A Think-A-Holic Holiday Greeting

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Bushwhacked by "Skywatchers"

This past Friday night, I waltzed into Think-A-Holic Lounge like a big-ass bird, fully expecting Angus McCloud (the Lounge's head bartender and the ghost of a dead Scottish poet) to be buying rounds for his regular patrons (like me). I expected this because, being a ghost, this was the eve of his absolute favorite holiday: Halloween. My brain was also in a receptive zone for the typical menu of cheesy Halloween movies that Angus always manages to find on Earth's many satellite channels. But I was in for a big surprise.

A short, independent video was playing over and over on the wide-screen TV, taking up only a square in the center of the big-ass screen. I wanted to ask Angus what the hell was going on but he was too busy buying rounds for anyone and everyone who lauded his video selection. I waited a full fifteen minutes before the ugly old spook got around to serving me a shot of think-a-hol and a bubbly chaser. When I asked him why this video was showing instead of a spooks-and-goblin movie or a movie about lascivious teens getting their just deserts from a mad slasher, the touchy old fart just took my money and replied.

"Well, hell, this is the latest video from that popular indie author from Earth," he said, as if that somehow answered my question. Before I could ask him another question he added, "You know how it is. If you're a science fiction author who makes funny videos instead of working on another novel, then you deserve a little sympathy, if nothing else. Now make nice."

How do you follow a line like that except with complete, dumbfounded silence? So, I nursed my think-a-hol, sipped my brewski and wished I was home watching "Halloween H2O" instead. No, not for the stupid story. For another peek at Jamie Lee Curtis, what else?

"Skywatchers", I thought to myself as I knocked back the rest of my think-a-hol and slugged down my draft, "what a ruse."

Thinking Cap

Not everyone who visits Think-A-Holic Lounge is a think-a-holic. Imbibing think-a-hol is not for everyone and doing so has always been an option here at the Lounge and it always will be. While a regular patron may offer to buy you a round of the ol' elixir, no one will ever ask you to try a dram or a shot of it against your will. Instead, Angus McCloud, the Lounge's big-ass head bartender (and the ghost of a dead Scottish poet) makes available, free of charge, the use of a thinking cap (see pic).

This is The Official Think-A-Holic Lounge Thinking Cap, patented on Pluto and sold exclusively to watering holes throughout the Milky Way Galaxy that cater to people who like to think. It's not made of any special material and you can't take it with you when you leave. But while you wear it, it makes you tackle your biggest problems and deal with your worst fears, which are more often than not figments of your own imagination.

Often times, donning our official think cap will make you confront your worst enemy, as well, who is almost invariably yourself. And, when you least expect it, The Official Think-A-Holic Lounge Thinking Cap will present you with new ideas about life and people and places that you'd never think about in a million years when you boldly go bareheaded about your own business as if it were the only game in town.

One size fits all.

Man in Black

Here's a little story I never told anyone before, not even Angus McCloud, the big-ass head bartender at Think-A-Holic Lounge, who is just about the best friend any science fiction author's alter ego could ever have. Bartenders are experts at listening to other people's problems and bullshit stories but I'd never, in a million years, lay this one on ol' Angus. Still, I need to get it off my chest before I head out to the Lounge tonight for a shot or two of think-a-hol and a refreshing bubbly chaser.

Anyway, about two years ago, on a Friday night around 8pm, Eastern Standard Time, Earth Time, I attempted to head out my back door to the Lounge when I was confronted by this... this... man in black... or whatever the hell it was. His formidable figure shadowed over me against the backdrop of the breeze way wall. The bright kitchen ceiling light only made him look more terrible to me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Unbeknownst to him, I secretly snapped his picture with my handy-dandy cell phone camera.

I thought he was one of those government assassins who off people who'd seen UFOs and blabbed about them, like I did more than once or twice on this blog. My god, I thought, a real Man in Black has come to eradicate me once and for all. But all he did was grunt a couple of words that sounded incredibly like "Mallo Cup".

Running to the candy dish I keep on the kitchen counter I returned with a Mallo Cup. Hell, I buy them by the ten-pack. But how did he know that? When I handed it to him he dropped it ceremoniously into the tiny pocket of his shabby black cardigan, tipped his hat and left.

I never saw this guy again but some weird old codger who looks a lot like him was tossed out of Think-A-Holic Lounge one night not long after this. But I put that out of my mind as I headed out to the Lounge, not wanting to be deterred. But, before I shut the door behind me, I ran back inside and grabbed two more Mallo Cups from the candy dish and slipped them into my coat pocket. You never know.

Chameleon, Part III

Concluding this little story, it was yet another Friday night at Think-A-Holic Lounge and I was eager as a beaver for another look at the Lounge's newest barmaid, Chameleon. By now, everyone knew she was a shape shifter hired by Angus, the big-ass head bartender at the Lounge, to extract money from us like a bubble gum machine containing a single, solitary, cherished prize amid all that common, everyday bubble gum. A prize nobody would ever win but one that would keep us all busy trying.

I arrived early and slid into a corner booth instead of mounting a stool at the bar like I'd been doing before the arrival of Chameleon, the shape-shifting barmaid, two weeks ago. I recalled how she first appeared as a shy, veiled and demure Persian beauty and then as a nun whose angelic face drove you to a premature guilt, a guilt that was only relieved by emptying your pockets onto her serving tray. As I sat there recounting the Solar folding money in my wallet that I had earmarked for tonight and the pocketful of Solar coins that were good anywhere in the Milky Way Galaxy, I entertained thoughts of what she might appear to be tonight. But before I could tally all my beverage, snack and tip money, she arrived (see pic).

Even though she didn't resemble either of her two former selves, I knew it was her. Her voice was the same and those eyes, those eyes said she was yours. All you had to do was show her how much you appreciated her. I knew that both Chameleon and Angus had gone too far this time. This is a lounge, not a strip bar. Still, her brazen new look told us lounge lizards that she knew what we really wanted. Some of us regulars had taken part-time jobs on top of our full-time jobs just to have enough tip money these days. One traditionally-published author I knew had even resorted to mowing lawns on the weekends just to finance his Friday nights at Think-A-Holic Lounge. When Chameleon finally arrived at my table and asked me what I'd have, her words flowed like buttermilk. I had to wet my lips before I could reply.

"A triple shot of think-a-hol and a schooner of brew," I said, stripping Solar Fins off my big roll like a banana peel, "and keep them coming."