Monday, February 14, 2011

A Happy Accident....


You probably found this place completely accidentally, didn't ya, stranger?

Let me guess: somewhere right around Kickassia's
border, you took a left at The Foundary when you should've gone right. You probably missed that sign atop the fourth wall -- it happens.
That would've taken you right past The Agony Booth and probably
straight on 'till morning or wherever it is you should've arrived at
by now.

Instead, here you sit.

We'll get you rolling again. Fill our belly, top off your coffee, kick
your tires, light your fires and check your bailing wire like Spenser:
For Hire, 'cause I'm the the Jabroni-Beatin', Pie-Eatin',
Trail-Blazin', Eyebrow-Raisin', Faster Than A Cheetah, Stronger Than A
Buck, Hottest Thing Outta Zihuatanejo 'Cause Yer Momma's Chili Sucks!

I'm Sleepless Colin, or Colin The Sleepless if you're Kickassian. Out
here bajo la luna Mexicana, I warm up when the sun dips and the
temperature starts falling. I might not sleep some nights, if my body
didn't make me. But that's cool like the freezer's iciest icicle. It's
when I do my best thinking, musing, pondering, daydreaming,
considering, debating and occasionally brain-farting.

When I do my thinking, it's often about the simplest bounties my
little Zihuatanejo can leave upon my doorstep. The two-hour
unintentional comedy of truly, truly awful movies (and the odd decent
one hither, thither and yon). The network of locks on my heart and
soul that great music undoes one-by-one. The distilled "win" of hours
spent gaming. A week spent with a good book or two.

OK, and sometimes I just chase squirrels with lit road flares.

Occasionally, I even have some regulars drop by for a bite and a sip.
This one young lady, Inkblot, sometimes brings this fellow named Lucky
and they spend hours chatting about animation. I know 'em both so
well, I'd probably sock 'em both if they tried paying for drinks or
their sammiches.

This tall drink of water named J-King watches a lot of TV -- A LOT.
But for as much as he looks like that tall, retarded accountant on
"The Office" (he is retarded, right?), he's never at a loss for words.

Try this, for starters: ask him what goes on a McDouble.

I have a little place above my diner. Not much, but it's a home. It
keeps me and my little treasures warm. I don't make this offer often,
but I like you. You remind me of Momma's biggest bunyon. You bring me
some good coffee, or a bottle of some fine, rare whiskey that'll burn
so good down to my belly, and I'll keep the chess board waiting.

I'll even do you one more kindness: I'll tone down this "The Hills
Have Eyes"-extra act here and there.

So come on in, sit right down, and baby, let your hair hang down . . .
whoops, maybe not there . . . somebody fed my little pooch Toby a
burrito when I wasn't looking, and well . . . your backside is now
wearing the aftermath of it.