A tale of an event that hasn't happend (yet) -or- Whiskey and Flenker, a match made in a dirty dirty bar

Sorry for the late post on a Friday night. Like you all had anything else to do anyways, I knew that you wouldn't be able to enjoy your collective selves without having read my blog for the day. Well, you can all relax now, for not only is my blog updated, but it's being updated by the very very lovely WhiskeyMarie!! (sorry, no music today. It's taking the weekend off, but will be back soon.)

*****

Whiskey and Flenker: shaken, not stirred.


(Flenker sits in a dimly lit bar, nursing a beer. She’s late- what else is new? Damn broads. He begins to question his judgment- after all, who meets a total stranger for cocktails at noon on a Tuesday in Iowa?)

(The front door opens. A tallish brunette almost makes it in, but her purse gets caught on the door and she’s jolted back, as if attached to a rubber band. The contents of her purse, including her monogrammed flask and bottle of muscle relaxers, go tumbling to the floor. She curses like a sailor on meth, making the bartender blush. A minute passes, and she manages to compose herself. Only then does Flenker notice that she is wearing two different shoes. He chooses to keep this to himself.)

(She approaches the table.)

“Flenker! Hi! Sorry I’m late by my cat threw up on my first outfit, so I had to change, but then the one pair of jeans didn’t fit right, so I thought maybe I should wear a skirt, but it’s so f**king cold, and I hate tights, and then I’d have to wear boots, and… you know?”

“Um…”

“Holy balls I need a drink. Bartender!”

(She sits down, takes off her coat and settles in. She’s wearing a Loverboy t-shirt, jeans and boots. Her hair is a wavy mess under a stocking cap. Flenker is in jeans and a t-shirt. For some reason he’s wearing pink fuzzy slippers. Don’t ask.)

Flenker breaks the initial silence:

“So, Whiskey- Are you liking Iowa so far? I know it’s cold up there in Minnesota, so at least the weather shouldn’t be so bad for you.”

“Well, I’m thrilled to be in town to celebrate your 1-year blogiversary and post #300! Awesome! But, to be honest- it’s kind of flat here. Kind of windy. But I like it just fine. Very pastoral and serene…Jesus! Who’s a girl gotta blow to get a martini in this joint?” (motions to the flustered bartender. A martini the size of a fishbowl is unceremoniously plopped in front of her. Flenker decides to order a Jameson- make it a double.)

(Flenker clears his throat)

“Um, it sure was nice of you to make the trip down here just to hang out with me, Whiskey. Are there any sights you’d like to see in beautiful Iowa?”

“Well (takes a big gulp out of her drink), I sure would like to see the Laura Ingalls Wilder Museum in the beautiful metropolis of Burr Oak. Did you ever watch that show? Wasn’t Michael Landon dreamy?”

“Uh…sure?” (pounds back his double whiskey in one giant pull wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into.)

“If you’re not into that, we could go to the Prairie Meadows racetrack and casino in Altoona. We could totally bet on horses and get rich! Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

“I’m in if you’re buying.”

“Of course I am, Flenker. My treat. You just get the drinks, o.k?” (Finishes her drink, motions for another. Flenker does the same.)

“Drinks? With you? With me paying?” (He starts hyperventilating.)

“Don’t worry- we totally have time to sell one of your kidneys before we go. I hear it’s not painful at all with all of the modern medical advancements. Trust me.”

“O.k., Whiskey. How could I ever not trust you?”

“Great! Let’s celebrate with shots! A “Dirty Girl Scout” for me, “Three Wise Men” for you. Bartender! Keep ‘em coming!”

(Shots are downed, several more rounds are ordered. It is nearly dark outside as the two stagger out the door of the bar many hours later.)

“Hey Flenkerrrr. Lesh go to to ‘nuther barrrr. I want sum margerritaaaass.” (starts singing loudly) “Wastinnnn way ‘gin on margerrrrrriitttaaaaaaaaaaaville..”

“Hey! Wishkey. Come here. Let me tell you a seeeecret.” (leans in close to her hear)

“Beeeelllccchhhhhhhhhhh!”

“Hahahahhhaahhahaha! Fenker- you so crazy!”

(The two stumble off, forever friends. This night will be remembered fondly as: The night in which Whiskey accidentally married the president of the Blue Oyster Cult fan club and Flenker woke up in a trailer with two monkeys and no pants.)

(Flenker will also make a new rule for himself after this fateful evening:
Never drink whiskey with Whiskey ever again. Ever. Damn. Those monkeys followed him around for two months and threatened to post the pictures on the internet.)

(Damn monkeys)

*****

WM, thank you so very much! You know you are always welcome down in these parts. And in Iowa! It's amazing how well you know me, especially the waking up with no pants part. That happens more often than not, unfortunately it's never been with anyone else, monkeys or no.

And what the hell, here comes some music, courtesy of a recommendation of Captain Crab. Play the video, then re-read Whiskey's post, and imagine the band playing at the bar. It works on so many levels!



Have a hell of a damn weekend, folks!