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Bawston the Cat
  • Male
  • Brooklyn, NY
  • United States
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  • The Duchess of Spitmeadow
  • Professor Doverbean
  • Herb Bloomquist
  • Martin Allen

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Herb Bloomquist and Bawston the Cat are now friends
Jan 27, 2012
Bawston the Cat left a comment for Sgt. Bullocks
"Two weeks is two weeks. Don't come back in a minute sooner or you get the bat. Not the regular bat, neither - I mean the one with the nail in it."
Jan 27, 2012
Bawston the Cat is now friends with The Duchess of Spitmeadow, Captain Smarm and Professor Doverbean
Jan 27, 2012

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What? What? So there's this kid who used to come to my pub like 3 or 4 years ago. He came in like four or five times a week - kind of a regular. He's alright enough, I guess, sort of an odd duck, y'know - but who cares? He makes up this thing called Marty's Sock Puppet Portraits, and somehow I'm suddenly a part of it. Awesome. Whatever. Go Pats. Buy em up on Etsy.

I got a song I guess:
>Get Outta My Bar Go Sox

Listen, you can quiet down, then you can shut it, and when you're done you can zip it, and then you can tell your buddies how nice my pub is. Cuz you know it is. You got somethin else to say? Tell it  it to the bottle that just veered past your sloping cranium. Then say it outside. As a matter of fact - sing it. Down the block. Past the Dunkies and the ATM and then past the other Dunkies and the other ATM next to where, ah, Sam Adams fought the Viking-Pilgrim-Founding Fathers, there's a jar for your tears. Do your best to cry me a river, kid.

Anyways, yeah, sometimes I'm workin at the bar, between tellin people to quiet down and making them excellent beverages and then telling them to get out I make up songs on my harmonica. I dunno. Whatever. Go Sox, kid. Go Sox. 

Ah, while I have recently been considering a staunch variety of vastly important chamber musicians and the like, I'm thinkin that for a while it's just gonna be me. I might drum on your wicked huge melon as it sinks towards my immaculately maintained bar top. Back in the day I woulda thrown down a song with Nomar or Pedro, but my heart's been broken too many times. Ah, Nomar.

Ha. Ah, man, what is this? I dunno. The Sox. And um, this bar. That I never leave. This bar that I never leave is my greatest influence. Aw, man, I can't even believe that came outta me. Great, now I'm wicked depressed. Is polishing glasses, cleaning filth, and listening to nonsense spew outta people's mouths an influence? I can't really remember  the select three tracks on my jukebox that AREN'T complete garbage, so forget it.

Can you possibly begin to understand how difficult it is to be taken as a respectable bartender when you have to excuse yourself to pee in some sand every 30 minutes and you lose your $%*!% every time somebody shines one of those little laser things on the bar? I swear, I will murder the next person who tries it.

I read a bunch, I guess, and that's some sort of an influence - y'know, like Murakami, Dawkins, Salinger, McEwan, crud like that. And the Herald.

Yeah, this is just too much. I dunno. It sounds like your mom, if she was a cat who was a bartender who played the harmonica and sang about the Sox. Am I right? You know I'm right. Now get yourself to Dunkies, get me a medium regular, and don't say a word until 7pm. I'll time you.

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Comment Wall (1 comment)

At 6:50pm on January 27, 2012, Sgt. Bullocks said…

Sorry about the broken chair. Chairs. And glasses. And bottles. And kid's nose. But c'mon, banned for two weeks!? Where do I go for a drink, bloody Applebee's?!

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