Slumpers

"Doesn't she have some nice fucking tits?"

Suddenly, I was sure Kevin was smoking crack. I took a sip of beer, and warily sized up the bartender. Kevin nudged me.

"Did you hear me? Check out those fun bags."

"How long have you been here," buying time and wishing this topic would just die and rot in his brain.

"Since happy hour started. Three o'clock. Why," he asked with a smile that I had trouble reading. It either said he knew something I didn't, or that he was supremely self-satisfied that he managed to get shit canned in just over two hours.

"No particular reason." I glanced at my watch and asked, "When are Randy and Eddie getting here?"

"Fuck, they called about an hour ago. Said they were on their way. Prolly caught in traffic." I noticed he was sweating and wondered if he was going to vomit on the bar.

"You feel all right?" I asked. "I mean, because you've managed to throw on a hefty set of beer goggles in less than two hours, and you're sweating balls."

"Ah, I'm cool. But about her tits. You like 'em right?" I think Kevin's mom is a pitbull because he wasn't letting go of this chick's tits.

"She's got big tits, sure." Doing my best impression of a politician. Pathologically vague and placating--I thought.

"You'd fuck 'er?" He leered. I took a long pull of my beer. Not because I wanted to continue avoiding this line of bullshit. But because I thought it would keep me from laughing. It didn't work.

"Have you developed some morbid curiosity about bestiality? Because if you're curious about banging barnyard animals, I'm sure, if we drive far enough, we can find you a suitable sow to bang, and you can drop all this shit about the bartender." I laughed, wiping beer from my chin I added, "What the fuck?! I think you're done for the day!" I grabbed his beer and moved it. He snatched it back. "Seriously!" I said. "The bartender isn't even a serviceable substitute for a nice fat pig! We'll find you one. Just wait for Randy and E to get here." I laughed and wondered if the bartender heard me. I was getting a buzz going, and I should come with a sign that reads, "WARNING : Talks loud when tipsy!"

"Airight, airight. " That same smile, "Here comes Randy and Eddie." He pursed his lips and placed one vertical index finger over them--the universal sign for "shut the fuck up"--and winked. I wondered what the hell he was up to. I noticed that it was $3 you call it for the next hour. I ordered my third 24 oz beer and four shots. Fuck it, if Kevin wants to hit the pipe and bang sheep, who am I to stand in his way?

Everyone exchanged "What up's" and Kevin starts in again with the bartender's tits. "Hey, you guys like the bartender's tits?" He winked at me is if to remind me to shut the fuck up. I swallowed my shot of Canadian Mist. I decided that I was a masochist. That shit tastes horrible and burns on the way down. What the fuck was I thinking when I ordered and drank that shit?! Reading Kevin, Randy and Eddie's face, I could tell they were thinking the same.

Randy slid his glass on the bar and said, "Look Kevin, if you want to bang that fat ass, you bang her. But don't think you're getting a pass!"

"No shit, " Eddie added. "Of course she's got big tits. She's got a big gut, big thighs, big shoulders. She's a goddamned 2-gap tackle. So bang 'er if you feel like you need to break the slump, but don't think we're gonna let you get away with it." We all laughed. Eddie got the bartender's attention and giving me a look that said, here's how it's done, ordered four shots of Bushmills. I didn't think he did much better--just paid too much. I shot him the finger. He laughed.

It finally dawned on me. "So, Kev, how long's it been?" He gave me a sneer, shot me the finger and we all threw back our shots, and then our heads in laughter.

Randy, grimacing and shooting Eddie the finger--Randy hates Bushmills--, said, "Four fucking months, bro!" I shook my head laughing.

"Oh, now I get it, " I started. "You're trying to persuade me to say that the bartender is hot, so when you bang her I won't give you shit. Oh no! You fuck her, it's on homey!" Again, laughter. Then Eddie says, "Listen, we've all been in a slump and needed a slumper. A slump breaker. But we've also all taken our lumps when we did, and you gotta take your's, bro!"

Kevin laughed, finished his beer and headed to bathroom. I glanced at the bartender and noticed she'd craned her neck to find Kevin. I nudged Randy and gestured towards her. He snickered and said, "He's already got it all lined up, that bastard."

"Okay, no one say anything. Let's see how this plays out, " Eddie said. We agreed. Another round of 24 oz brews.

When she came back with the beers I asked, "When's Rick coming on?" Rick is another bartender and friend of ours. Setting them down she said, "He comes on for me at 7. He's closing." I nodded and looked at Randy and Eddie. We laughed.

Randy said, "I'll double back. I know you guys have to get home to the wives." We high fived.

Kevin came back from the bathroom and didn't protest the beer sitting in front of him. He took a big gulp from it and peered down at the bartender, whose name is Faith. I checked my watch--6:15. I gestured to Faith and asked for my tab. I figured I would finish my beer, and head home. The half-hour was filled with idle drunken talk, and congratulations about Eddie's new baby boy. At 6:45 I said, "Well, I better get home. I think Samantha wants to go out to eat. I need a shower," then, to Kevin, "You leaving?"

"Nah, I think I'm going to try and sober up a bit." Randy, Eddie and I exchanged looks.

Eddie says, "Airight, I gotta go."

"Me too," says Randy. We headed to our cars. Randy says, "I'll go get some cigarettes and sneak back. Call you guys in a bit." We laughed and headed out.

Driving along is when it occurred to me that Kevin could stand to watch the Persuasive Writing Workshop. There are some helpful tips about crafting a persuasive argument. Tactics that would've proven helpful to Kevin a couple of hours ago. Things like word choice, what you really want the opposing party to agree to, getting them to agree to a "disguise" of your crux issue. In short, getting them to agree to something before they realize what they have agreed to. I shook my head. Then the phone rings--it's Randy, and he's laughing his ass off.