bar scene.

ASYLUM
The Great American Novel

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The Dollar supports you. Do you support it ?

TURKEY
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The Old Bat
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EGYPT
The Pyramids are Forever. Your life is not.

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Other People are Having Fun. Why miss out ?

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bar scene.

your average bar, with average fixtures, selling mediocre alcohol to everyday people. it has a dj, the dj's career is really going to be starting off any week now. he's still in college studying business tho. never a bad idea to have something to fall back on. like accounting. you get to know precisely how many times you failed. but that's not yet, for now he has some moves planned, he's connected to some people, his career is really going to take off. any week now.

much like agriculture is going to start paying big soon, ask any hillbilly. no such thing as being rendered obsolete by social development. certainly not to the same degree as djing.

the bar also has some bouncers. bouncers come in two standard kinds. strong and fat. the strong are the guys who eat the powdered food and then spend hours working out. the fat are the guys who eat the powdered food and then spend hours watching tv and thinking about working out. the bar's bouncers are mostly on the fat side.

other than that, theres a few undrinkable beers on draft, the usual assortment of alcohol in differently colored bottles sporting different labels, but mysteriously all 40%. ever wondered how come rum, vodka, scotch and gin can all have the same alcohol content ? other than the fact they are all made by the same cartel, using the same lines and the same industrial process, for the same people ?

a blond girl walks in, she's not bad looking, wears jeans and a cleavage blouse, not terribly overweight, no horns, no visible burn scars, no tracheoctomy, not even braces. college is coming to an end, and she will have to do something with her life soon. find a decent guy to get married to, have a couple of intelligent, loving children that will cost a couple million to get up to the age when they start smoking pot and getting aids. or maybe find a good paying job. or join the peace corps and go really make a difference, in trinidad. or maybe sit down and write that novel her life so far would warrant.

it would, seriously, like that one time she and her friend jumped over a fence and went inside the local chicken farm, to free all the chickens. they belong in the wild. turkeys too.

girl sits down at the bar, gets a beer. a small guy in a stripped shirt walks in. he's a junior vice president at a start-up venture, really a cheap way for his friend's father, the local alderman to keep his son out of scandal. for now. anyway, junior vice president. he even has cards saying junior vp on them. here, take one. take one !

every week he sits in his cheaply furnished vp cubical, thinking about today. saturday. the day he is finally going to convert four years of expensive education he didn't pay for, and his friend's relations and bad reputation, and even the kitchen sink if need be into a warm loving woman. the girl friend experience he has read about.

except he's too smart to pay a grand a day for that, like all the senior vice presidents. he's going to get better, for free. well, maybe for a few drinks and a couple nice dinners. the 1k a pop variety.

every week he thinks up hooks and writes them down in a special note pad. the notepad has red covers. friday he selects the best one, for use tomorrow. which means today. now. the time is here.

he turns to the girl. he says hi. she says hi. are we getting off on the right track here or what ? they chat for a bit. eventually she asks him what he does. this is his chance. his moment. he is going to forever change the way picking up in bars is done. he is going to be revered as a hero by all the other cubical dwelling twenty-or-so's. he is going to have his statue made out of styro cups.

he looks her straight in the eye, puts on his best crooked smile like he's seen redford or norris or that soprano guy, or i forget whom, and he delivers

"i'm a serial killer".

girl looks puzzled. good. she breathes in. suck it, bitch, thinks our unique vp. girl ponders the situation a moment, then stands up and walks out. she stops to talk to the bouncer on the way out.

the bouncer comes over. he wants to know what he told the girl. you could carve about two and a half junior vp's out of the powder fed bouncer. the intreprid pioneer in all that is bar hooking is a bit shaky. just like in school when the teacher was asking equivalent questions, his voice turns a bit whiny. he tells the bouncer he said he was a serial killer, but it was really just a joke, he's a junior vp at a start up business, he even has cards saying he is, here, take one. take one !

the bouncer takes the card and leaves. the small guy stares at his drink. in a few minutes the manager, this bald man in his forties, looking just like an ex junior vice president comes over

sir, i will have to ask you to leave
but why ? whines the current junior
because we have a zero tolerance policy towards serial killers.

everybody in this story dies. the bouncer and the manager die in a fire that consumes the bar hours later. faulty wiring. the dj gets electrocuted. the girl gets ran over by a truck. the junior vp walks the streets without looking because his eyes are too teary to see through contacts and he doesn't want to wear his glasses. he bumps into a black guy, who just happens to be the leader of a local aryan nation gang. the black guy is having some legitimity issues, so the trippin vp ends up buldgeoned, shot, grinded and smoked. in an actual glass pipe.

enjoy the rest of your life.

There's 16 more VP's than amoeba.

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