Julia Whatshername

So what’s new with you?

Not much.

You ever bang what’s her name?

Yes, yes I did. Julia Whatshername. My college sweetheart. Then she broke my heart.

No, cmon, you know, that one chick that had the one leg longer than the other and had to wear the giant heel on her shoe and at parties she would always ask people to taste her ear wax? Her, did you ever bang her?

Oh, you meant her. She had cancer, she struggled with basic physiologic functions, much of her life was a battle against biology, and you are asking me if I banged her?

Yes, yes I am. Did you get kinky and taste her ear wax?

Bitter it twas.

So what’s the plan for tonight? Do some horse then some e then hit the clubs then maybe grab a tube steak from the strip club you love so much then rally at the casinos for some blackjack hot enough to make George Gervin sweat in  a walk in freezer? Sound good.

I can’t make it tonight, I have a date with Brenda.

Do you mean Claire?

Brenda, Claire, pretty much synonyms. No I don’t mean Claire, I mean Brenda. Bravo Reno Energy Niner Dagger Allegra.

That is not how the police alphabet goes. Niner refers to nine you dolt. Well call her and tell her your scrotum is infected and go out with me.

Um, yeah, I’m going to go ahead and ask you to move your desk to the basement and clear up the rat problem and no, I’m not going to cancel with her.

Sure you are.

No I’m not.

Let’s just avoid all the gritty grimy repartee and let’s do some e and hit the clubs because in the end, what Heidegger called “at bottom,” an end to which we are both a party my friend, a party that is both at-hand and for-hand,-

Niner doesn’t stand for N?

No, it refers to nine.

Where’s the e?

Bar Scene

Bar Scene

Bartender: What can I get you?

Patron: I’ll have whatever you’re pouring?

Bartender: How about a little more direction.

Patron: Sounds good.

Bartender: No, can you be more specific?

Patron: Are you out of a little more direction?

Bartender: That’s not a drink at all; I need more specific information from you for your drink.

Patron: What kind of drink requires an ingredient from the customer? I’ve never even tasted specific information. Is it any good?

Bartender: Here, here is a whiskey, on the rocks.

Patron: Thanks. Too bad you got me going about that little more direction drink though. Maybe next time.

Bartender: (rolls eyes) you’re new, what brings you in?

Patron: I got lost.

Bartender: Where you headed?

Patron: Nowhere in particular, I was just out driving around.

Bartender: How are you lost if you aren’t looking for anything?

Patron: Cause I don’t know where I’m at. (Murmurs) Duh.

Bartender: (Frustrated) Where are you from?

Patron: Buffalo.

Bartender: What brings you to the city of angels?

Patron: I don’t live in Orlando, I live right here in Los Angeles.

Bartender: Los Angeles is Spanish for the angels.

Patron: I don’t speak Spanish and I’m not really religious. Is this some sort of cult bar?

Bartender: How about another drink?

Patron: Say, don’t the Angels play in Anaheim?  

Bartender: They are actually the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.

Patron: They must be good to be in two places at once; hard to defend that kind of talent.

Captain and Officer – Jazz Hands

Captain: Did you have the guys at the lab dust for prints or retrieve any hair samples from the jazz player’s piano. I think this guy murdered his drummer on this piano!

Officer: I did, just like you asked captain. It wasn’t his drummer that was murdered; it was his alto sax player. The drummer is missing.

Captain: Well what did they get from the piano?

Officer: A lot of pubic hair and some fingerprints.

Captain: That’s great, this case is looking up.

Officer: Well, the pubic hair doesn’t help because it is apparently from a 6 foot tall albino woman with webbed feet with a penchant for bad merlot and most of it was burnt in some sort of pagan ritual to the point that it can’t prove useful and the fingerprints belong to the drummer. But we do have some good news.

Captain: Well what is the good news?

Officer: We think the drummer also plays piano.

Captain: That’s great. Play misty for me! This guy did it, I know it. We’ve got motive and opportunity. He hated that sax player; he knew he was sleeping with his mistress on the side and was soloing way too long and he sounded like Kenny G crying to Guy Lombardo. He threw this late night jam session just to get him over there. What do we have on the albino woman?

Officer: We think she was singing that night but things turned ugly when she requested a swingin’ version of Mmm Bop by the Hanson brothers.

Captain: Makes sense. What about the mistress? Anyone lean on her yet, good cop bad cop her?

Officer: We sent Markowics and Hershburger to her place but they ended up in the ER with posttraumatic stress disorder.

Captain: What happened?

Officer: She was into the heavy stuff captain. All the fusion stuff of Miles and Coltrane’s Love Supreme - they never had a chance, poor bastards. Hershburger has kids. How do you play catch with your kid after Bitches Brew?

Captain: Hmmm. Did the sax player have any other enemies?

Officer: Plenty, including the bass player.

Captain: So the whole band hated this guy.

Officer: He was a vegetarian to boot.

Captain: So let me get this straight, the whole band hates the sax player, the piano player knows the sax player is sleeping with his mistress, he then throws a late night jam session to off him, where a walking bass line breaks out over Mmm Bop when an albino Sarah Vaughn winds up mixed up in an electric shaving ritual for Thor, the sax players winds up dead, the drummer missing, but we can’t pin it on anybody? Have they at least given the cause of death?

Officer: They have: Acute respiratory failure due to complications of having a low E bass string wrapped around the neck.

Captain: Hmm, choked with a bass string. Well we can’t accuse Ernie Ball now can we?

Officer: I already told you that the drummer is missing.