stool sipping his whiskey….wait….is whiskey sipped or simply tossed to the back of the throat while people chant drunkenly? Sadly, there is no chanting in this situation – fervent whispers to the Almighty, maybe; drunken chanting, oh no. In fact, I’d bet my last penny, that any slurring-staggering-karaoke-singing-drunks have sobered up in the three minutes this situation has played out.

The guy at the counter appears to be in total control of his whiskey tossing. He is also completely unperturbed by the gun-wielding situation that threatens to obliterate everyone in the pub. He takes one final swig, this time from the bottle itself, then he slams it down as if to say “Ok suckers, this is how it’s gonna go down…”

The suckers understand this slamming of the bottle. They all turn their sweaty brows and big guns to Mr. Badass. Did I mention he is dressed like a cowboy? No? Well, he is. The cowboy chinks hang over his jeans like a flag draped on a pole. I think cowboy chinks are designed more for flare and less for protection. Everyone is fooled into thinking they are watching the cowboy. In actual sense, they are watching his chinks. So engrossing…how they sway to the beat, a different beat, not the tension music that fills our ears.  Next thing we know, the cowboy is in the center of the circle. How did he get there without any of us noticing? He played us…he played me, and I’m the one writing the story…that’s how badass he is!

So now he’s in the middle, gun in each hand, pointed every which way, his cowboy boots stepping to the sound of the aforementioned beat that only he can hear. Then he speaks “Sweetheart, could you please scratch my back?” You have to love that Western drawl!

Eyebrows arch warily. Every mean looking thug hopes that the cowboy is talking to someone else. There is an almost tangible sigh of relief as a girl joins the soiree. The men know they are being played, but they are too damn curious to do anything about it. Expert eyes search the girl. Satisfied that she is harmless, they quickly turn their attention back to the cowboy. He’s the dangerous one. The girl approaches and starts to scratch the cowboy’s back.

“Ah…this is almost perfect…” The cowboy sighs “Antonio, how about a little music?”

In the corner that produced the harmless chica, a man rises and starts to snap open a guitar case. The mean looking thugs are now extremely attentive. They’ve all heard fascinating stories about Mexicanos locos and their mean machine guns hidden in guitar cases. But Antonio pulls out a snazzy guitar and begins to strum…

The mean looking thugs realize that Antonio is just another distraction. Their eyes swing back to the cowboy and his back-scratching damsel. Only, she isn’t scratching anymore. And the man behind the counter with the loud knees…remember him? His knees aren’t shaking anymore. The woman whispering fervently under the table, the man whimpering next to her…none of them are doing what they are supposed to be doing!

Are you confused? Do want to know what happens next? Me too!

You probably want to connect your knuckles with my kisogo, yes? Come on! We are in a dingy pub in Eastern Europe…lots of good booze and good music…tots over shots…you get my drift, doncha?

 

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