Oregon Tavern Age: Daytime Halloween
Noon. Halloween. OTA country in Coos Bay. A black beer rests on my table.
Magic Marker typos on the pumpkin. Bert signed his name, the last Bert in Oregon.
Costume contest tonight. First prize: $150.
The Joe Biden getup will win.
The bartender wants to trespass a homeless woman, then kick her ass.
Cremation and mortuary service ad on TV. We’re living a national mortuary service right now.
SNAP and Head Start end at midnight.
Mike Johnson johnsons his johnson on Capitol Hill, a few yards away where tourists took a dump in his predecessor’s office, and Johnson called it patriotism.
Trick or treat peasants! Let them eat gruel.
Someone wrote “Happy Colonoscopy” on the pumpkin.
The Joe Biden winner will be wearing a colostomy bag as part of his costume. The bag will contain dog food.
Kenny sold plasma today to drink a Rolling Rock.
Larry discusses the merits of various stool softeners.
Marshall remembers getting laid at a Grateful Dead show.
What am I doing here?
Larry reminisces about runnin’ nekkid in the back yard as a kid.
“Momma locked us out,” he said. “I fertilized the yard.”
Damn good parenting!
The bartender says her fucking kids are going to fucking walk when they fucking trick or treat tonight. She’s not driving them anywhere.
Even better parenting!