Night of the Drinking Uneaten

It was a dark and stormy night at Wilser's Deck just a week after the carnage and devourment by Deanna's painting and the sudden and horrifying appearance of an artificial life form escapee from Gallery Connexions folllowed by an invasion of thousands of artificial life forms that swooped upon the revelers at Wilser's, Dolan's and somewhere in the heart of Zeeland. Pandemonium reigned. But then, a strange thing happened … the revelers transcended the carnage and joined the ranks of the Drinking Uneaten.

As usual, I was sitting in the rain, but this time, I was prepared. Since it fell off on my fortieth birthday, the only thing I like wet in my life is my beer.

“That’s a wonderfully wet beer I’m beholding on the tabletop,” I said. “By the way, has anyone noticed that the deck seems to be slipping a little toward the ground? It’s very undeckish.”

“I think that might have something to do with the depraved life you lived in the sixties,” said Joe. “And did you hear about the carnage last Friday night. I’ve heard rumors that some of those eaten by the artificial life forms and Deanna’s painting have come back to life to drink and revel as the Drinking Uneaten.”

“Hmm,” I said. “”Shouldn’t that be the Drinking Regurgitated?”

“Get out of the sixties, Biff,” said Joe.

“See the people at the table behind me?” said Beth.

“Yes,” said Joe. “They certainly look like hearty revelers.”

“Eaten,” said Beth. “Everyone of them. By the painting and the life forms.”

“But they look so alive,” said Joe.

“It’s the beer,” said Beth. “And guess what?”

“What?”

“I was eaten alive as well. In another life. But here I am … uneaten and drinking.”

Phil kept a wary eye on Deanna’s painting.

“I think those people over there are talking about us,” said Krista. “Should we eat them?”

“No,” said her drinking buddy. “But I think we should stop Biff from looking at us through those sixties tainted eyes. It’s having a strange affect on our coloration.”

“It could also be a side effect of being eaten last Friday,” said Krista. “Damn, I don’t even remember if it was the painting or the life form that got me. But it’s good to be uneaten again … and drinking. And it Biff pokes that fucking flash in my face one more time, I’m shoving my beer glass up his ass.”

John sat with two of the Drinking Uneaten and asked how it felt to be drinking again.

“I’d do it again in a minute,” said Peter. “It was all acrylicy and emulusiony and …”

“Snap out of it,” said John. “That’s not what I asked.”

Tom said, “It feels like … like … like …”

“I think I have to go pee,” said John.

“I was eaten by Tasmanian bush devils on Queen Street last night,” said The Man In The Red Coat. “It made me thirsty.”

“Well, I was eaten by sharks at Killarney Lake yesterday,” said Beth.

“There’s not sharks in Killarney Lake,” laughed Joe. “Those were piranhas.”

“Why don’t you sit a little closer to Deanna’s painting,” said Beth.

“I think the painting moved,” said Phil. “Did anybody else see that?”

“It’s all just part of an emerging Wilser’s mythology,” said Joe. “It’s done with verbs and nouns. Hmm, I think I feel a poem coming on.”

“Dare ya to write it under the painting,” said Beth.

In the distance, a beautiful maiden clipped flowers under the cover of night.

The Man In The Red And Black jacket (not to be confused with The Man In The Red Coat who was eaten by Tasmanian Bush Devils on Queen Street) said, “I sure am glad to be one of the Drinking Uneaten. That ‘eaten’ part really sucked. Who would have thought that, just by adding ‘un’ we could all be sitting here having this much fun. Oh, did you hear what I said? ‘Un’ and ‘fun.’ Hey, Joe! Wanna hear my poem!”

“Maybe next week,” said Joe. “Next Friday. Here. Under the painting.”

“Aren’t you going to be in Serbia next week?” said Beth.

“I certainly hope so,” said Joe.

“You publishers are all alike,” said Beth. “I had my heart broken by a publisher once.”

“Really,” said Phil. “What was his name?”

“Umberto Eco,” said Beth. “Umberto Eco broke my heart.”

“Umberto Eco wasn’t a publisher,” said Joe. “He was a writer.”

“You writers are all alike,” said Beth.

Down in the Tannery, WhiteFeather and Deanna waved and called up, “Don’t get eaten by the paintings and artificial life forms tonight!”

“All you have to do is give me beer for a year,” said Deanna. “Or … I’ll settle for a big party.”

Suddenly, Deanna and WhiteFeather were eaten by the SUV parked beside them.

“Did you see that?” said John. “That SUV just ate WhiteFeather and Deanna.

“That’s OK,” said Peter as he chomped on his donair … they’ll be back as the Drinking Uneaten. It’ll be fun. “We’ll all …”

In a remarkable twist of events, Peter’s supper ate him.

“Does that mean that we can have the rest of his donair?” said John.

“Knock yourself out,” said Tom. “I’m not touching that thing.”

The Man In The Red Coat turned to the beautiful woman beside him and said, “Did I tell you about the time I was eaten by a Christmas tree?”

“Drink some more beer,” said the beautiful woman. “Maybe about fifty gallons.”

Inside Wilser’s I saw Veronica Pencil and approached her in a drunken stupor and said, “My beer ate me.”

“That’s very interesting, Biff,” she said. “Maybe you should pour yourself into a glass.”

“Actually, I think I was on my way to the washroom.”

“Lot’s to pour into in there,” she said.

In a moment of compassion, Veronica introduced me to her friends, George and Heather. “I’ll never forget your names for as long as I live,” I said.

Carl said, “So, are you one of the Drinking Uneaten?”

“You’re not really one of them, are you?” said Sally.

“I heard they come back and drink,” said Theo.

“And then get eaten again,” said Mary.

“Oh, Biff,” said Veronica. “I think you’d better find a glass or a urinal really soon.”

COMING NEXT: Ladies of the Fountain ….