Don't Give Me No Flack

How's is shaking homebizzles and homegizzles? I'm sitting here in bed typing because my run was cancelled this morning due to rain. Normally, running in the rain is okay - and I still might go by myself - but it was really coming down and would have just been a chore. Considering how late I was up last night, I was kind of glad to be able to stay home and chill.

Last night I went out with the 'COWs and Snicky. We grabbed some good ole dinner at The Heritage, threw some darts, played some foosball and headed out to see a band. This place was jam packed with crunchies! As you walked in, you were alerted to the presence of crunchy types by the incense burning at the door. Aside from crunchies, there were gads of jail bait, and these hoes knew it. Why is teen pregnancy such a problem in Berkshire County? Because these sluts are out getting drunk with hippies. A few were easy on the eyes, but you can't tell how old they are without asking for a few forms of government ID.

Another wonderful addition to the scene was a gentleman I dubbed "Flack Jacket". He's also known as "Parachute Dude", "Helicopter Guy" and "That Crazy Dude from La Cos". For those of you who might not know this fine upstanding member of society, he can ALWAYS be seen wearing full camo, a bullet-proof vest and a huge knife strapped to his hip. Occasionally - probably when the shit hits the fan - he'll be sporting the helicopter pilot helmet. Yeah, wearing the helmet at a bar, on the street or even at the park. WAAACCKKKOOOOO!

So anyway, this guy is definitely unstable. He's got that look like at any moment he's gonna break that empty beer bottle he's been pretending to drink for the last three hours on the bar and start slicing some jugulars. I kept my eye on him, but did NOT make eye contact.

Other than the jail bait and Flack Jacket the place was pretty chill. The band was your typical local hippie jam band, with a little added funk. They put on a good show and a good time was had by all. We hung for a few hours then hit the road for some chicken wings.

As we pulled into the roundabout at Patrick's (not to be confused with a proper traffic circle), everyone scoped for a parking spot. BAM, backup lights went on so I stopped and put my car in reverse. As the other person pulled out, someone bush leagued my spot. The drunk ladies in the car felt they should holler at the guy who was certainly going to the same place that we were, never a good choice on a Friday night. Someone was gonna catch a shiv to the ribs. We parked on the next street, went in and got our order on.

A few minutes later, the guy came over to apologize and buy the next round. He insisted. Ahh, a decent person makes things right. Buddy, if you read this (and I'm sure you don't), thanks again.

That was about it. Everyone (save yours truly) was drunk as a skunk and had a good time. My faith in humanity was restored, and Flack Jacket didn't knife anyone. A perfect evening in the Pitt.

Over and out,
Old Coot