Damn it, tubey! Get your roots off my neck! This bloody floor is covered with glass shards and god knows what else. Let me up, will you?

Good goddamn thing for PDAs, otherwise there’d be no way in hell I could post this week. Freaking hell, were under siege here in The Straw Horse, a local public house we stumbled into last week. Oh, sure…. I know what you’re going to say. “Joe,” you’ll tell me, “aren’t you guys just a little old for barroom brawls?” And the answer to that is, of course, yes. But before you ask a follow-up, let me just explain that this brawl was a.) not my idea, b.) the result of circumstances entirely beyond my control, and c.) started by Marvin (my personal robot assistant) in an uncharacteristic fit of passion. Whoa, hold on… can’t type… here comes another bottle…

Fuck, that was close. Sorry for the interruption. Where was I? Ah, yes. Marvin. Of course, as you remember (just scroll down to last week’s column), was encouraged (by myself and others) to pull on a ludicrous scarecrow get-up in hopes that that would keep us from being ejected from yet another tavern, most of which up here still refuse to serve robots. (Yes, I’m ashamed to say that this is true. There’s a kind of lucite ceiling here in upstate New York… people don’t like to admit it, but there you are.) Well, the cheap disguise worked, after a fashion, and we did manage to purchase a round of libations before the trouble began. (Not sure you want the kids to hear the rest of this… I’ll just pause a minute while you put them to bed. Good night, Mary! Sleep tight, Chucky!)

Now, it seems as though the proprietor of the establishment took a certain amount of pride in the autumnal display he maintains (seemingly year ’round) out in his front yard. And it appears that, in preparing the decorative scarecrow, he employed some of his own discarded clothing to add a certain verisimilitude. As he set up the drinks we ordered (including a white Russian for Marvin), he took notice of the distinctive laundry mark on Marvin’s collar… a mark that he himself had made. Marvin, convinced the clothing was his own, made no effort to conceal the mark. And… well, you can probably guess the next thing that was said. (Clue: it starts with “HEY, Wait a minute….!!”) As a matter of fact, you can probably imagine the entire body of dialogue, as well as the obscene gestures, grunts, and various violent acts that ensued after this unfortunate discovery. (Fact is, I’ve been introduced to some words I’ve never heard before… and if I survive this encounter, I will surely use them.)

So, crikey, here I am on the barroom floor, scrambling for purchase, dodging broken glass, and praying for deliverance. (And I don’t mean the movie, Chucky. So just go back to bed, now – there’s a good little chap.)

Hmmm. I think we need to circle back that way. You see that church over there? We should hang a left right there. Right, I said left. Right, you heard me. Left. RIGHT, LEFT!!

I need a freaking chauffeur, and that’s a fact, friends. Damn this poverty! Damn our puny residuals checks! Damn you, Marvin (my personal robot assistant), you’ve missed that turn again! Kick the thing in reverse and get us back to where we were a minute ago – we’re going to start again. Jeeeezuz! All I want is a couple of beers… is that so much to ask? Day after day in that drafty abandoned hammer mill, little to distract us besides the gnawing of termites and the steady drip-drip-drip from the rafters when it rains. (Even when it doesn’t rain, in fact. That may be a plumbing issue… What do you think, man-sized tuber?) Just needed to break out of that joint, get some fresh air. So what the hell – we borrowed the neighbor’s car and started searching for a convenient night spot wherein to imbibe some stimulating libations. And maybe have a drink, what the hell.

We put Marvin behind the wheel. Our first mistake. Though, perhaps, it would be more accurate to say our first mistake was asking Marvin to accompany us at all. Not that he’s bad company, you understand (in addition to being a bad driver), but he always insists on bringing Big Zamboola along. And if Zamboola goes, well then tubey has to go, too. Then the Lincolns get all interested. Anyway, pretty soon you’ve got a whole carload of freaks and you won’t be allowed in anywhere (or, at least, anywhere you would want to be allowed into). So you drive from place to place, turned away at the door again and again, and pretty soon anti-Lincoln starts getting fussy, then the man-sized tuber wants a glass of water, and so on. Hoo-boy.

