Some sweaty, sunburnt, middle-aged, yuppie investment banker wearing a light blue golf shirt, brown Dockers, and leather boat shoes complete with tassles and no socks sits on the stool next to mine pounding down glass after glass of Crown Royal, neat.
I can’t get over how much the guy looks like Pat O’Brien, glasses, mustache and all - a spitting fucking image.
I don’t know this dip-shit from Adam, yet, we’re suddenly best friends. He’s telling me about the multi million-dollar deals he makes or breaks on a day-to-day basis. He’s bragging about his ride, a brand new 700 series BMW, and how much 18-year old ass he pulls in it. He’s telling me about his cunt ex-wife who left him for a guy half her age. He’s filling me in on every intimate, inane, insignificant detail of his shallow life.
I never asked. But if you keep them Red-Bull vodka’s coming I’ll continue to be your ”buddy” - your…. momentary best friend, disposable as a condom. I’ll keep listening, nodding my head, and agreeing with your bullshit like some slack-jawed yes-man. I’ll continue to laugh at your two-cent jokes.
And As I raise my glass, with a carefree smile, and toast life and love with my new companion I can’t stop thinking about how sickeningly easy it’d be to take his ass home and rob him at gunpoint.
Mucus builds up on his bushy mustache above his upper lip.
Have another line Pat.
21 comments:
Wow! Watta beerwhore! can't blame ya though, sucked down a few freebies with people I didn't like for the sole fact that they were buyin'. Wait, that sounded kinda nasty.
As to your comment on my post:
Hermes, keep up, I'm in Cooperstown, New York...left Norfolk, Nebraska weeks ago.
*Hangs head in shame*.
See entry in my blog "Thema and Luis" it'll bring you up to speed.
mmmm. speed.
Sounds a lot like the nonstop talkers I always end up next to on a flight.
Gabriel. Do insincere smiles generate warmth?
Desolation Angel. You damn gypsy.
Delores Haze. Thanks for the comment. In poor Pat's case, I think he's already dead.
Puzzy. I asked him point blank if he was Pat O'Brien. Then I asked him if he was a cop.
Rae-Ann. I love airplane friendships. They're fleeting but burn oh so bright.
Tacit. Desperation is the new sexy.
Picture perfect America. A man who appears to have all and has strived to create this perfect sustainable world around him. Glitter and gold. Flash and flare. Isn't that all we are looking for these days? A way to impress one another?
Interestingly enough through the haze of smoke and vodka you see his loneliness, you see his pain - you could give a shit, and yet you allow yourself the time to entertain him.
Everyone has their own price don't they Herm?
yeah, i could have his cousin probably, or was it the friend of a friends friend of his cousin? i don't know, but this guy, after the shallow blah in the bar (oh and yes, i let him pay and i just talked to him because i had to waste an hour as i had missed my train...) of course tried to lure me to his home, first with his great italian pasta and wine cellar and later with over 700 bugs.
oh foolish pride that assumed me in the very last moment. i could have had him, his wallet and some of his expensive wine.
some people are so desperate they try to buy it all
yeah, and your story is as always so concise, to the point and beautifully told. thank you for sharing, hermes. and yes, get yourself a publisher. or become a publisher, why not....we are in america, are we? that shouldn't be too hard then....
with each free drink one realizes more clearly that it's not ass-kissing at all: it's charity. thank you for doing your part.
You know what? I'm not going to judge your 700 series MBW hot shot wannabe friend. Maybe I'm just jealous of him because he has enough money to drown in his sorrows.
Colonialave. Everyone can be bought, true. Or rather, I like to believe this was an exchange of services. He bought me over 60 dollars in drinks, and in return he had a friend, and a possible wingman...
Perhaps he mistakenly assumed I'd introduce him to some women?
Vex. Ah, and the dive bar, as I'm sure you know, is a veritable graveyard full of re-animated corpses and grotesque meat puppets.
Piranha. Unfortunately, there are women out there who allow themselves to be bought by assholes like the one I described, be it payment in cash or coke.
Extraspecial. The saddest part is I can't help but wonder if perhaps
I was the charity in question?
He bought you $60 in drinks alone?
Honey - he wasn't waiting for you to introduce him to any fine women.
He had all he wanted right there next to him ;)
You sexy beast you.
how many strangers have, over a few drinks, become my best buddy [ at least until last call]?
too many. one day, someone will take him home and rob him at gunpoint.
what will he learn from it. nothing. but he'll have another story to tell strangers in a bar.
nice post
Colonialave. Well I didn't lead him on... well, maybe a little bit.
Red Egg. I don't pretentiously flaunt my wealth, knowledge, or achievements... or lack thereof. So, no, we aren't alike.
We're all looking for someone to "listen" to us though right?
jkg. Of course his version will drastically vary from the actual. In reality, he would have pissed his pants as he handed over the atm card. His version, he wrestled the gun away and savagely pistol whipped his attacker.
I like this post very much.
And by the way... you are the 'Featured Shitty Blog of the Week' on Shitty Blog Radio this week.
Congrats.
I'm sorry, but this tale would have been much better if you would have robbed him at gunpoint.
You pussy.
Damn.
thats funny... i worked for a bunch of brokers this summer. not a single one of them had a moustache... and that, my friend, is what makes me sad.
Celine said something about making the ugly a divine subject for a writer - he was doing it anyway and being ironic, but you do it equally well. You are a gorgeous monstrosity with words Hermes.
Hmm...a relative of mine is much like what you described of this man. He sounds as though he is trying to compensate for what he doesn't have in life...the relative I speak of buys people $50 dollar shots at a time, (God if I even know the name of these shots) but it's sad, because he just needs someone to hear him out and listen to his endless ramble of how rich he is...when he really isn't. His wife is.
Red Bull martinis? Hmm... What a contradiction......hyper and drunk at the same time.
Awesome writer! :) I love the picture you create for us.
Hear, Hear, Hermes!
TAKE IT TO GUNPOINT and maybe beyond. From (a brilliant) two complex peas in a complex pod to stranger in a strangeland.
And I agree, PUBLISH...you are a master.
Still makin' friends, huh?
Play nice.
Jeckles. I may now die in peace... unless that is... I made Shitty Blog of the MONTH. ;)
Red Egg. You seem familiar.
Anyhow, yes. He bought a very good listener.
G.D. And I could be typing this from a cramped cell while a tattooed behemoth named "Sonny" spoons me.
Snakehead. God.
Sealegs. It was a delight, his mustache. Almost as manly, authoritative, and sexy... as Tom Selleck's.
Ruksak. " You are a gorgeous monstrosity with words Hermes."
Now THAT is one of the best compliments I think I've gotten.
Wanna spoon?
Deb. Usually I go for the Red Bull and Jeager but I was feeling stylish and sassy.
Ma Dukes. Another wonderful compliment. Is it my birthday or something? Thanks for swinging by.
Steff. Fictitious non-friends are the best... so non-committal.
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