AARRGGHGHH!!!
SO’S A HOMELESS GUY, DOWN ON HIS LUCK, SIDLES UP TO WENCH ADRIAN AT THE BAR LAST WEEK. REACHES INTO HIS POCKET AND PLOPS DOWN A SMALL PACKAGE ON THE BAR. HELL’S BELLS IF IT AINT A TINY KITTEN NO MORE’N A FEW WEEKS OLD. SAYS HE, “ TRADE THIS FOR A PABST BLUE RIBBON ??” YOUNG ADRIAN, ANIMAL LOVER TO THE CORE, CLOSES THE DEAL IN A NEW YORK SECOND. NAME OF THE KITTEN—PBR.
EVER SEE THAT AT ONE OF THEM DAMN FRU-FRU BARS?
NEXT:
EHAB WANTS TO THANK THE STAFF AT TBT FOR PLACING THE GROTTO AT #12 AMONG THE AREAS 100 BEST BARS. FURTHER, WELL, …….THEN THERES…… OH HELL’S BELLS HE DOES!!#2%^! IN A PIG’S WHISTLE DOES EHAB ACCEPT THAT NONSENSE- NO SIREE BOB!!@!!##. WHAT A BUNCH OF DAMN POLITICAL HORSE PUCKEY. THOSE SCALLYWAGS AND SEAHAGS, WRITING FOR THAT FISHWRAP, SELLIN THAT THERE’S 11 BETTER BARS IN THIS AREA THAN THE GROTTO. CRAP WE SAY—CRAP.
WHY FOR THE LOVE OF PETE AND ALL THE UNHOLY ANGELS GUARDING NEPTUNE’S SOUL, ANY IDIOT, IMBICILE OR MORON KNOWS THERE AIN’T 11 BETTER BARS ON THE WHOLE, STINKING, PLANET!~!!@!!!
AT LEAST MANY OF THE FRU-FRU JOINTS WERE CORRECTLY PLACED, YOU KNOW, AT THE MALL! MEANS THAT THE WRITERS WEREN’T SMOKING SOMETHIN’ OR OVERIMBIBED THE GROG AT LEAST!!.
ANYWAYS, WE’DE LIKE TO THANK THE ACADEMY, OUR AGENT, MORTY SCHMECKLESTEIN, WE LOVE YOU MORTY, OUR MOTHERS AND MOST OF ALL OUR WIVES…….. BLAH, BLAH, BLAH
THEN THERE’S THIS:
THE WAY WE HEARS IT, OLD BOSCO COMES DOWN STAIRS FROM THE OFFICE, IN DISTRESS, TOWING AN OBVIOUSLY BEAT UP AND BLEEDING GUS THE GREYHOUND. GUS WAS SPLATTERED WITH EXCREMENT AND BLOOD AND SHIVERING LIKE, WELL, FOR LACK OF AN EQUALLY DESCRIPTIVE YET LESS OFFENSIVE PHRASE, A DOG SH---NG A RAZOR BLADE.
OLD EHAB AND THE INCREDIBLE PIRATE CHEF J.P. HAD HAD THEIR HEADS TOGETHER AT THE TIME PLOTTING STRATEGY FOR THE NEW KITCHEN LAUNCH AND ALL THAT ENTAILS. BUT BEING A MAJOR DOG LOVER HERSELF CHEF J.P GOT UPSET AT THE LOOK OF GUSSY. IT MAY ALSO HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH THE SMELL OF GUSSY. OLD EHAB REMEBERED WAKING UP ON THE FLOOR OF THE BASTILLE SUBWAY STATION’S LOWER BATHROOM IN PARIS IN 1982, THE MIDGET SITTING ON THE SINK SMOKING A GALOISE AND THE TRANSVESTITE WITH THE ½ EATEN JAR OF PICKLED PIG’S FEET HUMMING ‘LA MARSEILLE’ THROUGH HER CHEWING GUM,……THE WAY THE SMOKE CURLED AS IT ROSE—WELL THAT’S ANOTHER STORY ALTOGETHER.
UPON INSPECTION OLD GUSSY WAS MISSING MOST OF THE BLACK SKIN ON HIS NOSE, WHICH WAS ALSO SHOWING DEEP,BLOODY, GOUGES AND OTHER ABRAISIONS AND CONTUSIONS. LOOKED LIKE HE’D FALLEN INTO A BUZZ SAW, WHICH ESSENTIALY, HE HAD.
