O.K. gang, as much as I love attempting to mimic the deadpan and distancing syntax of the Onion articles, the only way for me to tell you this story is the way I lived it...and that�s first person singular, Baby! So... there I was...
...at my new haunt, Lyle�s in Newcastle, Neb. (The new bridge outside of Vermillion has opened up my world so much!) I had just strolled in all cool and shit with these three most bodacious female representatives of the tri-state area; South Dakota�s own Denise Hardesty, Molly Wortham of Nebraska, and Minnesota�s good representative Mary Connor. All eyes are on me, not because I am dripping of chicks, but rather because these Neb.ish Zekes ain�t use to me and my smooth Dakota moves. We take a seat at my usual booth and whip out the two digital cameras we carry with, because our life is so web-ready (please see accompanying photos). It starts out all natural enough, with us just taking pictures of anything that interests us in Nebraska. Soon we discover the only thing that interests us in Nebraska is...US! So... there we were...
...taking pictures of each other when Molly said, "take a picture of me and Al!" well, surprisingly quickly the others tire of this and one of them (it was either Denise or Mary) says, "now its my turn to be Al�s pretend girlfriend!" by the time all three had photo-op�s taken with me, I started referring to them as my revolving closet door. In fact, as we were leaving, one of the hunky sonsabitches playing pool, who had watched the whole thing, slapped me on the back and told me I was �one hell of a man.� That was pretty cool, but not as cool as the way the barkeep tried to break the ice with the f-i-n-e ladies, lovely ladies. So... there he was...
...coming over to our booth saying how he would love to �get in on some of that,� so I push the pretend girlfriend of the moment away (it was either Denise or Mary or Molly) and say invitingly, "sure, come on in here!" he visibly recoils. But he regains his composure enough to continue over to the table so he can show us what he has within a folded piece of paper. "Does any one here know what this is? I found it under my bed this morning.", he asks. Molly rejoins, " A shrew.", Because, people, (and I can not stress this enough.) Because, people, It...Was... A... SHREW!!! (please see accompanying photo.) Molly just kept screaming in a shrewish manner, "IT�S A
SHREW, IT�S A GODDAMN SHREW!!" But
I think the auditory pun was lost on the poor barkeep. So...there we were...
...stymied. Now I have never worked in food service, but had long assumed there must be rules about bringing dead vermin into the workplace. These rules, I again had assumed, would most assuredly be AGAINST such a thing. But, I must admit, it is quite the memorable conversation piece. I mean, as nice as the fellow is and all, he couldn�t be certain that Molly, Mary and Denise would remember him solely on the merit of his personality and his mullet. But now, and forever, I don�t think he will have to worry about such a fate befalling him. YOU on the other hand, may have to worry about eating the shrimp served in small town bars in Nebraska! |
