ZUKI USES OLD SHRIMP COCKTAIL PLOY…….gala affair stains clowder of women

before chunks flew

before chunks flew

Good Morning Dispassionate Urbanites,

Well I had an interesting evening last night.  Some would even say ‘swanky’ as ole zuki donned a tuxedo. I shared my good fortune with the lifeless curmudgeons at the bar, and of course since there was nothing going on in their own pathetic lives they turned my good luck into one of their homosexual fantasies. It was sort of weird.

I’d forgotten how good I look in a tux, although this time the cummerbund wasn’t fastened like a jock strap! I was invited to attend the “Harvest Moon Ball”.  This little soiree’ was sponsored by a singles group offering spots for 400 women and 400 men 35 years or older held at the downtown Marriott. The black tie affair cost me $175 not including the $100 for the tux rental; a bit steep given my impecuniousness.

But what the hell, it’s not every day I get to mix it up with Denver’s single upper crust. Plus the proceeds go to “Camp Fire USA.” I’m not sure, but I think it’s the PC version of the Camp Fire Girls! Good God, I’m giving money to Camp Fire Girls and little boys that want to be CFG! I suspect there’ll be no end to it in my lifetime, so I straightened my bow tie, took another critical look in the mirror and with a wink headed out the door.

Ironically given my dress and the nature of my trip I couldn’t help but feel lessened somehow letting myself in through the passenger side door to unlock the driver’s side. I got over this ongoing indignity and headed downtown listening to the hard driving blues of Buddy Miles goin’ through “Them Changes.” I pulled into valet parking and ignored the shit eating smirk from the kid taking my keys, and decided not to tell him about the passenger side door; “fuck him” I thought, the little asshole brought it on himself!

Invitation in hand I confidently strode into the hotel following the welcome signs up the escalator to the City Center Ballroom that housed the “Harvest Moon Ball.” It was the first time anyone actually collected my invitation. I hardly noticed the person as I stared with mouth agape! Countless evening gowns with shinny women were everywhere! I saw more cleavage than a stroll down the beach! I must say everything was first class and was immediately offered a shrimp cocktail.

Everyone looked fabulous! But to tell the truth I was feeling a wee bit intimidated. I’d dripped a big glob of shrimp cocktail sauce after a double-dip and the water stain hadn’t yet dried leaving a dark wet spot on my jacket. I told myself I’d been through formal affairs before and had performed brilliantly so gird up your loins, and in the words of one of our own, “I’m going in!”

It was supposed to be a singles event, but it seemed to me most had coupled up. It was my first ‘singles’ event and I quickly learned the meaning of ‘snooze you lose.’ Odds being stacked against me anyways I approached a woman that looked to be in her mid to late forties (you never know these days given the magic of plastic) chatting with two other women. She was stunning. She wore a floor length black gown with a neckline offering a generous view of her succulent goodies combined with a long slit down the side that flashed agonizingly brief glimpses of her long toned legs. I immediately morphed into ‘Cliff Claven.’ I couldn’t have anticipated spitting an unusually large sliver of shrimp that hit her chin while asking her to dance!


Abject horror best describes the look on her face at being snapped from what was probably a pleasant conversation with friends to being blindsided by a piece of shrimp launched from the same source as my introduction.  She brushed the ‘ickky’ away as if it were a spider and immediately shook her head “no” turning her back on me to emphasize her reply. Seconds later the three women broke out in hysterical laughter glancing back at me as I looked for a crack to crawl into.

I thought this sort of thing was left at the high school gym not at this point in life! It was like being sixteen all over again! All I could do is draw upon the only response that saved face in those days. I got the unfortunate woman’s attention and said, “That’s okay, I had to take a shit anyway;” did a military about face and walked away.

The little bastard valet finally brought my car around and purposely held the door open telling me about my broken door handle. I was prepared with a $5 tip but noticed he’d adopted the same condescending smirk and asked, “early evening sir?” I pocketed the fiver and jumped in offering the universal gesture with a smirk of my own.

All in all though I highly recommend the shrimp cocktail!


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and this was after arrest

and this was after arrest

Good Morning Slubbering Do-gooders,

Traumatic events typically happen suddenly with little or no warning.  But other times we face dire circumstances gradually.  What I mean by that is we see trouble coming and convince ourselves we’ve got time to address it later and look the other way.  One of the advantages of being a member of ‘Curmudgeon Corner’ is that one knows how to push the right buttons to exact a particular reaction.

