The other day I went on a weird, exhausting trip. I went over eight hundred miles so I could sit outside of one bar and get peer pressured and then sit inside of another bar and drink a glass of orange juice for two hours. After that, I went home. I was only there for five or six hours. I also ate some French fries and something called ,,Cheese bread sticks,, at a restaurant that had saddles for seats and offered an item called ,,Chicken rings,,.
I normally don,t hang out in or around bars because I get called a fag enough at home, but I did while I was there because everything else was closed. It was a Tuesday at six PM when I arrived and even the quilt shop had already shut its doors. The free museum too. I was planning on staying the night at one of the many great equine-themed motels but all of them were full because of a horse convention or something. I figured I was going to have to stay up all night or sleep in a discarded mound of chicken rings, so staying warm inside of The Wild Horse Saloon until two in the morning seemed like an alright idea.
The first bar I went to was called the Green Gander Bar. I didn,t actually go inside because I was driven away by one man,s repeated attempts to buy me a beer or mixed drink. He got mad when I politely declined and said, ,,Man, you need to start drinkin,. It makes it go a lot faster,,. He then told me a bunch of incorrect information about the area and then told me he used to work in a mine before he went to jail. Whoops. He said he was working now but didn,t tell me what he did so I,m guessing that means he,s a professional boxer of women that he is currently dating. I finally left the plastic bench in front of the Green Gander after he and two of his friends yelled incomprehensibly in my face after I turned down their friendly offer to ,,smoke a bowl,,.
Matmos - For Alan Turing
I then headed over the the beautiful Wild Horse Saloon. I like to think of it as more of a salon though. Not the hair kind of salon but the French philosopher kind. It was just a really great gathering of open minded people who were willing to exchange ideas about life, literature, art, and culture. When I arrived, three women were getting out of a truck, each with a beer in hand. I heard one of them say to another, ,,Bloody Marys won,t make you sick, they,ll just mess you up,, as they walked into the bar. The bartender was wearing a big black wig, very short denim shorts, and a big black hooded sweatshirt. Her body resembled a Fudgesicle. She kept calling me sweetie because she liked that I bought a one dollar glass of orange juice and didn,t tip her anything because I watched her put her ugly sausage fingers on my mouth,s end of the straw.
The patrons were all great. There was a man and a woman kissing passionately and it was everybody else,s job to watch them intently so as to make sure the image was burned into their brains for them to later recall when they were masturbating in their kids, bedrooms. There were a few people playing pool - a man and what I at first thought was a man but ended up being a woman. The man that wasn,t trying to trick me about being a man kept playing Marilyn Manson songs on the jukebox. Actually, it went from new country songs in which women sang about being one of the boys and drinking beer and having unprotected sex with strangers to club anthem rap songs to goth industrial mall metal. It was a very strange mix but I enjoyed all of my time there.
Eventually I had to leave because I was getting suicidal so I went to sit out in the cold. They had speakers outside to make sure I could hear what was playing inside. That was nice of them. I,m sad to be gone and I will miss all of it very much.
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