I’ll tell you, friends… prejudice is a terrible thing. To think that in this day and age a robot or an overgrown root vegetable or a shrunken planetoid could be refused entry to a public place. It’s disgusting, I tell you. It’s also bloody inconvenient. I mean, we’re out here in the sticks on a cold, cold night, looking for someplace to stop, when we might have had a friendly beer just a block away from our squathouse, had it not been for these persistent freaks we’ve surrounded ourselves with over the past few years. (Matt says they’re accumulating like barnacles on a rusting ship, but I wouldn’t go quite that far.) Still, you go to the pub with the entourage you’ve got, not the one you…. Hey… there’s a place up ahead. Marvin, pull over, man! Hmmmmm. The Straw Horse. Sounds like a nice place. And what luck – there’s a scarecrow in the front yard! Marvin – go get ‘im!

Sure, that straw hat is likely to hang down over Marvin’s eyes, but that’s okay. One of us will lead him to the door. Hey tubey – give Marvin a hand, will ya?

Hey… did you hear that? Those footsteps outside… the creak of a rusty metal door… the grating sound of a mailbox flag being lifted tentatively upright. That can only mean one thing – mail’s in!

What’s that you say, Marvin (my personal robot assistant)? No mail? *sigh* No one writes the colonel. Oh, well…. Marvin, check the Web mail. There are always good tidings in there…

Ah, now that’s better. Let’s just open the old digital mail bag and see what we’ve got here. Hmmmmm…. this looks like a good one. From a fellow named “Jordon Lex”…

Paris Hilton presentation! This photo is stunning! Only 1 day trial – get this Stunning presentation now!

Jordon Lex, Pornville, Texas

Well, thanks for writing, “Lex”. And thanks for the generous offer. Of course, I’m a little slow at answering my Web mail, so the 1-day trial is most certainly past. Very regrettable. Still, we’ll keep the Hilton in mind next time we’re in Paris. Though I should tell you, it’s a little rich for our blood. Truth be told, we live in an abandoned hammer mill and probably couldn’t afford a broom closet in the Paris Hilton. But thanks for thinking of us!

Here’s another one:

Dear Big Green…

Something’s wrong with your new record. I can’t hear the fucker. I mean, it doesn’t sound like anything. I hit the side of my CD player with a hammer, and that didn’t help at all. What’s up with this shit?

– Dirk Mahardy, Cleveland

Thanks for your message, Dirk. I’ve looked into this technical issue and I think I know what the problem is. You see, we haven’t released our new record yet, so what you’re attempting to listen to is a figment of your imagination. Now, our contract with Loathsome Prick Records indemnifies us against all liabilities associated with “figmental imaginagraphic mis-associations” or “flap-doodle” as it’s known in layman’s terms. (Are you a layman, Dirk? If so, use the latter term.)

Last but not least, a little missive from this alert listener in Madison, Wisconsin:

To whom it may concern,

This is the third time I have received a bill from Bogart’s Grocery for goods that I have never purchased. I’m not sure how I can prove a negative, but I have never been in your store, nor do I intend on ever going there in the future. Stop sending this bill or I will call the police.

– Margaret G. Spilling, Madison, WI

Ho, boy! We’re sure sorry for the inconvenience, Margaret! Sure wish we could do something about your little problem. Again, I am forced to refer you to our record contract, which clearly states that we cannot, as an organization, be held responsible for the deeds or misdeeds of organizations that have the same initials as “Big Green.” Much as we would like to give you satisfaction, I’m afraid all we can offer is a free mp3 download of your choice at http://www.big-green.net/mp3.htm. Best of luck!

Got a question that needs an answer? Drop us a line or leave a comment. Always good to hear from you. (Okay, Marvin… shut that pain-in-the-ass Web mail down… now!)