At the back of the hill

Warning: May contain traces of soy, wheat, lecithin and tree nuts. That you are here
strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton.
And that you might like cheese-doodles.
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Wednesday, September 24, 2014


I am a very bad man. The other evening at our local cigar bar I kept a gentleman visiting from the East Coast enthralled and engaged for nearly five hours, till at last he stumbled out with six expensive whiskies in his system, barely even capable of functioning.
His wife only had one glass of wine.
And lots of ice water.

I thoroughly enjoyed myself (two drinks).
And he also enjoyed himself (six).
She didn't (only one).

When I've recently had a sufficiency of caffeine, I can be charming, and a fascinating conversationalist. This is something it took me years to realize. And I can be quite evil; I knew that all my life.

Whenever it looked like she was fed up and planning to take him away, I made sure to involve her in the discussion, and winkle out her well-considered opinions about matters. A few references to typical girlie things -- television shows, politics, and hot tubs -- plus some witty yet insightful remarks, and she became fully vested again. Then I would subtly change the subject, and observe while she lost interest, turned away, grew bored, and eventually so grumpy that she wanted to drag her husband out by the scruff of his tipsy neck.

Whereupon I would repeat the involving process.

I go there to smoke a pipe. Other men go there to huff expensive cigars. Most women come along with their husbands or boyfriends out of a completely idiotic belief that it is a properly companionable thing to accompany their man to a place he likes.

Which is wrong.

I honestly like women.

But it's a smoking environment, and to me whiskey and tobacco must invariably mean conversation. Otherwise you might as well just hunker down on the stoop and spit at the seagulls in your own neighborhood.

Good wifey behaviour is stupid and irritating.
Especially if you do not smoke.
And have little to say.

Considering how generously the bar-keep poured that man his drinks, it is quite likely that he woke up with a screaming headache, and a still bitter blonde boiling over with resentment. I paced myself, and also drank plenty of coffee, I did not have a hangover at all.
Or any feelings of guilt or remorse.
It was absolutely lovely.

His wife is probably still furious at him right now. Without feeling any ill-will towards me, because as I mentioned before, I can be charming, as well as a fascinating conversationalist.
If only her stupid husband had not gibbered in his cups!
There would have been so much more to talk about.
It could have been a wonderful evening.
Instead of a drunken mess.
Five hours plus.

I am a very bad man.

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