ANYWAY, BOSCO TOLD EHAB THAT HE BETTER GET UPSTAIRS BECAUSE
TANK AND GUS HAD HAD A NASTY TUSSLE. WELL, EVEN THOUGH GUS OUTWEIGHS THE TANK SIXFOLD, IS ALL MUSCLES, SINEWS AND TEETH, AND HAS A BODY FAT RATIO OF 0.0, IT AIN’T FOR NOTHING THAT THEY CALL THE TANK “ THE MEANEST 12 POUNDS ON THE PLANET”. EHAB WAS THANKING THE LORD GUS STILL HAD HIS EYES INTACT. TANK WILL USUALLY GO DIRECTLY FOR THE EYES. FINDS IT’S THE QUICKEST WAY TO TAKE DOWN A HEAVYWEIGHT.
WHEN EHAB GOT TO THE OFFICE THE TANK WAS SITTING ON THE DESK LICKING HIMSELF. NOT A MARK ON HIM. HE STOPPED, HE LOOKED UP, GAVE EHAB THE “ YEAH, SO WHAT A-HOLE, AND I’LL DO IT AGAIN IF YOU BRING THAT BIG LUG BACK UP HERE TOO” LOOK. TANK WENT BACK TO PICKING PIECES OF DOG NOSE AND SUCH OUT OF HIS CLAWS.
THE OFFICE SMELLED LIKE, WELL, YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW. LITERALLY, TANK HAD BEATEN THE S—T. OUT OF THE POOR CANINE. THE CARPET WAS COVERED IN BLOOD AND DOG EXCREMENT. IT TOOK EHAB AN HOUR WITH GLOVES, RAGS, BUCKETS, HOT WATER, DETERGENT AND BLEACH TO MAKE THE PLACE HABITABLE.
ALL THAT TIME TANK SAT PRIMLY ON THE DESKTOP, LICKING HIS COAT AND WATCHING EHAB CLEAN UP HIS MESS. 15 SECOND TUSSLE, 1 HOUR CLEANUP.
THE POINT OF THIS, WELL, TRUTH BE TOLD, THERE AIN’T NO POINT, FESTER. JEST FIGURED THAT FRIENDS OF THE TANK WOULD WANT TO KNOW THAT HE AINT CHANGED A SINGLE DAMNNED BIT GOING INTO MIDDLE CAT AGE.
AARRGGHH!!!
EHAB’S FAITHFULL SCRIBE
Monday, July 13, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Tanker Ray Takes Down The Cook
So the Captain is a’ sitin the last booth across from this young lad wearin a Mohawk hairdo. The lad is interviewing for a cook’s job. Tanker Ray, barcat extraordinaire and mouse ace nonparallel is sitting on the ledge over the booth, just listening, while cleaning the claws on his oversized right front paw the way even mortal felines do.
“ Naw, I don’t like cats much” the youth says, ” No reason really, just don’t like ‘em much”, looking straight at the Tank.
Normally, that would have been the end of the interview but the galley was really shorthanded following the little fracas of Saturday Night…. But that’s another story altogether. Anyways, Tanks right ear vibrated too and fro a number of times and he cast a sideways glance at the new cook.
Ehab smiled at the new cook as he welcomed him aboard.
Next day about 10:00AM the new cook is getting the lay of the land and is walking around the closed bar.
Ehab is attending to something on the back bars stored in the corner and the Tank, Lord knows how he got up there, is patrolling the top of the bar soffett some 10 feet above the bar room floor. Well, it’s plain to see, the way Ehab tells it, that ‘Ol Tank was slinking around the bar soffett directly above the new cook. Darned if he wasn’t stalking him!
Ehab put down the bottle he was examining, leaned on his elbow and silently watched.
It wasn’t too much longer when the cook, and then the Tank, stopped. Tank’s striped tail began to vibrate and his back quivered His ears laid flat against his head and he coiled like a steel spring.
Ehab, wanting to yell, remained silent as the Tank uncoiled and became airborne.
All Ehab said he could think about was Rocket J. Squirrel, a distant, timeworn memory from his badly misspent youth.
Well the Tank landed on the cooks head from behind with a spread of 4 paws worth of claws and those really pointy front teeth, which latched on to the bridge of the poor man’s nose from above.
