The reason you can’t teach an old dog new tricks is because the dog knows that old tricks work quite well, and sees no reason to change. For the uninformed, I am an old dog, and I have a whole bag of tricks, most of them that have led me to many divorce courts that eventually allowed me to own about fifteen percent of myself. When I screw up there are usually two factors that play heavily into the formula for a disaster, exhaustion, and beer. Yeah, I really just said that. That’s why I’ll never succeed in politics. I tell the truth even when it makes me look stupid.
So it was last night at my little hide away. Hide away is an oxymoron. Killeen has a population of just over one hundred thousand, but there are only about one hundred actually from here, and they all know each other. I’m sitting there with a pitcher of beer, thinking I’m hidden while cell phones buzz all over town discussing where I am, what I’m saying, and who I’m with. There are certain prerequisites that are required when one is “Pub-Hiding,” the first being that you simplymust lie to your significant other when the inevitable call comes inquiring as to your location. You run outside to the smoking porch so she can’t hear the juke box, and you tell her you are at a sandwich shop.
Now, this is how my mind works when I drink a pitcher of beer. I can discuss the intricacies of secession, but forget that I’m at a Bar and GRILL, when my beloved tells me to bring her a sandwich. The word you’re looking for here is, “drunk.” All I had to do was have Mamasan, the bar keeper to throw a burger on, and sack it up, and I wouldn’t have had a problem, but there was one more factor involved. When one decides to step out it is obligatory to stop by and pick up a fool to go with you. Naturally he has a lot to say, but the man can talk for an hour and not say anything. And he never shuts up! So, there I sat, drinking beer and listening the Emperor of the world explaining to me why I’m paying for all the beer.
Then then repeat phone calls commence. This is the other factor. My “Sniff the Other” always asks the same question, “Look out the window, tell me what you see.” Well, as I pointed out, I thought I was hidden, and simply couldn’t tell her what I saw was a neon sign flashing, “BEER, BEER, BEER!” As my reason slowly melted into the pitcher there before me, my lies became more elaborate, and of course the fool is texting her, finking me out at every turn. Now, before I get the Mad Mothers mad at me I wasn’t snot slinging drunk, I was more a mellow, stupid kind of drunk. I mean, I looked sober, but as my Puerto Rican friend, Juan would say, “I ain’t even gonna lie to chu!” I would not have showed up at the policeman’s ball at this point.
I finally got home, got into a big argument about the sandwich, left, and found my way to the fool’s house, where he continued to discuss everything from the Kennedy assassination to Pepsi, and the beer began to wear off. Funny how you turn a mental corner when the beer wears off. When he went to the rest room, I went to the car and took my silly butt home!
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