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Mitch McConnell (standard:other, 2684 words)
Author: Chris MorrisAdded: Nov 05 2000Views/Reads: 2487/1312Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
My first and so-far only story! A whacky tale about my life with Mitch McConnell

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“Couldn’t we just forget about the whole thing?” said Mrs. McConnell.
“Maybe you could, but there are others who can’t.”  replied the banker, 
visibly irritated. 

“And I’m one of them” said someone’s girlfriend as she burst in through
the kitchen.  I stood by watching the event as Mr. Greene paid his 
month’s tab and left through the drive-through window. 

I almost expected Mitch to send a fax at that time.  My expectations
were shattered when he telephoned to say he wouldn’t be by in the 
morning to sample my new, warm batch of muffins.  He reassured me by 
saying that his lady friend would be by to try them out.  He said she 
was the best tennis player he’d ever met and she had a keen eye for 
fine china. 

That week I decided to close early every night and be sure to wake up
slowly so as not to startle anyone important.  The following week 
decided to be a slow one, so I kept a sharp eye on the news to make 
sure that someone tasteful would be in every morning to try my new, 
warm, fresh batch of muffins. 


I stood silently.  She stood vacantly. 

“It’s like I wouldn’t talk.”  She said. 

“It seems that you wouldn’t either.”  I replied. 

As Mr. Greene knocked on my door, I realized the grave mistake I had

Ten days ago I stood at a worn out crossroad doing a crossword with a
crossdresser thinking on a stone.  The wind blew hard but the clouds 
moved slow.  My watch stopped ticking momentarily and the ground I 
stared at didn’t even stare back. 

I sat thinking of someone’s girlfriend and the things she appeared to
invest in. 

I stood nervously.  She stood angrily. 

Saturday crept up slowly even though I wasn’t ready for it.   I met the
banker for lunch and he brought me dinner.  The confusion that followed 
threw me off balance temporarily but I was soon back on track with more 
nonsense.  Mitch passed by the window as always and waved a feather.  I 
made a point of leaving early in hopes that it would encourage Sunday 
to take a week off. 

When Sunday came I cursed and swore (fuck shit piss) until it was time
for sleep again.  My neighbour called on Tuesday.  I called my 
neighbour on Wednesday.  Thursday was out of town and I had been with 
Mr. and Mrs. McConnell on Friday. 

I closed the coffeeshop for the weekend and stayed home for a week as I
had no interest in participating in any more silly games. 


Mitch awoke the morning after to discover that yet another bill had
arrived from Colombia House.  The shock took him by surprise and even 
though his heart skipped a beat, the lump in his throat seemed to 

Back at home, I rotated my chair so that I was facing the direction of
the coffeeshop.  My conversation the day before with Mr. & Mrs. 
McConnell had left me feeling empty enough to want to run to Mr. 
Baker's house. 

Mr. Greene, a thin man, expressed to me the torture & agony he feels
every time he receives mail from the CD Club.  He seemed to be rather 
interested in what never happened he waited patienly for an incredible 
surprise.  Someone’s girlfriend brought the surprise after dinner and 
the banker swore he knew nothing about it. 

There’s something spooky about Colombia House.  Indeed, it lacks the
conservative formality one would expect from someone like Mitch 
McConnell, but it does leave me with a desire for lunch on the town. 


Like any other person on the planet I can think of, I woke up at 10:34
AM.  Good time to wake up.  Mitch McConnell was passed out on the floor 
in front of me, and I was lying naked in bed behind him.  Naked.  I 
hate the feeling of waking up naked and hungover.  Strike that.  
Reverse it. 

My memory recalls a typical night involving the usual suspects.  Mr. and
Mrs. McConnell, Mr. Greene, Mr. Baker, the banker, and someone's 
girlfriend.  A little foggy, my memory is.  Perhaps it was really 
someone's poodle.  Hmmm.  I must research this further. 

A pub.  Yes, definitly a pub.  Not the damn coffeeshop.  I don't serve
alcohol there.  I just consume it when no one is looking.  Some people 
have been known to "re-serve" their own previously-served alcohol at 
about 2:00 AM, and I usually just kick them in the arse and send them 
on their way home.  In the pub (which is currently in my head) I can 
see the distinct triangular outline of Mr. Greene's head.  What a 
stupid looking head.  I'm sure it's nice on the inside, but the outside 
just looks dumb.  I see a bottle of Labatt 50 in my haze, and Mr. Baker 
is the only person I know who drinks that shit.  Mr. and Mrs. McConnell 
are always there, looking after Mitch, who, evidently, is always there. 

Now I must sort out this eternally confusing issue of the banker and
someone's girlfriend. 

Whose girlfriend could it be? 

I don't like finances, so why would I hang out with a banker? 

Tomfoolery it is.  All of it.  Maybe it was all a dream?  Maybe Mitch
just showed up at my place and we watched a movie together.  My memory 
isn't the most accurate machine on the planet, maybe it was too hot to 
sleep with clothes on.  Maybe. 

A little perverted this all is.  Maybe I should sell that goddamned
coffee shop. 


The enemy has been confronted. 

I win. 


