Buddy Lashes Back

I found Dooley deep in the darkest corner of a windowless dive bar in Old Town yesterday afternoon. He was nursing a Crown Royal and a beer back. He initially ducked under his table when I walked in. I coaxed him out with the offer of another round.

TS: Where were you today? For that matter, where were you last weekend? Why do you tell me you're going to show up and host Round Bend Hour and then flake off?

BD: That's none of your concern... (long pause) Would it satisfy you to hear I've been sick? With the flu, or something like it?

TS: You're a little sick in the head, that's all. What do you have? Ennui? Malaise? Angst?

BD: I consider those unavoidable conditions of modernity. You know, you come off looking like an ass when you pressure me. Particularly when you say those rotten things about me on air.

TS: I'm tired of having to alibi for you.

BD: Fine! (hoisting his glass) Cheers...

TS: Where do we go from here, Buddy?

BD: I have a suggestion for you, pal. Get a gun, load it, point it toward your temple, squeeze...

TS: Tsk...Tsk...

BD: Get off my back.

TS: But you wanted to be on the radio. You said, "Yes, yes, yes..."

BD: Like Molly Bloom!

TS: Exactly!

(long silence)

BD: The radio seduces, stirs longings, conjures magnificent love, clairvoyance, hope.

TS: But you spurn love and hope. And you're no clairvoyant, that is for sure.

BD: I don't like you, TS.

TS: You don't like yourself. Learn to love yourself, Buddy. Learn to be one with...

BD: Don't say it...

TS: The universe.

BD: So you're attacking Boehner now? Does that make you feel manly? Does that make up for some obvious inadequacies in your life? What's the deal with that? I like Boehner. Seems like a reasonable man. Very patriotic. Very pro-family. Pro-marriage. Pro-money.

TS: He's a corporate shill.

BD: They all are, TS. He's just better at it than the others. He won the war in the trenches.

TS: I don't want to talk about Boehner.

BD: You want to talk football, don't you?

TS: Can they do it?

BD: No.

TS: Why not?

BD: Too much pressure. It's mounting. You feel it. They feel it. The coaches feel it. Something will go wrong. Look at Costa. Hurt his leg. That's not a good sign.

TS: Yeah, ouch...

BD: You agree with me? My, you are a pessimist...

TS: What do you really believe, Buddy?

BD: I don't care.

TS: What?

BD: You heard me. I don't care.

TS: I don't believe that.

BD: I don't care about your Ducks. I don't care about your radio show. I don't care how you feel about Boehner.

TS: Why do I talk to you? Why did I just buy you a drink?

BD: Because you are the idiot, TS.

(long silence)

TS: Are you going to watch my cameo Wednesday night at the Blackbird Wineshop?

BD: Ha...ha...ha...

TS: Fuck off, Buddy.

BD: Ha...ha...ha...

(click)

TS