Patton Lee Beaugus | December 7, 2010 12:45pm86ed
Where was I in my last blog? Was it the one about Monica Belucci and Megan Fox comparing the nuances of body art placement with my cute neighbor Heather? No, I don't think so. Was it about Linsay Lohan asking me to put her into a cab and carry her up to hotel room, because she was too drunk to see, and thought I was Chris Pine? No, that wasn't it, either. That was last night's dream.
Oh yeah, now I remember. I left off my last blog on a Christmas Eve where I was totally fucked.
Danny the manager of Rudy’s Bar in Hell’s Kitchen was attempting to 86 'us' for singing. But my new ‘friends’ the BuddaBings PartyMob seemed to be resisting. I saw this as a bad move for all concerned, especially me, if I were to be caught in the middle, which I seemed to be.
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“You can’t sing in here,” Danny replied.
“I heard other people singing when I came in earlier,” said Molly.
“They were singing along. With ‘Assholes’,” said Danny as if that explained it.
“A song on the jukebox,” sez I, attempting to defuse the situation.
Molly and her friends look at me as if that made no sense at all. Well, a lot of people and things at Rudy’s don’t make sense, which is once reason the dive is so popular among such an eclectic clientele. Rudy’s is off the chart nuts!
“It’s a song about Assholes,” I said just in case that particular classic tune wasn’t favorited on their ipods. I think the only place in the world you can find it is Rudy's, because it ain't the one by Jimmy Buffet who is also into assholes.
Danny continued, “Everybody here sings 'Assholes.' It’s a Rudy’s tradition. Like they sing along with 'You Never Even Call Me By My Name' at Coyote Ugly’s. Only Yolanda doesn’t dance on the bar.”
“I think she should,” I volunteered, “especially on slow evenings.”
HiTone grinned. “So Mick assholes and Yuppie assholes and asshole assholes can sing about assholes, but us Italian Americans can 't sing a nice sweet song about Christmas cheer, and we gotta shut-the-fuck-up or get-the-fuck out?”
Danny wasn’t backing down, which by the way, I consider ill-considered. He shrugged. “Cabaret Laws. And I can’t risk my license. Sorry.”
This didn’t seem to satisfy any of them. Smoking laws. Cabaret laws. Machs nichts.
D'Oliya sashayed toward him in time to the music on the jukebox which I think was "I Shot The Sherrif."
“And you can’t dance, either.”
“You mean if I asked you nicely, I mean very very nicely, you wouldn’t dance with me?” asked D’Oliya sidling up to the Bar Manager.
I noticed Molly was reaching into her boot. And HiTone had his hand under his coat and it looked like I was going to get a better look at his week wacker.
The old Westies were moving toward the back, toward us.
Louie pushed between Danny and D'Oliya.
D'Oliya stepped back against the wall, and reached into the high slits in her dress to pull out her ninja throwing stars. I was so scared, that sight didn't even register until later, when I wished I'd taken a better look.
Louie smiled at Danny. Danny wasn't smiling. Only HiTone and Molly were smiling because there was a chance they could waste someone or maybe massacre the whole bar.
Louie looked over Danny’s shoulder at the back door. "There must be some way to resolve this situation."
Danny’s no dummy. “If you want to sing or dance, take it out to the backyard patio.”
Vinnie said, “It’s December out there! We'll freeze to death!”
Danny moved to the back door and pushed it open. A cold wind blew in, which actually felt good on my hot, sweaty face.
Everybody was frozen in place. Even the Westies.
