Mescaline Franklin, Big Ron and The Violence Guy were at the Shamrock, and drinking too much.
Whose fault was it?
This writer is a mere transmitter of knowledge, berift of agency.
Mescaline Franklin does not actually exist—blameless!
Big Ron? Well, said he didn't "sample them big titties yet, but I will If I get the chance," and the big man is therefore innocent according to Clintonian Ethics.
I look into my paperwork this morning, while not suffering from the hangover that should be mine punishment and find this, explaining the extra money in the pauper pocket that fueled this white trash jubilee:
"I'd rather be funding the LaFond drinking and wenching club than putting another few shekels in the pocket of that wall-eyed bastard Bezos."
-Shep, from the Upper Left Coast
Therefore, drumroll, Shep and the $20 bill he mailed me, along with the last one he mailed me, is to blame for our inebriation—Shep and Andrew Jackson's ghost are guilty of inspiring the next volume in Big Ron's notorious urban life:
It Doesn't Matter If You Don't Care
This revelation came on the heels of Ron teasing the young, pink-haired, pear-shaped man tending bar, who Mescaline declared was a Bug Man, the moniker by which Ron thence addressed the young fellow when he made such inquires as, "So, are you fucking any of these old women yet?"
Scandalized, the young fellow said, "No!" and I asked in a fatherly way, "So what do you look for in a woman, what is most important?"
Bug Man: "That we have a common interest."
Big Ron: "For instance, if you're both into big tits?"
Bug Man: "No!!"
Mescaline: "Let me ask you, would you date a black woman?"
Bug Man: "How is that even a relevant question!?"
The three psychic predators than laughed like stoned gargoyles and the young fellow drifts away, disturbed of aspect, as Mescaline Franklin opined, "Oh, we definitely need a cull. This generation of Bug Men, if they reproduce, can you imagine what kind of world that will be?"
Big Ron: "Yeah, more unfulfilled women for me!"
More stories then began to roll from the urban tongue and, maxed out at 500 pages, there was no more room for more Big Ron in Big Ron's biography—so I asked for a title.
Welcome to Harm City, White-Boy
Dawn in Dindustan
Conducting the Moral Autopsy 0f a Nation
Calling him a bug man to his face! Good times!
For about 3 of the 6 hours we were there.
Always glad to be a patron of the arts and help the creative juices flow!