|The Transformation Story Archive||The Blind Pig|
Standard Bar Fare
It was near last call when a loud crash jolted everyone from their drunken haze. The piano bench had fallen, Jack was trying to stand...again.
"Gimme another drink, will ya Donnie?" Said Jack, a tinge of desperation in his voice.
The bartender slowly shook his bovine head and pointed towards the door.
"What! Shut off again! Well, I've been refused a drink in finer dumps than this!"
"Yeah, much better than this...I used to be somebody. Now, I'm a cartoon character. Surrounded by cartoon characters. None of you are real." "Make sure you write that down in your little black book, Stinkybo...ahh, forget it."
Initally heading for the door, Jack's aim was off, and he crashed into an alcove. The other patrons were disgusted by the sound of wretching. Finally, Jack staggered to the center of the room and leaned on the pool table.
Maybe I shouldn't have puked in that potted plant, Jack thought, gawd, I hope it's not somebody I know. I'm such an ass.
Then he noticed everyone staring at him, and right on cue...
"Yeah, sure. All the mule wants is one more drink. But no, That's too much to ask. I remember when I was a normal, so I drink to forget. Hay, I made a joke! Why ain't you laughing?
The sound of the ice machine was his reply.
Aaah! What are you all looking at? Don't give me any of that crap! That's why you all drink.
Jack again started towards the door, but only reached the far end of the pool table. He turned to face the bar and with a derisive snear spat out his words.
Loosing his grip on the edge of the table he took a few steps, stumbled, and toppled over, hitting the floor with a resounding thud.
"Down in my cups, down on my luck, and down on the floor." mumbled Jack.
As he groped his way back towards the end of the pool table he encountered an obstacle.
"Huuh..Nice shoes, size thirteen? Dr. Bob? Come on, get outta my way, will ya? Can't you see I'm on a mission."
As Jack crawled under the pool table, a coment was heard from the back of the room, "Go home and sleep it off!"
"I am home you drunken lout! Jack sobbed. Now leave me alone, I just wanna sleep."
After a brief pause, along with the clink of glasses, the normal bar chatter resumed.
A dun brown leg ending in a hoof slid out from under the pool table, followed by muted snoring.
And in the dreamless sleep of drunkards, Jack found his refuge, while Donnie turned off the lights.
Standard Bar Fare copyright 1997 by Jack deMule.
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