stories

i wanted to get started on my new years resolution early:


i should start blogging the stories i tell. because, you know, i'll not be writing that book i've been meaning to write any time soon.


so, here i am. wasting my time, hitting the backspace button more times than i should to complete a sentence. i fucking hate spell check. i use it in dire cases of need only. used to be, it was only me, and a pen and paper. no fucking backspace.


but you (dear reader) weren't there for all that. those horrible, angst ridden pages are hidden in my guest room closet underneath a pile of old purses and t-shirts that won't fit me again until i'm 83 and riddled with cancer.


until then, i live by the motherfucking backspace button. for every four or five words i manage to type, best believe backspace has been there.


i'd rather drunkenly proofread this crap all by my goddamned self.





any requests> the d.j. is wasted, and apathetic. oh, here's a fucking picture. yay me. let me tell you about this dickweed.
10 years or more ago, i used to regularly haunt a bar in austin, tx, called The Ritz. it was a giant shithole vortex of sin. i loved it. i spend too much time and money there, and was all too familiar with most of the staff. this one pariticular evening, i was sitting at the back bar, irritating Tommy, a fantastic bartender with a sweet spot for me, because i often did not end up paying for most of my drinks. any way, me and tommy are chit chatting as he is flitting between customers, it was turning out to to be a busy evening. i was sitting at the bar, drinking jack and cokes (i know this because if i'd have been drinking beer, i'd have been hustling pool tables) when a tall man in a red shirt ended up standing next to me. he was on my left hand side, and my first impression of him was a sleeve of a red shirt holding a twenty trying to get Tommy's attention. so, i looked at the hand holding the twenty. it was covered in rings. upon closer inspection, the rings covering said hand were ALLLLL BATMAN RINGS. wow. thats weird. so i look up the sleeve, which was flamenco ruffled, up the arm to the face. and he turns to me just then, this fellow in red. upon closer inspection, he is in a red flamenco style shirt with the front of it unbuttoned to his navel. my eyes linger disbelievingly on the large BATMAN logo tattooed on his chest. i look back up at his face, and his hair, which is BLEACH BLONDE and CRISPY LOOKING. i look back at the rings on his hand, the tattoo, and the hair. i am blown away. this guy looks like flaming, crazy shit, i think, and before i know what to do, he looks down at me, in the eye and reaches out a batman ringed fingered hand to mine, takes my hand off
of the bar, cradling it between his batmany fingers and says to me...no shit...I AM THE BATMAN. i remember looking to Tommy to save me from this idiot, but Tommy is busy wrangling other drink orders. i withdraw my hand from THE BATMAN's grasp and say something like, wow, i don't remember. i just was overwhelmed by the sheer mindblowningly fucked up looking mess he was. to top this off, behind him are his 'minions' i guess, two other weird looking but equally disturbing leather pants wearing assholes. i look back to my drink, in order to pick it up, and go somewhere, anywhere else in the bar except for where BATMAN is. and then i see BATMAN's beringed hand hovering over my drink, holding a pill. it looks, at first glance, to be some kind of ecstacy tablet. i never liked E's, even the free kind. i look up into the face of "BATMAN". he says to me, 'do you want to party?'
i was blown away. first of all, at the fact that either this asshole is trying to drop E into my drink, or some other god-only-knows-what-sort-of-drug-only-BATMAN-can-get into my drink, the second thought was, you idiot, E's dont just DISSOLVE. Tommy, thank god, happens to be looking in my general direction. i see this as my cue. i holler at the top of my lungs TOMMY!!! THIS ASSHOLE'S TRYING TO PUT DRUGS IN MY DRINK!!!! Tommy looks at BATMAN's hand, sees the pill, and like a shot of lightening is on the other side of the bar, with BATMAN's flamenco shirt collar in his and and is quick-stepping his ass out of the bar before you can say
licketly split. Tommy calls the barback and the other bored regulars who double as security to shuffle out the other two weirdos who where with BATMAN, then, like a good big brother makes sure i'm ok before pouring out my drink and making me anothter, much stronger jack and coke.
i've told this story for years, not even believing it myself after a while, until i was trolling around the internets yesterday out of boredom, and finding this pictue on VeryDemotivational. sent a chill right up my back, it did. he's REAL. THATS THE FUCKED UP PART. i liked him better in my stories. somehow or another, it gave him more diginty than finding some stupid shit on the god damn internet machine low and behold the stuff of legends comes to life, balding, overtanned, and man-titted.