Bar fight

This blog post is dedicated to Dr. Forté who just recently removed the wicked witch mole from my upper lip.  The mole, initially made famous by my September 2011 post entitled "Hair Management," was removed along with another lesion under my chin. Now I know why starlets go into hiding when they have surgery.  I look like I've been in a bar fight.  So, being a writer, I had to make up a good story to go along with the stitches on my face.  I hope you enjoy my flight of fancy.

My black leather duster creaked in protest as I leaned on the bar at the TGI Fridays.  To the average observer, the crowd looked like innocent people trying to forget their dull, grey days slaving away in cubicle farms. But as an agent of C.A.T.S.S. (Committee Against Thugs Smuggling Stuff), I knew better.  It was a hot bed of criminal activity and I knew my nemesis, Dr. Phloephekoekes, had been smuggling  synthetic cat nip through this all american eatery, right under the noses of the authorities.

"What'll ya' have?" asked the bartender.  The name badge read "Pablo" and his nose looked like it was acquainted with one too many fists. The lump in his front pocket wasn't because he was happy to see me. He was packing.

"Shirley Temple," I said.

"Amateur night, tonight," he snorted as he turned away to make my drink.  I glared at his back hoping his polyester vest would burst into flames.

As he set down the pink concoction in front of me, I noticed a ring on his hand.  I took off my mirrored aviators and took a closer look.  It was heavy and gold with a distinct design, a fluffy cat with emerald eyes.  I knew that logo.  It was Dr. Phloephekoekes' calling card. "Nice ring."

Pablo gave me the hairy eyeball then turned and yelled, "Hey, Jim, I'm takin' a break.  Watch the bar."  He moved like a tank as he left the bar, went around the corner and out of sight.

I turned and watched the crowd again.  I knew the enemy was here somewhere.  The doctor was a master of disguise.  Then I saw her, an exceptionally ugly woman in the corner.  Her hair was dyed blonde to the point of looking like straw, she had shifty blood shot eyes and her dress was a most unfortunate fashion choice.  Where was Joan Rivers when you needed her?  That had to be Phloephekoekes.  Why be beautiful and attract attention when you could be so ugly that no one wanted to look.  God, he was brilliant!

Wending my way through the crowded dining room, I kept my eyes on the "woman" to make sure she did not escape before I got to her.  He was even putting on act of being drunk, weaving in his seat and pawing his date who was valiantly trying to rebuff the attack.  As I approached I heard some of their conversation.

"You don't look much like your picture online," "her" date said.

Phloephekoekes weaved in his seat and put his hand high up on the guy's thigh.  "You do," he gave his date a sloppy smile and then did a little hiccup.  I wondered how many method acting classes he had taken.  He was unbelievably good.

"Fluffycakes, the jig is up,"  I shouted drawing my weapon.  I looked her in the eyes. Well, one eye, the other one was lazy and looking somewhere over by the bar.  Maybe that was the good one, I switched back and forth trying to figure out which eye to glare at.  Finally I just focused my gaze on the bridge of her nose.  "Tell me where the synthetic catnip is, Fluffycakes, and I'll go easy on you."

The "woman's" face wrinkled in confusion as her date stared at me in slack jawed amazement.  "I don't know what you're talking about," "she" slurred.

Losing my patience, I reached out to yank the wig off to expose "her" real identity.  "Her" head snapped back with my hand.   "God, this wig is stuck on good!"  I  yanked a couple more times and her head wobbled back and forth like a bobble head.  I let go and she leaned over, puked on the floor then passed out on the table.
"Oops."
Her date gazed at the unconscious woman then looked at me with eyes shining in gratitude.  "Thank you, thank you!" he called as he thew forty buck on the table then made his escape out the front door.

I heard a cackling behind me.  A beautiful brunette was standing next to Pablo.  All the men in the bar were staring at her, uh, assets.  "You've met my henchman Pablo the Taco.  Now you'll see where he got the name." She gave me an evil smile.

"Fluffycakes!  I knew I could drive you out of hiding!"

Her face grew angry and dark.  "Stop calling me that!  My name is pronounced flow-fay-keks, not Fluffycakes!  Pablo, turn her into hamburger!"

I made sure that Pablo's nose became acquainted with my fist.  The last thing I remember before waking up with stitches in my upper lip was a close up view of Pablo the Taco's ring.  The good doctor got away this time, but once the stitches come out, I'll be on the hunt again, protecting unsuspecting kitty owners from Fluffycakes and his evil intentions.