Will You Give Deanna Beer for a Year to Keep Me Here

It was an eerily lit evening in Freddie Beach. Some said the strange object in the sky was the sun. Others just nodded and glanced up warily, lest hope scare it away. And then strange things began to happen on the Wilser’s Deck, things that would stupefy and astound.

It all started when Peter said, “Did you guys hear something? I thought I heard something?”

“Yeah,” said Tom, “the bartender just asked if you’re ready to dump that Mexican shit and have a real beer … like a Moosehead. Ha ha. Just kidding. But ya gotta admit … it does smell like shit.”

“Wearing an Arlo Guthrie shirt doesn’t make you immune to a well-aimed beer bottle to the head, Tom,” said Peter. “Ha ha. Just kidding. Oops … duck! Ha ha!”

“Maybe it’s those zany people down at Dolan’s Patio,” said Tom. “Whoa! Did you see that guy just park his Lexus on top of that table? Nice job. Hey, buddy, let’s see you do it with the 4X4!”

“Shh,” said Eric. “I think I hear something.”

“Yeah,” said Tom. “He just parked that 4X4 on somebody’s head. Man, I wouldn’t want to be eating nachos and salsa down there right now.”

“No,” said Eric. “It’s something else.”

“Maybe it was Biff farting,” said Peter. “He does that a lot when he’s taking pictures, you know.”

“No,” said Eric. “It’s … listen!”

“WILL YOU GIVE DEANNA BEER FOR A YEAR TO KEEP ME HERE?”

“Did you hear that?” said Peter. “What did it say?”

“WILL YOU GIVE DEANNA BEER FOR A YEAR TO KEEP ME HERE?”

“Man, that’s really weird,” said Tom.

“Yep,” said Peter. “Sure as hell wasn’t Biff farting.”

“WILL YOU GIVE DEANNA BEER FOR A YEAR TO KEEP ME HERE?”

“Where the hell is that coming from?” said Eric.

“I think it came from the painting,” said Peter. “I think the painting is trying to sell itself to us for beer for a year the artist.”

“I thought artists drank wine,” said Tom.

“No,” said Eric, “they’re like fucking musicians … they’ll drink anything.”

“You’re a musician,” said Tom.

“I rest my case,” said Eric.

“WILL YOU GIVE DEANNA BEER FOR A YEAR TO KEEP ME HERE?” said the painting.

“Buy your own damn beer,” said Peter.

“You tell the painting,” said Tom. “Bad enough with all these damn telemarketers … now we’ve got paintings talking from the walls.”

“WILL YOU GIVE DEANNA BEER FOR …”

“Oh, give it a break,” said Peter.

Whereupon the painting ate Peter alive through the modern miracle of acrylic polymer osmosis.

“Stop eating, Peter!” yelled Tom. “He’s not finished his beer, even if it does smell like shit.”

The painting swallowed Peter and burped. It looked Tom straight in the eye and said, “WILL YOU GIVE DEANNA BEER FOR A YEAR TO KEEP ME HERE?”

“He didn’t even get a chance to finish his …

And the painting ate Tom, Arlo Guthrie shirt and all.

“Ha ha!” said Mandy. “That’ll teach Tom and Peter to argue with art. Did you see the looks on their faces?”

“Yeah,” said Eric, “if you’re gonna go, then I guess acrylic polymer osmosis is the way to go.”

“A lot less messy than the guy down at Dolan’s with the 4X4 parked on his head,” said Mandy.

Eric noticed that Jeff and Susan were precariously close to the painting. “You guys might want to rethink your seating arrangements,” he said in a very professional manner, so as not to cause panic.

“It’s OK,” said Susan. “We watched Little Shop of Horrors three times and didn’t get eaten by any big old plant. I don’t think we have to worry about a talking painting.”

“Tom and Pete were listening to all the wrong music anyway,” said Jeff. “They were doomed.”

“Yeah, doomed,” said Susan.

Eric turned his head and said, “I can’t look. It’s too awful.” He caught a glimpse of a man at Dolan’s with a 4X4 parked on his head and said, “Well, maybe not that awful.”

“Eric, you big wuss,” said Susan. “It’s just a talking, people-eating painting.”

“WILL YOU GIVE DEANNA BEER FOR A YEAR TO KEEP ME HERE?”

“Give it a break, asshole,” said Susan.

Three seconds later, she was acrylic polymer osmosisized, but she went out with a laugh and a few final words of wisdom, “My god, I hate that purple dinosaur.”

“WILL YOU GIVE DEANNA BEER FOR A YEAR TO KEEP ME HERE?” said the painting to Jeff.

“Oh fuck it,” said Jeff. “Ever since Jim Morrison died there’s been no real music anyway. Here I come, Susan.”

“Slurp,” said the painting.

John tried to reason with the painting, but it was adamant, “WILL YOU GIVE DEANNA BEER FOR A YEAR TO KEEP ME HERE?”

“How about if I stick the beer where your acrylic sun don’t shine,” said John in a startling reversal of tone. “Yes,” he said, “that’s what I said, baby … and don’t you forget it!”

Where upon the painting ate him.

“Hey, you!” said Krista. “Yeah, you, the big red flat thing hanging on the wall.”

“WILL YOU GIVE DEANNA BEER FOR …”

“Knock if off with the broken record,” said Krista, “and spit those people back out. John was just about to buy me a beer, you little motherf…”

And before Krista even had a chance to be eaten by the painting, she saw something that made the blood in her veins turn to skunky Mexican beer …

It was an artificial life form that had escaped from Gallery Connexions looking for bartenders to eat. Finding none at the moment, it ate Krista and the painting. Fearing acrylic polymer osmosis, though, it spit the painting back onto the wall.

Fueled by Krista’s passion against the painting eating her friends, the artificial life form multiplied and spread throughout the area ready to pounce on the heads of those about to revel.

What followed was grisly. Imagine Paris Hilton, naked, legs spread, upside down, spinning on her head and singing, “I’m the boogey girl, uh huh, yes I am …”

Well, maybe not that grisly. It was a mass devourment.

But no beer was spilled.

Mandy, coming out of Wilser’s indoor bar at that moment, witnessed the mass devourment. Horrified, she backed dangerously close to the painting …

“WILL YOU GIVE DEANNA BEER FOR A YEAR TO KEEP ME HERE?”

(POST NOTE: Biff Mitchell drinks Corona beer. And he likes it.)