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"Get out before I toss you out on your fat ass," my wife shouted
at me during one of her frequent tirades. Smart man that I am, I obeyed. To tell you the truth, when she got in
one of her dark moods, it was always best to put some distance between us. Luckily, the local watering hole, Eddie's,
was only a half a mile away - plenty distance enough for me. Incidentally, my ass really isn't all that fat; not
that it makes much of a difference to this story, I just thought you ought to know.
I rode my bicycle down there, locked it up outside, and strolled into Eddie's a mere ten minutes later. The bar
was sparsely populated that day. Save for a few tables of regulars, mostly all of whom had wives similar to my
own, it was just me and the barkeep, the aptly named Eddie.
"The usual, Max?" he asked, already mixing my aridly dry Martini.
"Yep," I said. "But go easy on the vodka. Lucy's awfully pissed this time, so I may be here awhile."
Eddie poured the glass half full. Of course, I saw it as half empty - a mighty sad thing to behold, let me tell
you - and I promptly had him fill it all the way. Anyway, I figured, the drunker I got, the easier it was to handle
the missus. That is to say, when I did finally make it home, I'd quickly pass out and be blissfully unaware of
her.
"Why do you stay with that crazy broad, anyhow?" Eddie asked, after I'd taken my first delightful sip.
Then he graciously stored my heavy jacket in the stock room.
"Cause I can't sleep here," I answered, without a trace of sarcasm. Though if Eddie had a cot in the
back, I might have given it some thought. But really, deep down, like Marianas Trench deep, I did love my wife.
Plus, she had all the money. And purse strings bind tighter than nylon rope. You see, I hadn't worked a day in
many years - a blessing as well as a curse. Of course, far be it from me to share that little tidbit with the likes
of Eddie.
Anyhow, an hour later, and with three martinis nicely warming me up, I'd almost completely forgotten about my need
for escape. I'd also forgotten to grab a sandwich on my way out the door. "Hey Eddie," I shouted down
the bar. "Got any pretzels or something?"
"In the back, help yourself," he yelled back, as he escorted one of the drunker patrons out the front
door. Eddie was two hundred pounds of pure muscle, so tossed was more like it. I'd learned that lesson the hard
way.
"Okay," I said, stumbling around the bar and into the storage room. I'd been back there before. Eddie
trusted most of us regulars. We knew full well he'd probably kill us if we ever tried anything funny with him.
And funny was the last thing on my mind as I looked around for something to eat. But funny is exactly what I found,
though not funny ha-ha. Funny strange was more like it.
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