It was my idea, actually. I’ve been working in Paul’s office for three years now. I met him at the health club-- I recognized him, and we spent time working out together. When we learned that we finally had enough votes to repeal and replace, I suggested we have a kegger, right there in the Congressional chambers. Everybody knows Paul’s story, about dreaming for this moment, ever since he was going to keggers, back in college. So I arranged for the beer, the whole setup. We couldn’t actually have the party in the Capitol building. That was a bummer. But we moved the beer to a secure place, where we could let our hair down. That was just the beginning of all the fun.

Since they voted for a recess, a few of us decided to get really wasted. “We’ve got weeks to recover from this. Drink up!” Paul joked. I personally need a six pack, just to get off, so I made sure there was plenty to go around. There was a good number of people there, but not like, the whole crew. But Paul and I got really hammered, and when we discovered that we were the last guys standing, we took off and hit the town. We walked out into an evening sky. It never really gets dark in Washington. Otherwise, there might be all kinds of goons hanging out in the shadows.Our limo was waiting, but we decided to take a stroll, and told the driver to wait. Paul is a complete nut, when he is drunk. We passed offices occupied by Democrats, and Paul peed on all the doorknobs. "This is really cool when it's freezing”, he said. “We do it all the time in Wisconsin. A lot of Democrats there have to worry about stinky doorknobs there, that’s for sure!”

I was thinking more about picking up chicks. He’s married, after all, and he doesn’t have the same concerns that I do. We stopped at a night club for a while, and chilled out. We had a few sodas on the rocks. I cleaned the fog off my glasses, and noticed there didn't seem to be any women at all in the bar. The bartender was female, but I was starting to wonder about that. There wasn't very many reasons to stay there any longer, so we went outside again. We found a sign, that some guy left on the ground, that said, “Need $$. Need more beer!” So I picked it up, and we walked down the avenue, asking people for beer money. Most of the people snarled at us. They obviously thought we were actually scumbags that were begging, but one guy, some hippy looking fellow, he actually gave me a dollar and his card. It said, “For psychological support, call 1-800-GETHELP”. What a skeezy loser. It’s time we got riff raff like that off the street. There must be a lot of old mental hospitals that haven’t been torn down, to take fellows like him. Just tone down the regulations and ordinances, and you could recycle all that real estate in a hurry. Make them work for their food. They could build bird houses, or something.

Everything was going alright, until Ryan wanted to do the John MacInroe thing, from a movie he once watched, where MacInroe and Adam Sandler rode on the back of a garbage truck, and threw eggs at cadillacs. We bought a few boxes of eggs at a corner market. But we didn’t ruin anybody’s caddy. We just threw them at unemployed people that we saw on the street. It was a blast. We finally got tired, and the driver had become angry, and I thought he might attack us. So I called Security, and they handled it. They took us back to the limo, and the driver drove us home. Paul kinda messed up the limo, on the way back. But he really is a cool guy. He’s one of the few people that you would still like, if he threw up in your car.

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Comment by J.P. Hart on May 9, 2017 at 9:13am

Vast argument for THIRD PARTY!  Or would there be more to blame, that who stole second, that hidden ball trick off third, steal home, steal away, oh 'tis it the bunt signal, or what's that sign, my thoughts sublime, if it's the seventh inning stretch, that'll be me, back from the beer counter in time to sing (how's it go, comon' now for all the Marises, and Mickeys and DiMaggios, those Warrens, and Lous, dem skippers and Frankie Torres, those (all of those) 'at risk' Santiagos mad before their time, those third strikes like gateways to doom without a chance to swing like that fast chipper. It goes: take me out to the ball game, take me out to the park, buy me some peanuts and crack, er . . . Felix Mantillia. O those kids train top.  Need I stop?  Eddie Mathews. Johnny Logan. Stan Musical.  And how many guys with one arm waiting for the train? Hitchhikers with hooks. Lets take a look. First off (free at least) the remnant of the Democratic Parley ought change the J-ASS MASCOT --------------->to a PORPOISE.

Is your Janesville out in paperback Stevey Bridenbaugh ?  Will I find that faded photograph of the Knothole Club ?

No&no!  You'll find me over at Hart of the Deal (as words can be greedy! Look out for that Low Down!) cutin' pasting DR JERRY LEE LEWIS' BOBBY McGee BOOGY PIANAH' wherein HE ENDS WITH COCA-COLA. Oh, and, I once saw Andy Pafko make a summersault catch at full speed blurring from deep at the centerfield wall to no-mans land out behind second . . .


(pinch hitting for Hart who's wondered off looking for someone's new mowed lawn, you know, MIA)

Comment by JMac1949 Today on May 9, 2017 at 9:24am



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