"Oh yeah, we're pretty much kicked."Mature

"You wouldn't BELIEVE how kicked we are right now, Mr. Porker.  If we were kicking it any harder, we'd need valets for our Hummers."

Porker eased himself into the only vacant bar stool, elbowing some big dude in a trucker cap as he did so, and considered his favorite 'tender's attitude -- not for the first time either.  The big dude gave Porker a look but Porker regarded him with one lazy eye with nearly as much effort as it would take to raise one sweaty cheek from the vinyl seat cushion beneath him in order to properly allow gas to pass through without disturbing his neighbors.  Phatteigh G. Porker was not the kind of man prone to effort -- or manners, for that matter, and the dude let it go and went back to his beer.

The dude's girlfriend however, caught the little exchange on her way back from the can, and plopped her scrawny ass on the stool to the dude's right and looked up at his hairy ear with a scowl that would make a junkyard dog run and hide.  Finally she slapped the dude's bare shoulder and hissed through her four remaining teeth, "You just gonna take that from him, huh?  You just sittin' there like a drunk pussy all night, and not once made a move on me?  You're a loser, Axel, a goddamn LOSER!"

The big dude took another swig of his MGD, belched, and said, "Look, Mabel, don't go startin' no trouble tonight.  All right?  Just go home an' I'll call you later."

Porker had ignored all of this and was engaging the bartender in conversation about the night's take, "So Fred, what's really troublin' ya here?  The place looks packed, the jukebox is pumpin' some classic Allman Brothers tracks louder than should be legal, and it's the day after pay day, so folks'll have a little more cash to blow."

Fred the bartender poured another three drafts for a quiet group at the end of the bar, took their money, made change, and pocketed his tip, "I tell you Mr. Porker, it ain't a bad night at all, but it'd be better if our lone waitress didn't have her brains in her tits."

"Pfah!  Is that all?  I wouldn't have it any other way, Fred.  Them tits cost a lot of money!  It's time she put 'em to good use."

Fred rolled his eyes and grabbed some empties in front of him.

Porker felt something sharp jab him in the kidneys, and he jumped and whirled around to face Mabel, the big dude's meth-head girlfriend, "What the hell?!"

Mabel stood about five-two and tipped the scales at eighty pounds.  Her gums were black and her hair was beginning to fall out in great greasy chunks when she showered -- which was infrequent at best.  Her skin was pock-marked and gray, and a rotten, fetid odor lingered around her neck.  In her right fist she brandished an old bent fork, which she waved around her head as if she were wielding Excalibur.

"What the hell's your problem, lady?"

Mabel jabbed the fork in the general direction of Porker's corpulent neck and threatened, "I don't know who you think you are, mister, but I'll stick you if you mess with my man again."

Fred leaned over and whispered in Porker's ear, "Oooooh, death  by tetanus."

Porker snatched the fork from the frail wench's grasp and tossed it over his shoulder, whereupon one of the bar's patrons behind him moaned, "Owwww!"

Mabel's eyes bulged from her skull in shock of her shabby treatment.  She struggled (in vain) to regain some dignity and exclaimed, haughtily, "You cain't just walk in here like you own the place, mister!  My man Axel here is gon' MESS you up!"

The big dude, Axel, never looked around as he took another gulp.

Porker finally lost his patience with the little meth whore, "Listen Gollum, I AM the owner of this place!  So why don't you go out back and huff some paint so the men folk can drink our beers in peace, huh?"

Axel mumbled, "Go home, Mabel."

The End

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