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Lots runs from the pub in understandable terror. This is easier said than
done, given the recent loss of his arms. He nearly stumbles head over heels
several times during his mad dash. Quite funny, actually. The blood loss is
beginning to effect him as well. Effect? No...affect. The blood loss is
starting to affect him. Right? Writing is hard. Why had he been the one chosen to confront the wookiee, anyway? Well, actually he had volunteered to confront the 800 pound alcoholic of his own accord. No one to blame but himself there. But what kind of stupid name is Chewbaca, anyway? What a stupid name. Actually it was a pretty great name. But Harvey Wallbangers? Well, those are actually pretty tasty. In fact, he could use one right now to take the edge off all the mind numbing pain and blood loss that we were just discussing a paragraph or two ago. So he marches right back into the bar and orders himself a Harvey Wallbanger, in all probability. The barkeep looks him over with utter disregard. “Where’s the dough, mack?” he says with a smoker’s hack.“Just put it on my tab,” says Lots with a wink and a nod. “You don’t have a tab.”“You’re funny. That’s funny. Ahem! Excuse me. Yeah. Um, yea. Here’s the thing, though. Bare with me, but you see that wookie in the back of your bar? See him? Yeah, well, funny story — he just ripped my @#&*ing arms off. Yeah. Pretty @#%!ed up, right? Yeah. So, as you can plainly see, I can’t reach into my pants to get my #$@*ing wallet because I don’t have any @#$!ing arms, so you’re just gonna have to %$&*ing work with me here, mmkay? Great....” Just then Scott walks up to the bar and places a handful of coins on the table. “I got this one,” he says. “And the next one.”“Scott,” gasps Lots. “Lots,” gasps Scott.“Gasp,” Scotts lots. Lots runs from the bar in understandable terror. This is easier said than done, given the recent loss of his arms. He nearly stumbles head over heels several times during his mad dash. Quite funny, actually. The blood loss is beginning to effect him as well. Effect? No...affect. The blood loss is starting to affect him. Right? Writing is hard. Why had he been the one chosen to confront the wookiee, anyway? Well, actually he had volunteered to confront the 800 pound alcoholic of his own accord. No one to blame but himself there. But what kind of stupid name is Chewbaca, anyway? What a stupid name. Actually it was a pretty great name. But Harvey Wallbangers? Well, those are actually pretty tasty. In fact, he could use one right now to take the edge off all the mind numbing pain and blood loss that we were just discussing a paragraph or two ago. So he marches right back into the bar and orders himself a Harvey Wallbanger, in all probability. The barkeep looks him over with utter disregard. “Where’s the dough, mack?” he says with a smoker’s hack.“Just put it on my tab,” says Lots with a wink and a nod. “You don’t have a tab.”“You’re funny. That’s funny. Ahem!! Excuse me. I got a little throat thing goin' on here. Anyway. Um, yea. Here’s the thing, though, MACK. I can't exactly access the DOUGH right now. Bare with me, please. Can you do that for me? Can you? You can? Good. That's good. You see that wookie in the back of your bar? See him? Do you? You see him? Good. Yeah, well, funny story — he just ripped my @#&*ing arms off. Yeah! I know! Pretty @#%!ed up, right? Yeah...yeah. Pretty @#$%ing #$@%ed! I'm pretty @#$%ed, as you can plainly see. So obviously I can’t reach into my pants to get my #$@*ing wallet because I don’t have any @#$!ing arms and therefore you’re just gonna have to %$&*ing work with me here, mmkay? Great....” Just then Scott walks up to the bar and places a handful of coins on the table. “I got this one,” he says. “And the next one.”“Scott,” gasps Lots. “Lots,” gasps Scott.“Gasps,” Scott lots. The barkeep pulls out a shotgun from under the counter. What next?
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7/22/2010 6:11:07 PM
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