At the bar, writing

Some bars are for writing, some are for bubble hockey, that's all.

 

He should have gave the blondie the Subway pick-up line.

 

I'm pondering where foosball fits into Jones' caveat.

 

Is it OK to write outside of a locally-owned coffee shop, on their wonderful back deck with free WiFi and a nice view of the Tennessee River, when it's 78 degrees, not a cloud in the sky and just too damn nice out to work in my apartment?

I hope so because I did that today. But I wasn't drinking coffee, just water. And nobody would ever mistake me for a poet.

 

I dunno.. didn't Sylvia Plath write poetry too?

 

It's the quiet ones you gotta watch [/George Carlin].

 

Just dirty limericks.

 

There once was a lovely lass
Who had the most magnificent ass
It was not pink
As one might think
But sat outside and ate grass



My grandfather told me that one when I was a child.

 

So is the girl in the tank top going to let you tie her up with her scarf?

 

Or good shitter-stall poems:

Here I sit in solitaire bliss
Listening to the trickling sound of my piss
Now and then a fart is heard
Followed by a slashing turd.

 

I used to try to write a lot in a Panera. But that was back when I was drinking soda by the gallon. Now it's tough to find anything to drink or eat there that's not going to fuck me and my diet for the week.

Plus, the Panera here is loud as fuck.

 

Slashing? Owwwwwch!!