The cat yowl Tank let out sounded a lot like BANZAI to Ehab. Certainly, it meant the same thing.
“AAHHRRHHRRAAAA!!!” screamed the cook as he began to rotate faster than the big bronze propeller on the old Newark making turns for full ahead, with a double jingle of the telegraph to boot! AHHH, AHHH, NO, AHHH!!!! he screamed hysterically, knocking over bar stools, as the Tank hung on like a bull rider trying to get in all 8 seconds before the clowns come out, eyes wide and grinning like a sea banshee, we hear the Tank was.. Old man swears the Tank was beating the back of the cook’s neck with his tail in an effort to get him to spin faster.
After Tank dismounted and scurried off to one of his rabbit warren of tunnels the cook sagged against a booth as he assessed the damage and counted the punctures.
As the cook, and then the Tank hisself, heard from Ehab that day, “ Well, at least now he got a reason not to like cats”.
Sunday’s at 11:30 on the patio all you scallywags and seahags is the champagne brunch.
Make your own mimosas and Bloody Marys, drink a lot, eat from the buffet, Have Chef Fred turn out something delectable from the galley. try something from the raw bar and listen to Live Jazz and Island music in the fresh air. Chill there bucko’s and try the least stuffy, most fun brunch in town and if you likes, play a game of champagne pong. It’s all one price . Can’t do that at any of those damn fru fru brunches now can you mates?
AARRGGHH!The Captains faithful scribe
“ Naw, I don’t like cats much” the youth says, ” No reason really, just don’t like ‘em much”, looking straight at the Tank.
Normally, that would have been the end of the interview but the galley was really shorthanded following the little fracas of Saturday Night…. But that’s another story altogether. Anyways, Tanks right ear vibrated too and fro a number of times and he cast a sideways glance at the new cook.
Ehab smiled at the new cook as he welcomed him aboard.
Next day about 10:00AM the new cook is getting the lay of the land and is walking around the closed bar.
Ehab is attending to something on the back bars stored in the corner and the Tank, Lord knows how he got up there, is patrolling the top of the bar soffett some 10 feet above the bar room floor. Well, it’s plain to see, the way Ehab tells it, that ‘Ol Tank was slinking around the bar soffett directly above the new cook. Darned if he wasn’t stalking him!
Ehab put down the bottle he was examining, leaned on his elbow and silently watched.
It wasn’t too much longer when the cook, and then the Tank, stopped. Tank’s striped tail began to vibrate and his back quivered His ears laid flat against his head and he coiled like a steel spring.
Ehab, wanting to yell, remained silent as the Tank uncoiled and became airborne.
All Ehab said he could think about was Rocket J. Squirrel, a distant, timeworn memory from his badly misspent youth.
Well the Tank landed on the cooks head from behind with a spread of 4 paws worth of claws and those really pointy front teeth, which latched on to the bridge of the poor man’s nose from above.
The cat yowl Tank let out sounded a lot like BANZAI to Ehab. Certainly, it meant the same thing.
“AAHHRRHHRRAAAA!!!” screamed the cook as he began to rotate faster than the big bronze propeller on the old Newark making turns for full ahead, with a double jingle of the telegraph to boot! AHHH, AHHH, NO, AHHH!!!! he screamed hysterically, knocking over bar stools, as the Tank hung on like a bull rider trying to get in all 8 seconds before the clowns come out, eyes wide and grinning like a sea banshee, we hear the Tank was.. Old man swears the Tank was beating the back of the cook’s neck with his tail in an effort to get him to spin faster.
After Tank dismounted and scurried off to one of his rabbit warren of tunnels the cook sagged against a booth as he assessed the damage and counted the punctures.
As the cook, and then the Tank hisself, heard from Ehab that day, “ Well, at least now he got a reason not to like cats”.
Sunday’s at 11:30 on the patio all you scallywags and seahags is the champagne brunch.
Make your own mimosas and Bloody Marys, drink a lot, eat from the buffet, Have Chef Fred turn out something delectable from the galley. try something from the raw bar and listen to Live Jazz and Island music in the fresh air. Chill there bucko’s and try the least stuffy, most fun brunch in town and if you likes, play a game of champagne pong. It’s all one price . Can’t do that at any of those damn fru fru brunches now can you mates?
AARRGGHH!The Captains faithful scribe
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