Francheesie, Anyone?

For amusement, we decided to go to Old Timers to see if Dawn was working. Dawn is the saucy bartendress who has amorous affections for Double D' Wicked. Dawn is famous for threatening Double D' Wicked with a French tickler and a strap-on dildo the size of a brush master chainsaw as she simultaneously kicked us out of the bar and cut up an eight ball with a straight razor whilst six angry construction workers looked on and sipped beer from sweaty pitchers. Hoping to make amends with Dawn, we decided now was the time for healing and made our way across Michigan Avenue to that dank hole frequented by denizens and painted ladies of the night. With the Crafty Weasel--who is an amazing diplomat--in tow, we helped M'Arcy chain Busby to a bike rack and the Mayor of Moneytown confidently lead our entourage into the choice establishment pictured below. Fortunately, Busby never suffered from separation anxiety.

The scales of Justice did not tip in our favor. Sadly, Dawn was not working that night. But oh, guess who was. That's right. The Rack. As evidenced in the photo below, her attitude was present and accounted for.

What would a visit to Old Timers be without ordering a tasty canteen of split-pea soup, or crinkly fries? As the amazing Jan Gleiter, author of The House by the Side of the Road, and Lie Down with Dogs remarked, "They know to keep the oyster crackers coming when you order split-pea soup. I should know. I order it." Indeed. So does the Escape Goat, who has a sensitive palate when it comes to split-pea soup. As a vegetarian she says, NO! to ham. You will find no unwelcome slab of ham in your spilt-pea at Old Timers. However, spilt-pea is not for everyone. The Crafty Weasel claims it makes his stool a rare and beauteous emerald color, so he opted for a safer alternative--crinkly fries. Note his immaculately groomed cuticles. We won't discuss the placemat. Guess what else you can order at Old Timer's? A francheesie. Weird.

As you can see, Double D' Wicked was surprisedly all smiles once it was indeed confirmed that Dawn was conspicuously absent. Damn! We were hoping to score free pitchers and fries, especially with the Crafty Weasel onhand. The Crafty Weasel is the fry eating champion of North America; below he displays his unparalleled talent. One. Fry. At. A. Time. Don't let his boyish charm and all-American good looks fool you. When he opens his mouth his lips recede and he becomes a black hole. If you fall in you will implode. Leonard Susskind bungee jumped from the Weasel's incisors into his mouth and bounced back intact, clenching the revolutionary concept of string theory in his hands, white knuckle tight.

It turned out that we chose an opportune moment to seek refuge in Old Timers. It started to hail angrily. Spring hail is nice, but sobering. You always feel a sense of peril. Especially if you know anyone who has been brained by a ball of hail. Do you? We looked out the windows on a melancholy scene. Silently, we all questioned our mortality, but would not be instructed in how deep / Was the forgetful kingdom of death.

If your spit didn't disipate before it hit the ground, you'd be convicted of murder; ptyalizing from the top of the Empire State Building like Nan Talese. In another hemisphere, the Burj Dubai impaled the sky.

Buses came and electricity crackled in neon tubes...


Hail pounded puddles, inches deep...

A bad glass lamp (and its ghost) haunted the corner of a concrete slab at a place where two lines meet to make a 90 degree angle.


But we just sat and admired the sea anemones. Like a Billie Holiday album cover.

Then rolled them up and smoked them.

The sea anemone prompted the Mayor to practice her Zen meditation. However, this tranquil moment was rapidly replaced with one of the Mayor's typically tyrannical diatribes.


Predictably, it did not take long for Sybil to emerge from the pleasantries. Below she is seen confrontationally threatening, "If you ain't screaming 'WEST SIDE,' you can get the fuck on!"


The Crafty Weasel and Double D' Wicked reacted with mixed emotions. Double D' Wicked sought to suppress the terse situation by offering the Mayor a sea anemone laced cigarette as a peace offering. Faux Pas! The Mayor is a card carrying PETA member who refuses to smoke sea anemones. The Mayor promptly backhanded the sea anemone laced cigarette out of Double D' Wicked's hand. The Crafty Weasel simply looked on incredulously. Wisely, he recognized that--without Henry Kissinger--defusing the situation would be impossible.

Finally, the Mayor accepted a glass of piss, and all was right.

Double D' Wicked and the Crafty Weasel decided that the best escape route was to turn their attention back to the rapidly depleting plate of fries. Mmmm. Freedom never tasted so salty. "Tee-Hee-Hee," giggled the Crafty Weasel like a little school girl, "You'll never eat as many fries as me."

Tempers flared no longer, and the Mayor finally put her grievances aside to pose with the Crafty Weasel and our surly bartendress. All was right in the world. Especially for the Crafty Weasel...

Finally! A break in the weather. No more hail, just soggy sidewalks. Time to go.

Apart from the fact that me, the Sly Little Minx, and the Mayor ended up in a booze-fueled argument in the cab on the way home, the evening was an overall success. You will be pleased to hear that--although we didn't speak to one another for at least a week--we have since made amends.