small brush shouldn't fuck with big timber

Death's Door, the view from the Spanish announcers table: sweatin the small stuff

Friday, June 23

sweatin the small stuff

This is the last weekend to enjoy the Hurricane before the new owners morph it into whatever the fuck they’re gonna change it too. So here’s a few pieces from over the years showing my love for that unique place.

The younger black cat was having an asthma attack. I asked the cat was he all right and that’s when he asked for a paper sack to breathe thru. Now the older cat wasn’t saying shit so I grabbed a paper sack from the bar and handed to the young cat who supposedly had the breathing problems. The muthafucker then proceeded to put the fuckin sack over his fuckin head like the Unknown Comic and shit. Now I’m no goddamn doctor and shit but that didn’t look right to me so that’s when I turned to his partner and told em to get this muthafucker out of the bar. It’s too early in the fuckin evening for shit like that.

Best quote from the other weekend. “Hi, you here alone, so, how close do you live? You’re sort’a big and buff looking”. This chick I met in the Hurricane one Saturday night. A friend of mine overheard the whole thing and said; “Greg, you’ve been called a lot of things but buff wouldn’t be one of em”. Word. Well, that’s why we go out when the moon’s full, it just makes things better

We were all sitting at the Cane last week when one of the doormen put a movie up on the big screen. I like the Cane before the crowd rushes in, when it’s just the doormen, bartenders and regulars. It’s when everyone stretches out and bitches about the job, the week and the weather. One of the coolest things about the Cane is you can have a room full of regulars just sitting at the round bar gabbing about crap and nothing in particular and suddenly a stranger walks in and all conversation will shut down. I’ve seen people sit there saying nothing for twenty minuets until that person leaves or moves away to a table. That will shake a cat up.

You ever been in the Hurricane john early in the evening? Please don’t. One afternoon some cat was sitting at the bar having a short one with his little kid. His other kids were at the martial arts school a few doors up. The guy’s little kid wondered into the john to take a piss when suddenly he came running out screaming and crying. “daddy, daddy it hurt my face!” the guy freaked and ran into the bathroom.

Me and the bartender just sat there, we knew what was up. Daddy comes running out all red faced, grabs Junior and hits the door. Yup, the smell was that bad. I hear tell that there’s some bathrooms in Ireland that look worse but still smell better. We’ve had to stop new doormen from tossing guys out because they were caught pulling the pants up on the wrong side of the bathroom door. They weren’t trying to flash the women; they just couldn’t go without breathing any longer.

And the number one thing I don’t remember. Sitting in the Cane tonight with Cassie and Michelle and listening as two Westport cops told me that I was so drunk that I asked for their guns so I could off whitey.

Sunday night had the bands LA Guns and Faster Pussycat playing at the Hurricane. The place looked like a huge cow sacrifice. You had people wearin leather that had no kind of business getting near any leather other then their shoes.

But without thinking I spoke in my loud voice, “my god, did anyone else see that ass”!? And with the clarity of a bell cause the whole room suddenly went silent, I hear someone say “that’s my wife”. Me, “what”? Him, “that was my wife”. It was one of the doormen speaking from the other side of the bar. All I could do was sit there and taste my rather large foot in my mouth as Cassie and Michelle broke up around me.

And if you’re in the Hurricane some night and decide to fuck up or God forbid, call the chick behind the bar a bitch, please watch for the short Hispanic cat with all the ink work on his neck and the name Cisco spelled out on the back of his head. He’ll be the reason behind your crying like a little bitch. Bringing the pain baby.

Monkey Island is the area across the street from the Hurricane that has the stone benches and the statues of the Westport founders. I call it Monkey Island because all the local bums hang there during the nice weather passing the bottle back and forth. And it always reminds me of the place at our local zoo where they used to keep all the small monkeys and shit. It’s a dominance thing if you get my drift. Monkeys fling shit at each other and so do the bums.

"and the monkey flipped the switch"


Anonymous Anonymous said...

thanx for making me spit my cereal out across my keyboard from laughing so hard.
--so wipes the sister

9:02 AM  

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