Everyone could see it coming but could never believe we’d see this sort of violence in our lifetimes let alone last night.  One of our own (Bagwan) faced this kind of life changing event last night and narrowly escaped accountability.  The two or three of you reading this pussy willow wouldn’t be surprised to know his brush with culpability came at the hands of Bacchus.

As is the case most days the rules committee had an emergency meeting at Blondie’s to discuss the current record setting stock market.  Initially there was a spirited interchange with the normal hyperbole but it quickly escalated from reasonable to an ugly confrontation between Roger the Hairdresser and our own Bagwan.   RTH was no match for the grizzled holy man and mercilessly ground him to dust!  The humiliation RTH experienced was beyond most people’s ability to be civil.  The tension created caused the entire bar to quiet and focus on ‘curmudgeon corner’ no doubt smelling blood.  They didn’t have to wait long.

In a blink of an eye, RTH rushed the Bagster flailing his little emaciated arms but the nimble Bagwan ducked under his clumsy attempt to deck him.   Not wishing to hurt our Coiffure he whipped out his cell phone just as RTH took another drunken swipe at the wily name dropper.  Ducking the blow without disengaging his ear from the phone, he called the police.

As it normally does in our in-fighting the ensuing minutes that followed while waiting for the cops found an apologetic  RTH feeling sorry for his actions against his friend and wept to be forgiven.  This sort of ruckus is typical and most times all is forgotten the next day when viewed through a sober perspective.  But this time the hairdresser’s humble plea was met with contempt as our highly incensed member of the rules committee directed the police officers to our grieving friend and demanded he be arrested!

Speaking for the bar in general, nobody saw this coming!  Seeing this side of the more successful members of our group was both revealing and disturbing.  We watched in utter disbelief as the little man got cuffed and led out the door.

THIS IS UNCONSCIONABLE!  Bagwan walks away unscathed and unpunished for his part in the melee and as the squad car departed, his attorney suddenly appeared and seemed to be taking statements.  While I can’t be certain and have no direct proof I thought I saw the attorney giving money to several patrons still shocked by it all.  Amazingly he did not experience one repercussion for being drunk and disorderly.  He aggravated RTH beyond anyone’s ability to be silent, and then calls the cops on him!  Jeez.

However that’s not the story here!  Not only did he avoid owning up to his own complicity, he really didn’t think he did anything wrong!  In speaking with the Chief of Police John Collins about the case, his only response was “He’s a very lucky man.  Had the little guy punched him (Bagwan) with the diminutive one’s full force, he could have bruised him or possibly worry him to death!”

Roger the Hairdresser made bail but there are deep divisions at curmudgeon corner and I don’t think they’ll change anytime soon as both men are proud and refuse to give an inch.   Plus the Bagwan still plans to press charges because the vast majority witnessing the bizarre wind-milling swings remember that night quite differently than I do.  Without calling anyone a liar I did refuse to take money for interpreting the events a bit differently.  But to be completely honest here, they flat out didn’t offer enough money because I can always be bought!

I approached Bagwan days later and asked him how he feels about the chasm created due in large part to his bullying of our dear friend.  With a knowing smirk he said, “I’m just grateful I can get back to my life as an egocentric horses ass bent on silencing the stupid.”  While a noble cause to be sure, it serves notice to the rest of us that power and money will win out over righteous indignation every time!


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JUST JOE IS WHIPPED SENSELESS…..happy birthday my aching back

JJ Takes Another Rotation

JJ Takes Another Rotation

Good Morning Shadows of Anatine,

“I came from a real tough neighborhood. Once a guy pulled a knife on me. I knew he wasn’t a professional, the knife had butter on it.” ― Rodney Dangerfield

Just JOE’s birthday was celebrated by me and my sons who euphemistically refer to him as “Uncle Joe” which seems to be fine with our beloved associate.  We treated JJ to an evening of gluttony and drink at ‘Steak 10’ one of his favorite dining experiences.  Everyone working there knows Joe as he’s a frequent patron and is always generous and quick to compliment endearing him to the wait staff.

We were seated in George’s section which was much to JJ’s liking because George is his favorite waiter.  This symbiotic relationship is founded upon Ouzo which George likes to deliver regularly throughout the meal and in Greek fashion lead us in a loud “OOOOPPAAA!” Ouzo is particularly nasty and foul tasting; rarely sipped and done as a shooter.

