We grabbed a seat at the bar and the mood was fairly quiet, but the weirdness started almost immediately. The bartender was smiling at us and while we futilely attempted to determine how we knew the man, he announced that he was the same bartender from the Tiburon, and that no one was over there since we had left and that he had decided to follow us to the neighboring bar and serve us drinks there as well. Okay...sure, why not. I honestly don't remember if there was a Don's John bartender working, but I was fairly certain that our personal bartender was as loaded as we were.
We began to sip our final cocktails of the evening, when I glanced down to my left and noticed an Australian Cattle Dog hanging out in the bar and staring at me with intent disinterest. "Hey sweetie, check out that cool little puppy," I said in a voice that sounded remarkably like Barney Gumble from the Simpsons. Amy saw the dog and said, "Hi doggie," in the female equivalent voice of Barney Gumble from the Simpsons, and apparently that was all Timmy the Drunk needed to pull up a seat next to me and begin to tell us his stories.
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| Donist after six or seven vodka tonics. |
Now, usually I would just give anyone that was rude enough to butt into a private conversation the evil eye, and possibly tell them to bugger off, but that night I was Jolly Drunk Man and smiled when Timmy the Drunk joined us at the bar.
"Oh...that there is Willie, he's always here with me," Timmy said, gesturing to the dog.
"Really? He's a cool dog," I said, with all of the seriousness and intelligence that I could possibly muster.
"Yeah," said Amy, doubly so.
"You know...Willie really knows how to please the ladies...if you know what I mean," said Timmy in a shouted whisper.
"Wait...what?" I said, definitely not knowing what he meant.
Timmy raised an eyebrow and with a devilish grin said, "Let's just say that Willie has pleasured about 90% of the women that I have been with from here. You know...orally."
I looked around the bar at the few women in attendance and sobered slightly. Amy's eyes were as big as tea cup saucers as she stared at the slightly annoyed looking diminutive dog.
"Yup, he definitely has a way with the ladies."
At this point I started laughing and held my cocktail to the air in honor of Willie, who looked as if he would prefer to be eating a bowl of kibble or possibly pleasuring "the ladies" instead of being there. When I had first seen the dog, I wanted to get up to go pet him, but after the little tale of Willie's exploits I decided against the action and remained in my seat to finish my drink.
Timmy ended up hanging at the bar and telling us how he used to work at a horse stable, and about all of the hot, rich women that he would bed during those days, as if he were a modern day Lady Chatterley's Lover or something. He also said that the women paid him for his services, and in looking at Timmy, I could only assume that the time that he was reflecting upon was many, many moons ago.
At this point, the creep-out factor began to push its way above the surface of the many vodka tonics and Amy and I excused ourselves for the evening to go outside and catch a cab home. "Goodbye Willie," we chanted as we stumbled out the door and laughed until we were barely able to stand. Now that I think of it, I should have asked the little Australian Cattle Dog for a tip or too, god only knows I could always use some help "pleasing the ladies."
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| I is very good at making the sexy time with the ladies. Know? |
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