Thursday, October 8, 2009

The Dive Bomber: Meeting the Demon at the Cat's Meow

Posted By on Thu, Oct 8, 2009 at 11:30 AM

Page 2 of 2

click to enlarge ROBIN WHEELER
  • Robin Wheeler
Later that night, as my stomach churned and the muscles in my left shoulder blade knotted, I was pretty sure Demon had slipped something into my barrel when I wasn't looking. More likely, I wrenched something when I went into that Cat Nip-induced full-body spasm.

I'm convinced that anyone over the age of twenty isn't physically able to handle Everclear, not even the tiny amount in a cherry.

After the shots, Demon screamed for music, loaded the jukebox and Rickrolled the joint twice. Then he and his girlfriend led us in a sing-a-long to "Mama Mia."

They say the Antichrist will come in an unexpected form. Lately, he's often imagined as a suited, political type. No one is going to expect that he's really a shorts-and-work-boot wearing, shot-buying, ABBA-singing dive denizen.

I'm afraid I've fallen under the spell of Demon. I thought it would take more than shots and bad music to turn me to the dark side. What can I say? This kitten is weak. My soul is worth three-quarters of a mug of Natty Light and a shot of root beer schnapps.

Robin Wheeler writes the blog Poppy Mom. She also has a strange attraction to drinking establishments with jars of pickled -- or possibly fossilized -- eggs. She reports on these dives for Gut Check every Thursday.

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