A new review of bar is now begin. Are you comfortable?
This time I go alone, (without “expense account.” And so: Jay Holley is the CHEAP one.)
The Name Is a Dish
This Shenago is a dish. Yes, the cup of coffee, the little dish below. In America, you are calling it SAUCER. I know this for “Klute,” this womans for who this bar is THE BOSS. One time she buy me one drink, then she touch my leg. Long time for touching. There up, on the tomato. Hoopla! Reynaud is not now pretty, and have those regret; but yet I laugh. This old broads is liking MY WAY. They wish for me to put my shoe beneath the bed. In my head, I am 29. What can I do? Some Yukon Jack? This “Klute” is naming this bar for a dish, and she manipulate piton. She is doing this, with some BUD LITE. OK. (The peoples are nice in this bar).
I Have Been Here
For the joobox:
Bad To The Bone; Sexy Tractor…
Come now, let us drink upthe rent.
I Am Sorry You Get Mad To Live
I am now knowing things of this KKK. I am in this place apooling (the name for playing this game naming POOL). This, wet hairs and most wretched human approach. I wish to give him the final BIGMAC coupon. This wretch: he resemble the excrement. But I am sentimental.
“I play the winning one,” say this wretch.
“No, I play only one time tonight,” say I.
“You play me or perhaps I shoot you down, you fucking terrorist.”
“I am from Marseilles,” say I.
“I’m a DIXIE REBEL!” he say.
O.K. I beat his ass like one stinking goat. He was forbidden even one turn.
“Pay now ten dollar, Monsieur Souris,” say I. (He does not wish for this.) He attempt the escape, but I catch him. (He is truly small, like the rat.)
“Be correct!” I say, with the loud voice. And so he is giving ten dollar.
“O.K.” I say. “Call taxi. I will pay for you.” (He go to make pipi.)
Sur la Tete
And so, I am sitting with this “Klute” –the Kali, touching all living things, and in the back of my head comes one explosion. BOOM! Then this “Klute” is screaming: “AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” (I am not liking it.) It is wet on my neck and then, my own bloods are upon my hand. This tiny wretch is hitting me with the pool-stick. The big side. “NIGGER LOVER!” he is yelling for me. What is this? This Shenago? Are things being wrong here? “GOD BLESS THE KKK!” he is yelling. He attempt one other assault, but I am catching now the stick. “Klute”: AAAAHHHHH! (encore). Then I am unseating (the noise!), and embracing this wretch (yes, very tightly), and walking for the PARKING LOT. I deposit him there and it is raining.
“Do not be anymore stupid tonight!” say I (strong voice). “Here is ten dollar for taxi. Go to your Home.”
“I do not have Home,” he is saying.
“Then you must go away,” say I.
“YOU’RE FUCKING WITH THE KLAN!” then he is yelling, and running for Street 6.
“What is this Klan?” I am asking, and I am more wet, outside.
In this Shenago, for going many time, I confess only one time did I meet KLAN. I have make many the laughings and dancings for the joobox. But I have also meet UNCLE DIRTY and this BRUCE (Warning! Sit in another place from this man!). And there are waiting hungry broads, also. You must like the funny if you go to this Shenago. And this song, the SEXY TRACTOR. But mostly all of the peoples there are nice. They are tired as well. I have said it.