Little Miss Piss Pants and the Asthmatic Dog

Due to Falteredheaven requesting this story, I am obligated to post it.  It’s kind of like an unwritten rule of the Barslaves; besides, he posted that letter to Mr. Romney like I asked him to.  So, Falteredheaven, this one’s for you buddy!

Once upon a time in land called Barslaves Town, there was an ABC liquor store and a bar called Moody Mondays behind it.  The ABC store was frequented by barslaves of all ages, shapes, sizes, colors and genders, as well as people who thought they were barslaves but were really just posers.  Kind of like emo kids who try to turn into cowboys overnight.

Anyway, one day this lady lost her job and decided the best thing to do was to visit the ABC store and buy Vodka to make her reality more pallatable and forget that she ever had the damn job in the first place.  She decided it would be a good idea to take her asthmatic dog with her to the store (I don’t know why, just bear with me here).  After making her purchase of a pint of Aristocrat, the lady decided to drive along the side of the ABC store and cut through Moody Monday’s parking lot so she could take a side street and get out at a red light (traffic sucks over in that part of town).  As she pulled through the parking lot in her convertible there were several rednecks drinking horsepiss beer on the patio at Moody’s who began to whistle and catcall at her.  They invited her to come in for a drink.  She told them she had her dog with her, and could she bring her dog into the bar too.  One drunk redneck stated “You can bring your dog in here, and you can bring your pussy in here too!”  Being a woman who obviously has problems and needed attention, she parked her convertible and brought her asthmatic dog into the bar for some drinks.  Upon entering the bar, she was told she could not have the dog inside the bar but she sat down anyway because evidently rules do not apply to her.

As she sat at the bar drinking, she became increasingly obnoxious.  Fantasizing in her drunken stooper that she was a wealthy woman from Louisiana she handed a redneck some cash and said “I’m out of cigarettes.  Go across the street and get me a pack of Winston Reds.”, and the bastard did.  Then she went on to say later, “The problem with you southern men is that you don’t know how to do what your woman tells you to do.” 

At some point someone brought the little asthmatic dog a small bowl of water as he stood at the foot of her barstool and hacked and coughed and looked ugly.  A while later, a bald redneck said, “Lady, your dog done pissed in the floor.”  And then he realized, it wasn’t the dog.  Urine was running down her pants leg, over her shoes, and onto the floor where it gathered in an evergrowing puddle next to the little asthmatic dog, forcing him to look like the guilty party but the drunk rednecks knew better.

Fixing her eyes on the bald redneck, she began to hit on him.  “Hey sexy bald man; me and you’s bout to go to MY HOUSE!”

“No we ain’t lady.  I can’t go to your house.”

“Hey sexy bald man; me and you’s bout to go to MY HOUSE!”, she replied.  This exchange went on for several minutes until finally baldy said to her, “Lady I’m gay.”

“No your not!  I know a gay man when I see one!”, she said.

“Oh hell yes I am!  I’ll suck a dick in hearbeat!”, baldy said.

The patrons at Moody’s were ready for Little Miss Piss Pants to hit the road.  Someone told the bartender to cut her off.  This wasn’t going to fly with her.

“I’m a paying customer and nobody cuts me off until I’m ready to be cut off!  Now make me another drink!”  she insisted.

The bartender replied, “I’m making you one more for you to drink while the cab is on the way.”

After the cab took her home, the patrons all pitched in and cleaned up the piss, and disposed of the dogs water bowl.

Upon arriving at home, she couldn’t find her keys to get into the house, so right there on the front porch she took off her pants and panties and drank most of the Aristocrat that was in the pint she bought earlier and passed out.  Later her sister arrived home from work at the hospital and let her in the house.  A friend was called to help find the misplaced set of keys that included an ADT key fob, house and car keys, and other keys.  The parking lot of Moody’s was combed for the keys, and the sister made three trips to Moody’s that same night talking to patrons and bartenders about the behavior of her younger sister, and trying to locate the keys.  The cab company was contacted, but the keys to this day have never been found.

A friend had a connection at a tow company and got a good deal on a tow to the house for the convertible.  The regulars at Moody’s couldn’t stop talking about Little Miss Piss Pants and the dog with asthma.  Baldy redneck readily admitted that indeed he wasn’t gay, but didn’t want to go anywhere with Miss Piss, especially to her house.  As far as I know, everyone is still eating, drinking, and being merry at Moody’s; and the above story continues to thrive and flourish at Moody Monday’s pub.

And that is the story of Little Miss Piss Pants and the Asthmatic Dog.

~ by mrdiplomacy on May 31, 2008.