Quiz Answer Key and Fun Facts
1. If you really want to know about it, all this madman stuff started when I walked into this pub. "PUB." That killed me. Anyway, there were all these flitty-looking guys sitting there way down the hell at the end of the bar, and the bartender thought he was a real hot-shot and all. You knew he was one of those guys that wouldn't say hello to you unless you were a g*ddam movie star. God, I hate that.
2. The bartender, whose name was Peter Rumfoord, had grown up in Indianapolis, Indiana, but now lived in Ilium, New York. He looked up at me from the paperback book he was reading. The title of the book was "Mitochondria from Zilchtron". It was about a group of intelligent cell organelles that took over a distant planet and created a social order based on gas chromatography. It had been written by a man named Kilgallen Perch. Perch, unlike Rumfoord was not a Hoosier. He was in fact an old man. He was not fabulously well-to-do. He didn't write books any more. He supported himself by painting volunteer firehouses...
3. He looked behind the bartender and there was the Jack Daniels and the Jim Beam and the Johnnie Walker Red, and he remembered when he had been with her, that first time, in the maricon.
"Scotch, straight up," he said to the bartender.
"Sure," the bartender said.
"What's new?" he asked the bartender.
"Don't get many Chicagoans in here," the bartender said.
"At these prices, you won't get many more," he said.
"Wouldn't it be pretty to think so," the bartender said.
4. Take up the barkeep's burden/Ye dare not shirk or flee--/Nor call too
loud on Bourbon/To Drown sobriety
5. If there is hope (wrote Newport) it lies with the proles.
If there was hope, it MUST lie with the proles, because only there, in those swarming, yellow-haired, pierogi-eating masses, 85% of the population of Atlantia, could the impetus to obliterate the long-hated Party ever be triggered...
In reality very little was known about the proles. Left to their own devices, they had reverted to a style of life that was natural to them. They were born, they went through a period of great beauty in their younger years, they watched Martha Stewart, and they marched in Kosciuszko day parades. But they were free.
6. As I was entering the bar, I occasioned to gaze upon the most ravishing shikse I had ever seen in the flesh. Blonde hair, blue eyes, tiny nose, long, shapely legs... and smoking some strange cigarette, nuch! In 12 years of school in Nutley, New Jersey -- elected class president every year, mind you! -- I had never seen a girl like this. The brown-eyed, studious, Robins and Judys and Mindys and Melissas of that suburban shtetl-- crazy expensive cigarettes they didn't know from! They knew from split-level ranches and getting teaching jobs... but to the fair skin, the dancer's legs, the verkakte cigarettes, they were STRANGERS! Gevalt, what would my MOTHER say if I were to bring such a thing home? Poor, thorough, earnest Sadie Rappaport -- the best cook in all New Jersey, as my father would say-- would have a coronary RIGHT THERE! "Moisheleh ...Cigarettes? POISON! Goyishe kop!"
7. As I was entering the bar, I occasioned to gaze upon the most astonishingly well-built girl I had ever seen. Raised in the south as I had been, I had come, however cynically, to consider the fair sex as an agglomeration of prim Baptist women with dainty features and chest development to match, but now, here in the heart of Flatbush, Brooklyn, I was confronted by a tawny-skinned, brown-eyed Bathsheba whose mammarian endowments were of such extraordinary magnitude that I found myself absent-mindedly attempting to calculate the total avoirdupois of those achingly perfect reservoirs of gloriously Jewish nectar...
8. Well, I never liked that tavern. It made me kind of down-hearted and scared. Most of the time it was so dark you couldn't hardly see a thing, but every once in a while the thunder would rumble and the lightning would flash so and you could see all kind of truck written on the walls... the ignorantest kind of words. It give me the fantods.
Then the bartender come toward our table. I looked over at Jim next to me in the booth and he looked powerful sick. Thinks I, we're both done for. But the bartender passed us by and didn't pay us no more mind than he would a mouse. As soon as he was past us, we high-tailed it out of there, and didn't stop until we found the raft about four mile below the town. I reckoned we couldn't be all that far from Cairo.
We got her out in the middle of the river, where it was all quiet and peaceful. Jim said, "Dese bartenders is regular rapscallions..."
9. Tom the bartender was leaving. Willie felt bad about it.
"Where ya gonna go, Tom?" Willie asked.
"It don't matter," he said. "Fella ain't got a bar of his own, just part of one big bar. Wherever there's a Singapore Sling or some umbrella drink to be mixed, I'll be there. I'll be in the way guys yell at the TV when they're sloshed an' -- I'll be in the way guys come on to the cocktail waitresses. And when folks get really four sheets to the wind and start talking about their problems, their mortgage payments and all, I'll be there too."
10. This bar... this WATERING HOLE, as the old-line WASPS from Darien call it... is not so much a BAR... as a kind of sodden GROTTO! The bartender, such as he is, wanders... no, DODDERS over to these old-money Connecticut lockjaws with -- could it be?-- an soiled-looking bowl of soggy CHEESE DOODLES -- as though he were about to put out the big dessert treat at some Scarsdale soccer mom's KIDDIE PARTY-- and the trust-funders, with their silver hair and their Turnbull & Asser shirts and their Brooks Brothers suits that always seem to be a half-size too large-- they make a COMMOTION over this pathetic, feeble offering!!!!!
Source: Author coolupway
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