Old Birch Bear sure wasn’t keen on being stuffed in his “holding cell” out at Binary, but the doe on staff slipped some tranquilizers into his ice cream and that was that. I bid him adieu and headed down to The Perilous Shore to grab a drink.
I had a lot on my mind as I had received a long awaited letter from Mary Bear back in New Jersey that was decidedly more distant in tone than previous correspondences. But whatever. I figure she’s busy helping her mom run their combination umbrella and concealed handgun store in addition to maintaining her medical practice.
I started slurping, and struck up conversation with Osmond the otter or whatever his name is. He told me that he had been a few days away from being ordained as a Catholic priest when he heard from a lady otter he had encountered over spring break up in Grand Forks, North Dakota. She was pregnant, so he disappeared from the seminary and married her. They divorced shortly thereafter, of course, and he joined a traveling medicine show. One night on the road, he and his boss got into a heated argument over the transubstantiative properties of sarsaparilla and grain alcohol. His merchandising companion tried to strangle him with his bolo tie, at which point they parted ways. Which is how he came to tend bar here in Tennessee.
Just as he was beginning to explain how Medicare reimbursements work for snake oil salesmen, a Kiss tribute band comprised of skunks began playing at top volume. I was in no mood, so I ate their soundboard. Half way through the reverb panel however, I chipped a tooth, but Osric was able to recommend a dentist.
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