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Monday, February 24, 2014

Twitchy and his two-headed anaconda

He was a little fellow, not much to him at all, but you could tell he was quick. He was small and dark and made up of sharp, pointy angles and he twitched and squirmed like he was sitting in an ant bed. You could also tell right away that something was sideways about him. Like he was wrapped too tight. I figured it was probably drugs. Some people have an unstable chemistry and just aren't geared up for certain medications and he looked like he may be one of them. I could be wrong, he may have been a mutant. I have an eye for these things. It's part of my profession.

When he came in the bar Saturday morning it was around 2:00 am and he asked me if I could keep an eye on his car. He said he'd lost his computer chip key and couldn't turn it off so he was going to leave it running while he was inside, or some such nonsense. Whatever. That was one of my first indications that something was a little off. Later, after I had gotten off duty I saw him around the room a few times. He was an energetic little critter too, bounding all over the room, leaping over chairs and booths like a gazelle and talking like he was on a timer that was about to go off. I eventually lost track of him and assumed (hoped) that he'd moved on.

After the bar cleared out and the only people left were employees sitting around waiting for the manager to finish up, he reappeared. He came in and was frantically looking for his phone and jabbering about the police. He said he had been sitting in his car blaring some Lynyrd Skynyrd with the windows down and had caught the cop's attention and that they'd smelled alcohol. They told him that he needed to find a ride or call a cab or they were going to arrest him. The smart money was on calling a taxi because no one wanted to give him a ride. Giving strange people a ride home from a bar never works out well, but that is for another story. Well, he didn't have any money so Pat, the manager, gave him the seven dollars he'd need for the ride.  Mark, one of the bartenders went out and spoke with the police and convinced them to leave him in our care. He took a stool beside me (of course) and continued his fidgety behavior, continuously chattering, vibrating and just being annoying as hell in general. At one point he said, “I've got to go home! I've got to take my daughter to school!”

“'s Saturday.” I said.

“Is it? Oh, good, okay.” He sat there for a couple of more minutes and said, “Look, the cops are gone now, I'll just go home.”

“No. We told them that we had you and we'd get you a cab. They'll pull you over and then you'll be in big trouble. Besides, it'll look bad on us.”

“Okay. Okay. Okay. You're right. Thanks for watching out for me.”'  Fidget fidget.

This went on for about thirty more minutes, long enough to really start getting under everyone's skin.

“Why don't one of y'all just punch me to make it look good and I'll tell the cops y'all tried to stop me but I got away.”

“'re like eighty pounds, we're all two-fifty, two-sixty, the cops are never gonna believe that.”

“Yeah, yeah, you're right. Thanks for watching out for me.” Fidget fidget fidget.

“What they probably would believe is that you outran all of us.”

“Yeah.” Fidget.

Then he looked at the window and jumped. “Is that daylight? I've got to go! How is it daylight? It's only one-thirty!”

I grabbed his wrist and twisted it around so I could see his watch. “You're watch says it's one-thirty,” I showed him the time on my phone, “this says it's six-thirty.”

Six-thirty? I've got to go!”
By this time everyone had pretty much reached their limit with him so I made the off-hand remark, “Well, break and run, motherfucker.”

Aaaaand he's off!  Way off.

I may as well have fired a starter pistol. The next sound I heard was like someone had thrown a chair off the stairs onto the wooden floor six feet below. I looked toward the door and all I saw was his cap laying there on the floor. At first, I thought he had exploded and I was looking at his head. I looked around and asked, “Did he leave? Like...leave the building?”

“Yeah, he's gone.”

“Damn, I never even saw the door open.”

Apparently, he disappeared off the bar stool, made a leap down the stairs, never touching a single step, and crashed onto the floor below, went into a roll and came out of it on the hoof, never missing a step or stopping for his cap and out the door he went. All before I could turn my head and look.

The next night, he made his second appearance. It was around 4:00 am Sunday morning and we were trying to close down and get the last few stragglers out. I saw him come in wearing a backpack and thought, “Oh, no. Not tonight, buddy.” I told him we were closed and everyone was leaving but he spotted someone he knew and made for them. I saw him bum five dollars off a customer so I told him again, “It's time to go.”  He took another angle, outflanked me and buddied up with another straggler who happened to be someone that he knew, so I let it alone for a couple of minutes, then I forgot about him.

At some point during the confusion of trying to herd the last few customers out of the bar, Bubba, another one of our bouncers, wound up outside with Twitchy. For some incomprehensible reason, Twitchy decided it would be a good idea to get into it with Bubba, who is about 6' 7” and probably a solid two-fifty or sixty. He also, apparently, thought it would work out better for him if he tried to stab Bubba with a fork. It didn't. Twitchy also tried to bring a 2 x 4 into play but failed to use it effectively and wound up bounding away again before Bubba could get his hands on him, sputtering off into the night like a defective bottle-rocket. Unfortunately, he left his backpack behind and that is where it gets really interesting.

The primary weapon used in fork jitsu.

After the dust had settled Bubba got curious about the backpack and took a look inside, he probably wishes he hadn't. He looked up and grinned and said, “Hey, y'all come look. Y'all got to see this.” We got up and walked over to where Bubba had the backpack unzipped under the light. We looked down into the backpack past the odd iPad thing and Twitchy's spare fork and saw it, coiled like a rattlesnake in the bottom of the backpack was about a foot-and-a-half of rubber penis with two heads on it like some malformed alien appendage. That's right...dickzilla.  We all jumped back and tried to mentally work our way through the discovery by making uncomfortable jokes and shaking our heads in awe and disbelief.

Dude...what the fuck?

Eventually, a police officer showed up (it was inevitable) and asked about the guy. We told him the story about the confrontation and the attempted forking. The officer told us they'd picked him up and sent him to the hospital to be evaluated. We told him that was probably a good idea because he was acting pretty strange and, oh yeah, you might want to take this to him. We showed the officer the backpack and it's contents. He looked as uncomfortable as we were so, through a combined effort, they managed to get the backpack down into a plastic garbage bag and the officer, who looked like he wished he'd brought a hazmat suit, took it back to it's rightful owner.

I'm no prude, nor am I na├»ve.  I know that there are places that sell these types of devices and I know that people buy them and perform unnatural acts on one another with them.  I assume that most people keep these things locked away in a secret compartment hidden deep in the recesses of the most private rooms in their homes.  What would have to be on a person's mind to make them want to take a huge, two-headed rubber penis along in their backpack as they are preparing to go out to a bar.  So, the burning question which will torment me forever is, "What in the hell was Twitchy's plan?"

After thirty or so years in bars, I can honestly say that there always seems to be another layer of weird to find. There is a lot of weird out there and we, in the bar life, get to see most of it. I'm glad we were able to get rid of the backpack. I guess it could've been worse though, it could've been a bomb left by some twisted jihadist or filled with moral dilemma-causing drugs or money. That would've been bad enough. Still...there was an awful lot of rubber penis in that backpack and no lube.

For more about The Upper End bar and Vicksburg  read these:

 The Upper End Bar, The Vicksburg Post and the truth.

What law is the City of Vicksburg enforcing here?

For more about douche-bags click here.

For more entertaining bullshit click here.

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