George knowing it was JJ’s birthday was more attentive than usual keeping the licorice swill flowing at a rapid pace and judging from my own besotted perspective, was quickly overwhelming the very fine Pinot Noir I had ordered.

Unlike their drunken father, my sons no longer drink like frat-boys and began passing the shots of Ouzo to JJ who pounded them down like he was in a contest!  As usual the steaks and lobster bisque were excellent so the evening continued with increasing decibel levels clearly indicating everyone was having a good time.  That said though, the adjacent table was occupied by a young couple and what I assumed to be the parents of one of them.  They didn’t appear to be enjoying our revelry.

JJ eventually dominated the conversation and was hell bent on sharing the accounting of his recent trip to the Southeast.  Evidently and much removed from JJ’s normal behavior, he had met a sturdy looking woman named Pricilla.  According to JJ she is a bartender in Ashville, NC and greatly enjoys whips and leather.  This intrigued our boy to the point of meeting her after her shift.

The anecdote had us spellbound!  This encouraged JJ to the point he was nearly screaming the story in great detail.  “I have to tell you guys her tits barely fit in the black leather holster and eventually bounced out of containment while whipping my bare ass!”  This was the last straw for the group next to us and asked to be reseated.

The only available seating was upstairs in the ‘Alibi Room’ but they gratefully accepted the offer and made the sojourn upstairs.  We all snickered and chortled at the situation as the wait-staff quickly removed the plates and glasses transferring it all to the ‘Alibi Room.’  I looked at Joe to see his reaction and was surprised to see he was not amused.  Instead tears welled up in his eyes, his lower lip pouting and quivering; obviously troubled by this turn of events.

“What’s wrong Joe?” I inquired.  “I ruined their evening” JJ bemoaned, “I need to go upstairs and apologize to those good people,” and with that finished off his last round of Ouzo.  He wiped his chin and made his way to the stairs.  My sons tried to tell him no harm was done and to sit down to finish his meal, but he would have none of it.  So we finished the last morsels and noshed on bread while awaiting Joe’s descent.

We didn’t have to wait too long.  There was an explosion of broken glass mixed with bellowing expletives and a final thud as JJ fell down the stairs landing on his back facing the ceiling.  Rushing over to his side my Fireman son quickly assessed the damage and determined JJ had broken his leg.

It took my boys along with the Paramedics to lift him onto the gurney but was struck by JJ’s last words before exiting the restaurant.  He said, “Remind me to finish the story about Pricilla….you should see what she can do with the whip handle…”  Jeez


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THE NEW APOSTLES CREED……christianity embraces lebowski

"The Dude"

“The Dude”

Good Morning Apostles of Happenstance,

Last Sunday was a beautiful morning.  The air was filled with the sweet aroma of fresh dog shit mingled with just a smidge of stale beer.  Not a cloud in the sky and found myself actually excited about stepping foot into a house of worship.  You’re probably saying to yourself, “zuki in church?  The end must be near!”  I’m hip.  Leaving my fortunes to chance has not been working out.  Powerball has not been reliable, so I humbled myself to ask God about throwing me a bone.  It was pretty much as I expected; stained glass, beautiful architecture and gardens, and filled with people seeking forgiveness.  There was a lot of competition so I was prepared for sack cloth and ashes.

Dee-Dee and Buster showed up as planed and we enjoyed a mini-tailgate party of Bloody Mary’s and peanut butter cookies.  Predictably Dee-Dee’s affinity for Vodka again reared its ugly head and began to pound BMs like it was the last days!  She was trashed before we even went inside!  Buster was not amused and got rubber leaving Dee-Dee in a huff.

The Bagwan was supposed to have joined us but was at the last minute unavoidably detained texting his apologies.  I highly suspect his ego got in the way as he’s been heard to say, “Thou shalt not have any other Bags before me” and like a petulant child refused to take part in our brush with God.

We arrived a few minutes late but found seats at the back of a large auditorium that must seat close to 7,500 souls.  The non-denominational Pastor was of the charismatic school of delivery and you could hear a pin drop!  Everyone was dialed into the holy man’s words.  He focused on ‘The Apostles’ Creed.’ Evidently put together around 100 AD, the creed expressed exactly what a Christian believes.  His well rehearsed words riveted my attention to the stage as he went through it line by line.

