LATE NIGHT IN THE PIT OF SOULS

One thing of which I am fairly certain is that intoxication does not allow a person to present herself in the best light. That's probably why bars have dim bulbs. The young lady on the other side of me, who I tried to ignore, was totally stinko. When she's sober, she's probably a star of a marketing department. Her friends had left her there and gone off to perhaps get some food at the Sun Hong Kong. I noticed them outside that restaurant later, which may have refused them service.

She told one of the other patrons that she hated, HATED, the song he had karaokied. An understandable sentiment, not diplomatic. But given that he didn't understand single a word she said, no foul.

Every time something in English came on, the white bitches sang.
The Chinese songs were either regulars, or left unsung.
The dice cups drowned out most of the noise.


Normally Jenny does not let Caucasians get so disgustingly drunk, but throws them out on their asses long before they hit that stage. She may have been merciful because it was raining. Soggy blotto slags might get pneumonia.


That's why I would make a lousy bar tender. At the first sign of tipsiness I'm tossing your drunken ass out. We cannot have that in here, this is a nice quiet establishment!

No fruity cocktails! No cheap American beers! No Jagermeister or Fireball! No pickled eggs! And absolutely NO vodka martinis!


You cannot stop here, this is bat country!

I welcome the coming cyborg age.

Yes, oil changes.

Batteries.


No, excessive drinking.



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