Poolhall Assholes

Being a professional writer isn’t easy. Especially when you’re not a great writer. I’ll admit, I think I have my moments sometime, but, this shit doesn’t just come out of nowhere, I have to think about it… a lot. And hard. Long and hard. Here’s a short story:


Charlie, Jordan, and Jimmy were tired of loitering at the coffee shop. They were planning to go to their favorite pub when Jordan interjected. “Hey, let’s go to that shithole, Louie’s, so I can eat and you guys can grab a beer.” They went to Louie’s. Jordan ordered the “Macho Chicken Nachos”, Jimmy the “Southwestern Egg rolls”, while Charlie ordered nothing. The food was as expected… not that good, but it did the job. Fuel. Jordan was nursing a hangover and desperately needed fuel, hence going to Louie’s.
The gang ate then promptly left. To Finnegan’s Fighting Goat to play some pool and reminisce. The pool tables were occupied, but the beer flowed freely. They sat at some tall tables in the back by the pool tables to wait out the old fucks shooting like sloppy drunk assholes. They… took… forever. So long, in fact, Jimmy retired for home. The trio was torn to a duo.
The tables were occupied by two different couples that seemed to know each other. At the beginning of each game one of the pool champions would break and then strike up a conversation with someone from the other table. In between inter-table conversations the couple closest to Jordan and Charlie would sneak in little kisses and long gross make-outs. Gross, indeed! Old drunken redneck smacking sounds followed by bellows of ignorant laughter and probably silent farts. They could only assume the horrible flatulent smell was exuding from these disgusting people.
After a few more grotesque minutes the couple furthest from the two gentlemen, known as Charles and Jordan, left the table for the bar. The lady passed Charlie as he politely asked “Excuse me, are you two done playing?” to which the lady responded “Yes.” with a head nod. That was their “cue”. The two grabbed some pool cues and Jordan began racking the balls. Just as the rack was set the gentleman who had left the table came back, surprised, and started accusing Charlie of stealing the table. Which, by the way, was a free table. It costs no money to play and had been abandoned. “What the hell? You’re stealing the table from us?!” Yelled the portly man to Charlie. “No, we asked the lady you with if you guys were done, and she said ‘yes’.” He replied. But, the old bugger wasn’t having it. “You’re a fucking liar!” This exchange seemed to upset the swine of a man at the other table. He quickly came to the aid of the accuser. “You can’t just fucking steal the table! You gotta play for it!” But, no matter how calmly Charlie would explain that he asked for the table and was told that it was open, they wouldn’t believe him, nor calm down. It seemed the two gentlemen were on their way to a fight with two old fat fucks with necks more red than the Devil’s dick. BUT… Charlie being the calm and collected gentleman he is, cooled the situation down and decided to give the table back. If you ask this author, the gentlemen should have taken the lower road and broke those fucking cues over their skulls. But, what do I know. I guess the moral of the story is, old people are gross. Well, most of them.

The 2nd Worst Morning Ever

 When God gives you lemons you open a door, or something. It’s not always easy to make the best out of a “shitty” situation, but, God dammit, sometimes you just gotta carefully remove your soiled boxer briefs and carry on.
A few nights ago I had a night on the town with a few friends and I’m pretty sure I hit it harder than the rest. I had no intention of going out that night, but after a ten hour shift in a kitchen, I felt I deserved a few drinks. I got off work and leisurely enjoyed a cold brew with my shift meal. Some co-workers discarded a few glasses of wine, so I helped myself. This action swiftly set me up for a successful night.
My buds and I met a local pub, tossed back a few pints, met some d-bag named Ian, who is apparently a really awesome dude (he might say), and split for another bar.
 “WHOA! IAN! YOU‘RE AT THIS BAR TOO?! Another shot? I’d love one.”
We carried on throughout the night like respectful young adults then parted ways. I ended up sleeping, off and on, until about 3:30 pm the next day, right before I had work. The three and half hours I was there were hell. My stomach felt like it was going to fall out of my ass and my head felt… well, my head didn’t feel that bad, actually. It was mainly my tummy. So, I get off work, go home, and slept like a baby for 8 solid hours. This rarely happens, I usually just take two four hour naps everyday.
I, surprisingly, felt really good this morning. It seemed as if my stomach problems were done for. I got dressed for work and went to the bathroom to take a pisser. I felt a little gas and decided to go ahead and let it go. Within a second I instantly regretted this decision. The poot made no sound, and felt… wet. I moved my right butt cheek half an inch and knew right then. I had heard of this sort of thing happening to people my age all the time, but never thought it would happen to me. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve heard of it happening a few times, and I have been waiting for years for it to happen to me. I’m actually pretty surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. But, now, after twenty-some-odd years, I have joined the ranks of people who have shit their pants after infancy. And good day to you.