And now in the realm of completely inexplicable things, there’s been this strange phenomenon at “Work”, as opposed to “The Library”, “The Marriage Counseling Center”, or “Church.” (Ed.: If you don’t what the fuck I just said, ask Moose.) Anyway, one day I’m sitting at the The Rail, and River Rat yanks out this gigantic bottle of Hawaiian Punch from the cooler. I don’t think I’ve seen that shit since I was 12. Or 38. Who knows. So I ask, “what the fuck?” River Rat proceeds to explain that someone brought in a whole bunch of Hawaiian Punch. It might have been Tumbleweed, I don’t recall.
“What do you mean a whole bunch?”
“I mean a whole bunch.”
Note Big Black looking on in curiosity. And what the hell is that middle one. Hawaiian Punch Light!? Seriously? Sure — instead of feeding your kids scoopfuls of sugar, let’s just pump them up with artificial chemicals instead.
“Here”, River Rat says, as he polishes off a pony of punch …
“Yah know, River Rat … that would make an excellent hat.”
“Indeed it would, Steakhouse, indeed it would.”
And there you have it. Is there nothing The Rail can’t do?