Oregon Tavern Age: A Monologue

Overheard at a degenerate OTA joint in Portland on a weekday afternoon. Spoken by an OTA woman sitting at the bar drinking a hard seltzer and shot of whiskey:

I don’t give two fucks less for that dipshit. Fuck his daughter. She’s a loser and she won’t work.

Cheetos in a taco? Fuck that!

Look, when the tacos are out motherfucker, there ain’t no more fucking tacos.

I’m not driving that drunk bitch home again from here. She can sleep in her shitty car.

I’m fucking sick from of these same hard seltzers.

I can’t wait to get out of my fucking house and my fuckwit roommate. He gets up at 4:00 a.m. to take a dump and plays the radio. Fuck that.

Whatcha McFuck!

I’ve got to sell my convertible. I’m broke.

Nobody in the fucking place can park.

People that know me know I’m here. Christ that sounds terrible.

Thanks for fucking cutting me off the other day. I could barely walk out of here.

If you get cut off, don’t be a fucking dick.

If I knew how much money I spent in this fucking joint I’d kick my ass.

I got laid off two weeks ago so I’m drinking on my credit card.

I used to fuck dick but now it’s strictly pussy. When I’m drunk I think about dick. (Female bartender agrees.)

I was here for six hours and my tab was only 30 bucks. That’s pretty fucking good. I can usually drink that in an hour if I get the shots going.

Tim’s in rehab and he needs to get a real fucking job.

Arlene’s in the hospital and needs a pacemaker. She shouldn’t drink or smoke. I’m glad I only drink. Fuck, I only smoke when I drink.

God I miss the ’80s.

If only I could write like dialogue like this.