Notes From a Dive Bar XXXXII - Going, Going, Gone...


Going, Going, Gone...


Wisdom is my forte, says Alex, an idiot. He dispenses opinions.
Think of the poor mirror's feelings when you look in it, he says, to an ugly man. If you were to choose between your personality or licking the insides of a freshly used toilet bowl, choose the latter, he says to another man with a large fist.

That's enough, Alex! I say. This man will rearrange the symmetry on your face and I will not do your bidding even if your mug looks like a Picasso at auction after his punch delivers.


He stole my drink, she says, pointing at Alex, who runs around in circles.
I'm not a person, I'm a planet, he says, bolting for the door.
Who's that? asks the dry lipped.
An idiot, I say, handing her a new beer.


He just lifted a pool ball from the table, and dropped it into a pocket, says the irate pool shark.
It's a metaphor for the world being consumed by a black hole, says Alex.


That's it, Alex. I'm sick of your bullshit. You're 86, which is 60 points above your I.Q.
I'm surprised you can count that high, he says.
F*** you and your bar.

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