Bar Incident: The girl with the weird hair

Part I: Red Stripe's Story

It was nice and quiet in the Hussman Cooler. And cold. I like the cold. It's how I remember things being my whole life. I liked that I was surrounded by my peers, really close but not touching. Orderly. Predictable. That was my life. Hangin' out with my peeps, just chillin'.

And then the woman with the blue streaks in her hair reached in, pulled me out of the cooler and popped my top off. It was simultaneously shocking and a release. That's when it happened. She handed me to that b*tch with the weird hair. That girl's sweaty, angry fist wrapped around my middle too tightly. Her hand was hot, demanding. The girl slammed me down on the bar to root around in her pockets. I looked around the bar desperately, but there seemed no escape. Could someone else pick me up? Maybe I could topple myself over? I tried to rock side-to-side but I couldn't move. I was paralyzed.

Suddenly the girl's hand was gripping me painfully again. As she raised me up to her lips, her foul-mouthed, negative-nancy, spoiled brat lips, I knew my fate was sealed. It was over, and my last precious moments of existence would be in the stomach of the b*tchy girl with the weird hair.

Part II: The Bar Stool's Story

I saw it all happen but I didn't care. I'm a carefree, spin-any-way-the-wind-blows kind of guy. You should see the shit that happens in this bar. Like the time the guy sitting on me was feeling up the guy next to him while his girlfriend was in the bathroom. Or the woman who got drunk and fell off of me, then tried to drive home and ended up in a ditch. It's a bar for god's sake. Things aren't always pretty. The girl with the weird hair? That was nothing. Sure, she didn't say please, or thank you for that matter, and she threw her tip down like it was a chore, but whatever. You gotta relax and let these things go.

Me? I'm here to serve. Sit on me, prop your heels on the rungs, spin a little, move me to the other side of the room if you want. I'm easy. That girl was just another drop in the slop bucket. Haha! Get it? Slop bucket. A little bar humor there. I am so funny.

You got to be easy-going to survive in a bar night after night, putting up with all the crazy regulars. Frankly, I like the company. The more the merrier. We all have to let loose sometimes, you know? And what better place than at a bar? If you can't be yourself here, then what's the point? Lighten up, that's what I say. Don't worry so much. Life is too damn short.