ok.
the bastard is only gonna say this once.
there will be a quiz at the end.
whiskey makes the bastard frisky.
out in the dank ass dank that is the night before a rain storm,
the bastard goes out in search of a little tipple for himself. something for later on.
and with that I stop at the local purveyor of spirits and drop my coin on a bottle of rye.
on line before me, the woman buying her book club sized bottle of merlot.
barefoot brand; strictly 9.99 shit. strictly for getting drunk and bitching about your husband instead of discussing your thoughts on 'eat, pray, love'.
which may be one in the same, when you think about it in the context of today's male/female dynamic.
anyway, book club asks about the return policy at our fine establishment and he concurs with her thoughts that she can return a bottle if she doesn't like it.
happy with her jug of chateau par-tay, she saunters out.
and the man behind the counter says to his friend, "some people be coming back up in here with a half drunk bottle saying they didn't like it and ah has to be giving them they money back"
"word?!?"
"word up"
"that's ridiculous", the bastard pipes up, " if you're buying wine, you should know what you're buying by now."
"yeah?"
"yeah, I keep five wines in the back of my head when I go yo buy wine so I know damn well what I'm buying. and so should she know as well."
"word?!?"
"yeah. and even if you can't find that beaujolais, you know what the hell beaujolais tastes like. unless it sucks and then maybe you should ask after you money back, not bringing back a half drunk jug of crap."
"word up."
"straight jacket my man. straight jacket."
—the bastard
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