ALIENS TAKE OVER BLONDIE’S…..zuki looks for sanity

insane-asylum-extrasGood Morning Children of Presenteeism,

I think most of us have at times, felt as though we communicate with ‘aliens.’ It’s not always an obvious thing, most times it’s a subtle facial tick, other times an inadvertent fart, but however manifested it’s always without witnesses. Where does this come from? How does one explain spittle at the corners of the mouth? What about boogers that get hung up in the left nostril? I’ve seen this disgusting scene played out daily. Split pants, mismatched socks, shirts too small, spandex, infected piercings, camel-toes, skid marks, salsa stains, hats too small, flies crawling across skin unnoticed, comb-overs, besmirched zipper area, sullied fingernails, and the dreaded four hour erection defy human kind.

The easiest answer is of course these people are from distant galaxies and not of this world.

The one unexplainable characteristic shared by these aliens is the disproportionate number of them that congregate at Blondie’s. Outside light rail accessibility, what is it about this place that allows them to feel like they fit in and comfortable? It’s certainly not the bar stools or ambiance!

I walked in this time determined to find the correlation and wasn’t going to leave until the mystery was solved. At first it all seemed random. An idiot with vomit on his shirt, then a woman that hadn’t noticed soiling herself, a fatuous asshole muttering scripture, all followed by a genius using a straw to facilitate ketchup flow. No explanation was forthcoming so I returned to my perch and ordered another glass of Blondie’s infamous swill.

I was stumped.

I’d invested four hours to this research and still had no idea how the debauchery found at the home of ‘Curmudgeon Corner’ could attract so many aliens. I continued to drink heavily; perplexed by my inability to connect the dots, when suddenly I felt the urge to scratch my balls. Looking around and having already witnessed the crude and bizarre I thought “why should I care what these dickheads think” and began to fish around to satisfy the insane itch. Then I immediately withdrew my hand suddenly realizing I was acting just like they were!

I’m no alien and I refuse to sink to their collective dimwitted behavior. I was going to retire to the men’s room to finish what I’d started and spare everyone from further indigestion. But as I pushed my stool away from the bar the back legs caught a tile joint causing me and the stool to crash onto the floor. I was out cold.

I’m not sure how long I was gone but when consciousness returned I was on my back looking up at many of the same people I’d earlier identified as aliens. They were asking me if I was okay and seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being when it all became clear. I had an epiphany! What I perceived as moronic imbeciles were in fact crapulous dolts! It was alcohol! Yes it’s the joy-juice that attracts them from all parts west of the Platte River! How is it I couldn’t make this association?

“Physician heal thy self!”

zuki