My brother walks into bars (Ha!) and likes to start story chains. He asks people to write at least one sentence up to one paragraph of a story and pass it on to the next person. The result is a mysterious and wondrous story collective written by complete strangers.
This past St. Patrick’s Day he decided to visit and I took him out to some of the local haunts in DC. During the later hours at the Big Hunt during that green beer holiday, he broke out the notebook and started a story. Below are the results:
“A woman walks into a bar on St. Patricks Day.
Decked out in her Irish accessories of Shamrock necklace and “Kiss me I’m Irish” Tiara, she scanned the established looking for her friends who had promised to meet her for a drink. She knew, of course, that one drink would soon lead to several hours of libations – the conclusions of which she could not yet figure out. But who the hell cared? That is, so long as her friend Karen left wearing the same shirt she had walked in wearing.
Which of course never happens.
But as she scanned the bar she soon realized that her friends were not there. She checked her watch 9:45 pm – right on time. Disappointed, she sat down at the bar and ordered a drink.
“Make it green” she said. The bartender grinned, “The Leprechaun Special?”
“What is…aah hell, just bring it to me.”
“Coming right up.” The bartender had a twinkle in his eye, like he knew where the rainbow ended and the pot contained something besides gold.
Especially when the gold refers to robots. Yes robots. The kind that try and take over the world.
As she took the first sip from her ruffie-laced beer, the bartender said that it was on the house. She thanked the kind man. She once again scanned the room, still no dice. “Oh well,” she thought and took a big swig.
The next thought to cross her mind was “WTF, where is my underwear.” Followed closely by (and more importantly) “Where the fuck am I?”
All she could see through her blurry eyes was a wall, colored with a big rainbow. She felt something cold next to her. Turning her head sideways the glint of cold steel met her gaze. The metallic body beside her was silent for the moment. And she thought to herself. “Oh shit, was I just raped by a robot?”
She sat up slowly and felt around for her clothes, which were scattered on the floor. Carefully she stood up and tip-toed toward the door, pulling on her shirt and skirt. As she tried to turn the doorknob, she suddenly realized it was locked from the outside. At the same time she heard a strange sound – “beep, beep, click, click, whirr” – and then a cold voice – “Hey Lassie- just where do you think you’re going?” She turned and saw a short robot dressed in a green suit and hat standing behind her.
Then she opened her eyes slowly as she realized many people where calling her name. She looked around seeing many of her friends faces around her and realized she was lying on the floor of the bar where she had been meeting them. The bartender told her a waiter with a tray of drinks in his hand had knocked her on the head.
She stumbled out of the bar, lost her shoes, and fell into the closest cab. Upon entering, she hear “Play” by Jennifer Lopez and asked the cabbie to turn it up as it was “her jam.” Artie, the cab driver, asked her destination and without hesitation she yelled, “follow that car!” Meanwhile she had failed to notice there was already another patron in the cab who immediately asked her: “I went to Yale, will you hook up with me?” Beth took one look at the pretentious bastard and seductively removed his shirt while simultaneously reaching for the car door handle. Before Yale-boy could say “Ivy-League” he found himself knocked to the street while trying to hide his hard-on. She looked at the cabbie, shrugged her shoulders, and said “He lucked out really. I’ve got the clap.”
She darted out of the cab and stumbled into another Irish themed bar that was in full swing. She spotted a few of her friends that she was with last St. Patty’s Day and they all started reminiscing about last year when they spent the weekend in the south of France riding vespas, drinking wine, and being completely inappropriate. After pondering their times of innocence, the girl realizes she has to return to the land of clap-free, vespas, no-ruffie wonderland. Upon leaving the bar the friends run into the Backstreet Boys who allow them to join then on their private flight to the south of france. On the flight Kevin from BSB asks the lady. “Do you want another bottle?”
A bottle? Immediately George Thorogood’s voice rang in her head. “Yes. I’ll have one bourbon, one scotch and one beer.”
The other passengers looked on questioningly while one raised an eyebrow. Indulging his innate sense of curiosity her turned to her and asked, “Are you willing to share? I’m sure my night can’t have been more delirious than yours. Do share…
I’m over this, Go Bucks! You can spell Ohio with your arms! Sarah Acker is hot.
Thank you she said. You need alcohol and I am over it.”