The stroll began with my left foot in front of my right foot. A mud
puddle: dodged it. A piece of gum: narrowly avoided. A passing thought 
of running fully clothed through the forest: remembered, but not in 
detail. And well it should stay that way. Forests are not meant to be 
ran through fully clothed. Most of your dirty minds will think "naked". 
Well, let me tell you about running through forests. Brilliant idea. 
Naked + forest + movement = not necessarily good. You don't want 
branches poking at your willy or your tatties. Standing naked in a 
forest is good though. Running naked through most other things is bad 
though. However I'm sure there are many non-good things to run through 
while non-fully clothed. Non-naked I stood, still strolling, no longer 
thinking about foolish things. Now I've moved on to current events. 52 
bucks for a barrel of Viagra. Not important. War in Kosovo = bad. I 
Don't want to get in to the politics of it all, though. Wonder what 
would happen if they shot Viagra pills instead of bullets. Stupid. 
Still strolling. Ends with my left foot in front of my non-left foot. 


And Mitch continued channel surfing.  Nothing on. 

He calls me on the phone and tells me that if I sell the coffeeshop,
he'll stop drinking coffee.  I told him that wasn't a very good 
argument.  He agreed. 

So he paused to think of a new argument.  He didn't have one.  So he
just asked me to reconsider.  I told him I was never really going to 
sell the goddamned coffeeshop.  Sometimes I just get annoyed.  No big 
deal.  But I guess to Mitch, it is a big deal.  So I told him to fuck 
off and I hung up the phone.  He called me back and told me to fuck 
off.  Then he hung up the phone.  So I called him back and told him I 
loved him.  It was very sweet.  Then the phone got disconnected, so we 
placed the receiver back on the cradle (as outlined in the instruction 
book) and I made a new pot of coffee for consumption by consumers. 


As you can imagine, there are odd perps who come in to the coffeeshop. 
Octobrankman and the SaucePan were two of the oddest.  The most odd.  
So odd they were re-odd.  Indeed.  Enough about odd, these two were 
downright strange.  Strange to the point that Octosaucebrank was 
actually ManPan.  You know, the clean stuff, to paraphrase Moon Unit 
Zappa.  To rephrase would be say something probably much different.  
But I liked Octobrankman and the SaucePan.  Friendly, in a strangely 
odd sorta way.  I dug the way they didn't look you in the eye when you 
had your back turned.  SaucePan's most significant phacial quality was 
the length of his knose.  It was very short.  In fact, he had a midget 
knose.  Very short indeed.  But I wouldn't ever hold that against a 
perp.  Especially a favourite customer.  Someone's girlfriend was 
pretty weird, but not odd or strange.  It was just weird because she 
was kind of omnipresent.  Always there, not saying much, but drinking 
dark Colombian stuff.  Really tasty, but she never put sugar in it.  
Even after serving over 390892 million pots of coffee to every type of 
perp imaginable, I can't dig why someone wouldn't put sugar in their 
coffee.  Maybe it's because I'm such a huge Guess Who fan. 

THE IMPORTANT FINAL MEETING - Chapter 10, 11 and 12 

Octobrankman and the SaucePan had been camping out at my coffeeshop for
over two weeks.  Normally I would object, but they drank pots and pots 
of coffee every fuckin' day.  So I was pretty happy about that.  I 
brought the banker in to help me out with a few shifts.  He needed the 
work and I needed to go camping with Octobrankman and the SaucePan.  So 
when the banker wanted to fill my void on the coffeeshop campground, 
and I wanted to fill someone's girlfriends void in the corner table 
(she was null and void, so we best not ask any more questions about 
her), Mr. and Mrs. McConnell tag teamed on the empty shifts.  Quite a 
team they were, until there was a mix-up, and both of them thought the 
other was the active employee on the shift, and they were nowhere to be 
found.  It was almost an ugly scene when Octobrankman and the SaucePan 
wanted a refill.  But I saved the day by punching the SaucePan in the 
knose and keeping him out of commission until I sorted out the 

Mr. Greene called, wanting to know if we would go camping with him.  We
told him we had a rustic table in the northwest quadrant of my 
coffeeshop to camp under.  He told us we were wussy.  I reminded him 
that even in Algonquin Park, they have rustic tables, so he agreed to 
come camping with us.  The camping experience became so intense that I 
closed up the coffeeshop for a couple of weeks so we could all camp-out 
together.  We had a great time.  We sang songs around the deep-frier 
(used for deep-fried coffee).  We told ghost stories.  We roasted 
coffee beans.  Then we realized, there is one person missing.  Mitch.  
Then we realized there are two people missing.  Mitch and Mr. Baker.  
Just then we heard a rustling in the plastic flowers.  It was Mitch and 
Mr. Baker in grizzly bear costumes!!!  We weren't very scared.  We 
poked them with our coffee bean roasting sticks.  They poked us with 
yard sticks.  We slapped them with a subpeona.  They slapped us with 
salami.  We ate the salami! 

By this point, we were all tired and hungry and smelly from our camping
trip.  Everyone slowly went home.  As I cleaned up and re-opened the 
shop, I saw someone's girlfriend sitting at her regular table in the 
corner.  I don't think I'm going camping again for a long, long time. 



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