shaken not stirred

episode #1

monkey seeing evil

I’ve been a bit of a bitch this week at the bar for the following reasons:

It’s wedding season.

It’s wedding season.

It’s wedding season.

My Dickies are tight.

Also because Kanook and Kanoodle have flown in for the week. But mostly because my Dickies are tight.

Kanook has a military cut with square glasses and a mouthful of square Chicklet teeth (implants)? Drinks goose and soda. Because of course he does and also because my Dickies are tight.

Kanoodle has a comb over with octagon glasses and is short and stout. Mr Magoo-ish. And now here I’m making this up entirely, but I bet his dick is shaped like an egg.

I’m calling them Kanook and Kanoodle because they remind me of the non tipping French Canadian snowbirds. And if you’re French Canadian I’m sure the collective je ne sais quoi of you are nice to puppies and babies but I’m also sure you don’t tip for shit.

Kanook and Kanoodle like to work the bar incognito as covert K(k)K MAGAs masquerading as nice guys. The last time they flew in I overheard a six foot one Viking with a Spirited Away arm sleeve tell them to go suck Elon Musk’s dick. Which also. Egg shaped.

The Kanooks also like to wink wink—tell all about their secret job which we all know. Mark the houseman knows. Damian the bar back knows. The homeless dude who asked for coffee and tried to steal my tip jar knows.

And how do you know? Because they told you so. Matter of fucking fact they told everyone so. I think the K(k)K’s are magical thinkers that don’t believe in vaccines and also if you wink when you tell something it stays a secret. See no evil hear no evil do (yes) evil.

They told Marge and Donny (in from Charleston) so. Marge and Donny didn’t hear a word the pilots said because they are both hard of hearing when it suits them. But they did nod and order another round of hard shaken Gin Martinis.

If there’s one thing I love about old Baby Boomers it’s that they don’t fuck around with fancy pants drinks. Gin. Vodka. Whisky. Those are the categories.

They told Sherry from Maggie Valley, but she just wanted another espresso martini with the sugar rim (GenX). She logged onto her iPad to look at pictures of cats in halloween costumes.

They told Blaze the firefighter so, but Blaze is a helicopter firefighter so he wasn’t impressed. He’s had two hip replacements from jumping into fires.

Blaze is also a bit of a bitch this week (not because his Dickies are tight) but because he wants to go back to Montana. But he’s stuck here. We’re all stuck here with the K(k)Ks.

Blaze immediately doesn’t like Kanook and Kanoodle but Kanoodle pushes the issue and sidles up to him for a fireside chat. First thing he mentions is his sadness for Charlie Kirk and all how it’s mean to speak ill of the dead and also something about all of us getting along.

Larry Flynt mother fucker.

My Dickies are pinching my belly.

And then Kanoodle mentions his love of Trump and Blaze just goes hey buddy I can’t have a beer with you.

Can’t we all just get along? Kanoodle is wheedling and I swear he looks like a creepy priest. He’s also too dumb to know that when a drunk jock calls you hey buddy it’s not a gesture of good will.

We’re never gonna be mates because you like rapists. Blaze still erring on the side of nice guy turns politely away. And also now for some reason talking in an Aussie accent and squinting. Fair dinkum?

Kanoodle goes why would you say that.

Blaze looks at me and goes can you believe this guy? Are you OK? Am I ok? Shrimp on a barbie?

Turns out Blaze was blazing some mushrooms which I figured out later in the night when he was talking to a black bear painting. In his defense the bear is dressed like the queen mother of England, crown and all.

I buy Blaze another beer.

Kanoodle tents his fingers. I feel like snapping his Mr Magoo glasses into the bridge of his egg shaped nose.

Nick balls a fist and goes I have a little girl. You better get the fuck away from me.

Now normally I’d be busting up this kinda (almost) fight right away but I was pretending to tinker with the beer taps and LOLing on the inside. IYKYK. I know.

But Kanoodle can’t read the room. So this stupid fucker tries to shake Blaze’s hand.

And then he goes to Blaze—you’d be happier if you didn’t make your life about politics.

And then Blaze goes I’ll happy when you get the fuck away from me. At which point he’s balling his fists, so I do have to break it up—even though my Dickies are tight and I think a bar brawl would cheer me up.

But Larry Flynt mother fucker I also remember that I don’t have enough saved for retirement and probably still need this job.

So I tap Blaze out. Easy buddy. Easy. I grab his hand. Look at me, don’t look at him. I am the horse whisperer. Robert Redford rest in peace. It’s been a weird week.

And Kanoodle looks around and swear to Christ even though Kanoodle isn’t his real name the real main character in real life does a jazz hands wave to everyone at the bar.

A collective je ne sais quoi. IYKYK.