Friday night Alan and I went down to the hen where I had a couple of beers and we shamelessly took advantage of the peanut bucket. Afterwards we went next door to the biker bar called 'The Alley'. There we ordered a couple of hurricanes that came in tall glasses. Alan was almost done with his when he managed to knock it all over the floor. Most of the heads in the bar turned to look. It's bad enough that you are drinking some fruity drink in a biker bar, you don't have to call attention to it by spilling it everywhere. When the bar ladies came to scoop ups all the ice I hightailed it out of there.
Saturday morning I spent most of the time trying to get that outboard motor working. I pulled out the carb but it looked nice and clean. I then traced the fuel line to a fuel filter/pump and found it all clogged up. So I took it apart and cleaned it out. I have never seen a fuel pump like that before. It's some sort of diaphragm pump. I put it back together but it still did not work. I decided to go out and try to find a replacement part.
I first dropped into some outboard repair place that was down the road from me. Three shirtless rednecks were sitting in a boat, looking at the engine and drinking beer. I asked if they sell parts. The redneck said 'Depends on what part' So I wandered over and showed him the little fuel pump. He peered at it a moment, thoughtfully spit out a wad of tobacco, and then said 'Aint got that' and then turned back to his beer, dismissing me. His cronies smirked. That's some customer service for you.
So I headed over to the boat shop on the marina. The guy there was much better. Took it all apart, recommended a new seal, talked about how it worked. He said he THOGUHT it looked ok, but when I went back home and reattached it, it still did not work. So I am just going to order a whole new one. It's only like 30 bucks. However, I wasted most of the day on that. And I got dirty and greasy and smelled like gas, something I hate doing.
So, later that night we met Matt over at The Green Parrot. Man, that place is such a hole. You look around at the cliental and you just know that the trailer parks are empty that night. I even saw an Ozzy Osborne clone. However, the wings were actually very good and the cute little blonde waitress we had who looked to be all of twelve years old kept me in drinks all night. The band there was also playing a bunch of songs I actually liked. On a whim I was drinking Harvey Wallbangers. It's not too often you can find a bartender that knows how to make them, or if they do they do not have the right liquor. Alan started talking about a drink his boss drinks called a 'Moscow Mule'. The bartender had no idea what it was, so I told her to make me something she THOUGHT would be a Moscow mule. She brought out some dark-bitter shot that was actually pretty nasty. I decided to get the bartender to try and make some more made-up drinks. Alan suggested the 'Pink Bunkadoo', which was the giant smelly tree the midgets from 'Time Bandits' got demoted by god for building. I think I was calling it a 'Pink Fungadoo' though. Anyways, she brought out this bright pink drink that turned out to be pretty fantastic. I ended up having several of those.
I kept gawking at some lady in the bar. She was some older woman, but she was wearing this massive white medallion around her neck. It looked like it could shoot out some sort of Dragonball-z energy power. I am not sure what it was; it might have been a sand dollar. I was going to try and get a picture taken with her, but she ended up wandering away.
After the parrot we stopped at some horrid greasy 24 hour burrito place. I forgot the name. Bentos or Pinto's or something. The place was the poor drunks paradise. I got a taco and a massive chicken burrito. They were dirt-cheap. I could not even eat the burrito, just the taco. I asked for a bag to stick the burrito in to take home. On the way home the burrito juices actually started eating though the paper sack. I had to stop at 7-11 to get a plastic sack to put it in. It was around 2 am when I got home and I made the mistake of eating that goddamn burrito while watching the 'sci-fi' channel. When I finally passed out on the bed it felt like someone had surgically implanted a bowling ball in my stomach.
The next day I worked a little in my bathroom but then wimped out in the heat and went to my folks house and floated in their pool for a few hours. Aaah. Refreshing. Went home, did some shopping, did some yard work, and then loafed in front of the tv. The new Ventura brothers was on. It was a great episode. One of the things that drives me nuts about that show is every now and then you will see something that nudges on the tip of my subconscious. I am sure I had seen it decades ago in some cheesy Hanna Barbara cartoon, but I simply do not remember it. That is one of the best things about that show.
2026 Update
Setting the dial for August 2006: Ed hunts a thirty-dollar fuel pump, and then a burrito hunts him back.
Ah, the mid-aughts, when a man could spend an entire Saturday with his hands inside a diaphragm pump and still be expected to function in society. Today you would pull up a video on your phone, order a matching part with same-day delivery, and never meet a single shirtless redneck. The biker bar itself has likely been rebranded as a craft tavern, and the hurricanes now cost thirteen dollars with a garnish of personal branding. The Green Parrot’s clientele posts its own trailer-park emptiness online; that Ozzy clone probably has his own page. And the burrito that ate through its paper sack? We no longer wait for leakage—we order through an app, pay three times as much, and have it delivered by a stranger who abandons it in a lobby. You at least let the 7-Eleven plastic bag finish the job. Modern luxury is just paying extra for an identical burrito that arrives warm instead of doing its digestive damage in person.
“2006 Ed, when you asked the bartender to invent a drink based on a Time Bandits tree and it came out pink and fantastic, did you realize you had found your life’s metaphor, or was the burrito already standing in for wisdom?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2006 Ed: Beelzebubba, I wish I could say I had some grand revelation there at the Green Parrot, but no. You give me too much credit. I was several Harvey Wallbangers and a Pink Bunkadoo deep, watching some lady’s giant medallion like it was about to fire a Kamehameha wave. Life’s metaphor? Hell, that pink drink was just delicious and the bartender looked proud, so I drank it. As for wisdom, the burrito taught me more: it sat in my gut like a greasy bowling ball and gave me heartburn till dawn. If that’s wisdom, I guess it’s the kind you get from learning that the 2 a.m. sack from a place called Pinto’s is a lie. So no, I didn’t find any deep meaning. I found a good drink, a full stomach, and regret. Same as most weekends.