Then he said something that snapped me out of it.  At first I couldn’t fathom what I had just heard.  I thought the good Pastor mentioned Lebowski more than once, but refused to allow this blasphemy to enter my head, so I leaned in closer to see if he’d say it again.  He did.  In fact he emphasized much of the script almost verbatim!  I initially didn’t notice, but everyone was given a handout with the new Creed printed in calligraphy styling as if it was from Gutenberg’s Bible.

“…say what you like about the tenets of National Socialism, Dude, at least it’s an ethos.” I had no idea the cult movement inspired by the film had worked its way into mainstream Christian doctrine!  I guess I’ve been living in a cave and pardon my ignorance, but when did this happen?  I’m sure those of you that embrace Christianity could provide us with a timeline as well as the leadership group adopting the re-wording of this important statement of faith.  I’ve always maintained that my responsibility to the smattering few reading this forum is to not only document the inane, but to pass along breaking news as well.  As a service to the two or three of you reading this epistle the following is a copy of ‘The New Apostles’ Creed:


I believe in Lebowski, Mother of Frogs,

The maker of suspicious frozen drinks that embody

Heaven and earth, and in ‘The Jesus’ his nemesis 

through Immaculate conception; born to a hooker on 44th Ave. 

He suffered under the yoke of persecution while watching

planes crash into the mountain. 

Was crucified by Jackie Treehorn and was dead.  He arose

on the third day relieved it was just a dream.

I believe ‘Dude’ was guided to Maude destined to beget

The chosen one, from thence shall judge the living and the dead.

I believe in White Russians.

 My friends I know we’ve had an abundance of good natured debate as to the relevancy of ‘The Big Lebowski’ and don’t wish to diminish the fine points so eloquently presented by Just JOE, but given the “new shit that has come to light” it should be clear to all that one’s very salvation depends on adopting the New Apostles’ Creed, I think we “can close the file on this one.”


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BAGWAN IS SICK & TIRED OF REPACKAGING…….unwashed gets lesson in phrasing

Take a GOOD look!!

Take a GOOD look!!

Good Morning Bibliophobes,

Bagwan’s genuine concern for we the unwashed has no boundaries.  Even rising from his sick-bed, he cares that you and I come off well informed and articulate!  We’re overjoyed and it’s with great humility I present Bagwan’s further truth & light–please enjoy:


I was reading an old novel the other day and came across the word “rapscallion.” I liked the sound of it but I don’t remember ever hearing it used before. Well I looked it up and I’ll be darned if it isn’t a great moniker for Zuki.

That got me to thinking about words and phrases that I have heard used in my lifetime that I don’t hear anymore. “Groovy” and “far out” come to mind, although I hope I never said either one. I haven’t heard anyone called a “prig” recently but in my circles you are much more likely to run into a prick rather than a prig.

Also we have words that have taken on new meanings. The expression “all fagged out” used to mean you were tired. I suppose it could still mean you are tired but now it would raise the question of how you got tired. In that same vein when exactly did “gay” come to mean what it does today.

I’ll tell you one of my favorite greetings which seems to have fallen out of favor is, “How’s it hanging?” While used mostly by men, Cush told me he came across an interesting group of women in Wyoming who used that expression to greet each other – that conjures up some scary images. On the flip side saying good-bye with “See you in the funny papers” has never made any sense to me.

More annoying than the words we don’t use anymore are the words and phrases we still use that I wish we didn’t. I have led a long and arduous campaign against the use of “just saying.” What the hell does that mean anyway? Of course you are “just saying,” that’s what we are doing here – having a conversation, we are all just saying. The reason you feel the need to precede your comments with “just saying” is because you just said the same thing before and no one cared.

One that has started in recent times is the overuse and abuse of the word “actually.” It’s a perfectly acceptable word which is now being used as a filler word to claim knowledgeable authority. During Committee meetings I am sometimes forced to say “actually” to let them know that it is time to listen up because I am about to set the record straight. Actually what using “actually’ does is announce one’s opinion of one’s own opinion.

The use of “hopefully” has some elite and effete critics but I am okay with it as a substitute for “I hope.” The one that drives me nuts is “functionality.” What does functionality add to the meaning of “function”—other than showing that you are some techno-nerd?

Finally we get to the most annoying of all; the one that makes you long for the sound of fingernails scraping on a blackboard. The one that is gaining traction amongst the rabble of Blondie’s while driving reasonable people to the solitude of drinking alone. I am talking about the incessant and loud favorite of our very own JJ. I am talking about:


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