Lowered Expectations

For those of you who have already become fascinated with my writings, and therefore my wondrous life, and expect this posting to be insightful and inspirational, stop reading right now and go masturbate...you will find that more satisfying than the words to follow. I am currently sitting here, at the fabulous VFW staring at the walls and 3 people. I'm rapidly becoming convinced that the walls have more to offer than these sorry excuses for drinkers. Links (I call him this for 2 reasons: 1) his shirt says Links and 2) he may be the missing link between our cavemen brethren and our highly evolved selves) is busy at his usual activity of scratching lottery tickets and making a mess of my bar. His friend the other fishermen (who doesn't even deserve the thought and effort it takes to come up with a nickname) has been rambling for the last 20 minutes and boasting about how many times he's been in jail. If you're curious as to how many times, let's just say that in my 30 something years on this earth, I have shed less skin cells than days he's spent in jail. I think he has just become my new hero. Bernie, my Jack Daniels/Coors Light connoisseur, is a bit down on his luck just this minute and successfully attempting to drown his sorrows and, bless his heart, mine as well...

This is day 2 that I have unsuccessfully tried to quit smoking. I have succeeded in cutting back quite a bit...as of this afternoon I have officially quit smoking for 36 hours and only had 3 (about to be 4) cigarettes. Perhaps if I start dippin again I'll be doing okay. I am even more cranky than usual and these poor fuckers at the bar are a)bearing the brunt of my unhappiness and b) just plain dumber than Sage's shit stuck to the bottom of my flip flop (sorry Sage, didn't mean to insult your fecal matter!) although, shit on the bottom of your shoe is easier to get rid of than these losers.

I may sound a bit bitter, and I think that I have a bit of a right to be. Those of you who are in the service industry will be able to relate to what I am about to say. I don't hate these people, but I have been at this bar for 5 hours and have made $3.00 in tips. This, in my small world, justifies my lack of enthusiasm and kindness to the patrons of the VFW.

Assuming that my idiot boss will never read this, it is now 15:42 and I'm 4 shots into the day...shall I see how fucked up I can get on duty? The Jailbird and Link just left...can you guess how much I just made off of them? $0.50. Oh yeah, I think I'll have to start pimping my friends on the corner, maybe I'll start with you, Monkey...I could get a fortune for your sweet ass!

Sadly for you, and heartbreaking for me, the VFW nazi-spy has just infiltrated the ranks so I must sign off for now...until the next time remember...pilliage first...then burn!!!