Friday, December 25, 2009

A Fine Gesture

He was a strange man. Socially awkward defined, with hops on his breath. Usually sitting alone at the end of the bar. Conveniently positioned in the closest seat to the taps that brought him the best and the worst of what this life had to offer.

Always watching as they poured so smooth and with such ease. Bubbles racing to the top only to be stopped by the foam that garnished his dinner, pint after pint, night after night.

We didn't speak much. Just a nod or a glance here and there, recognizing that we both were "locals". Usually just exchanging pleasantries, our few conversations consisted of agreements on politics, sports and the drink.

I, being only a mere patron of the house that he helped build. What did I expect? He was the CEO. He had a job to do. Whether helping with the keg changes, volunteering answers on video trivia or guarding the back door from pesky under agers, something always kept his nights busy.

He was a celebrity in his own right. His pictures adorn the walls and have for years. I had even heard that he was a genius, obviously eccentric, definitely stubborn.

And like a sitcom, he was welcomed by the audience night after night, but on the last episode when he entered stage left, he didn't utter a catchphrase. He simply raised his arm to the sky, fingers extended and palm turned in and asked for his final tab.



In Memory of
"Gesture" Steve Johnson

Thursday, August 27, 2009

A Blog Entry

Hello my long, lost blog and it's one or two readers that periodically check you or have rss feeds.

If you've been here before you might have noticed one of two things. The first being that I don't really post on here much anymore. Shit, who am I kidding, I don't really write much anymore for that matter. The second being, I changed the look.

I've had the same banner for a couple years and it was very cool, but I needed something different. I went the simple route. That's probably an understatement, but I like it. It's very clean.

I've missed the old blog world. Some of my favorite writers have blogs that I use to check religiously. I'm not sure what happened, but I think having a boring 9-5 helped keep me up to date with what everyone was doing and writing.

Anyway, my favorite bloggers are still on the right hand side, so check them out and hopefully I'll have something worth reading up here in a couple days.


Sincerely,

Johnny

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Something For Your Parents

Crazy fun life guy
I'm always fucking smiling!
Carpe Diem dude!

Nothing bothers me.
I'm serious, just try me.
Fuck! Stop doing that!

You say, "God hates fags." 
Maybe. Bet he hates you more. 
Eat a dick in hell!

Tip or die! Really. 
Alright. Only ten percent?
I know where you live.

Jesus Fucking Christ!
Stop saying, "Why have you changed?"
I only shaved man!

Sunday, June 07, 2009

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

It’s 11:17 am. I’m sitting in a small room that is painted completely white. It only contains a metal table and a few chairs and I’m already over three hours late to work. I was probably going to call in anyway, but I haven’t even been able to do that yet. The only reason that I know the time is because I’ve been asking the two men who have been interrogating me about every twenty minutes. I knew I shouldn’t have gone out drinking last night.


The officer's questions went a little like this, in no particular order:


“What time was it exactly when you “witnessed” this?”


“Where exactly on the road were you?”


“How fast were you going?”


“Were there any other passengers in the vehicle with you?”


“Was your view obstructed?”


“Where were you coming from when you saw this?”


“How much did you have to drink?”


“Why should we believe you?”


For starters all of my senses were obstructed. That’s what happens after 6, maybe 9 or more vodka tonics in about 5 hours. Fuck, I don’t even believe myself. And where the fuck is Mulder and Scully when you need them?


The alcohol had almost worn off by the time they dragged me in here, but it still seemed quite surreal. In my hung over state I told them my story over and over trying not to contradict myself and if I did, it was only because I had been up for over 24 hours and everything seems a bit jumbled when you’re trying to work off a drunk. Time lines get skewed and everything seems exaggerated, in this case, maybe not enough, but they already thought I was crazy and I didn’t want to push them any further in that direction.


At the same time, how do you tell a person other than Stephen King that you saw someone’s mid-section rip open up like the mouth of a great white and consume another human being without them thinking you’re crazy?


Apparently, they believed part of my story. They confirmed that someone was missing and an officer did find large amounts blood, flesh and hair on the sidewalk, along with a messenger bag and all of its contents strewn down the street. They used the phrase “foul play” in almost every other sentence.


After leaving me in the room by myself for another hour or so, they came back to inform me that there wasn’t any other eye witnesses at this time and I was their prime suspect until further investigation. I was booked and in a jump suit by dinner time.


And I never even got to make my fucking phone call.