They always said the answer is not at the bottom of a bottle. Of course, Dan Cleaver had denied this phrase, even while his wife was alive. Since then, he had felt anger at womankind. He had no idea what killed his wife, Georgina, since she told anyone who knew not to give the details to anyone. For a while, Dan felt guilt. He had never treated his wife with the admiration she deserved and always knew she secretly hated him beyond belief.
But why shouldn't he know? To him he had a right to know, and the guilt turned into anger bees, buzzing around inside him, slowly becoming more and more noticeable. That is, until Dan had had his drink. Good ol' Marco's. Dan swears he must've spent half his life in there. It was worth to be away from Georgina, spewing hate everywhere as she did. Dan would prefer it if she spewed out hot, dry sex but she was "never in the mood". Fucking typical, Dan would think, as he would stamp all the way to Marco's.
The real Marco was in fact called Tony. Tony was Dan's best bud, and Dan was Tony's mortgage payer so it all worked out. Sometimes they'd talk the night away with Dan slowly making less and less sense as time went on and Tony dignifying himself as a "Yes man", though he had his moments of emotional usefulness: "No Dan, that's stupid" or "I think you should think about that some more while I pour another beer out." Marco's was usually pleasantly quiet, except when there was a game on, which would hypnotise everyone in the room (except one particular customer who we'll get round to later) and have everyone ooing and booing in sync with each other.
Dan had few other problems he needed advice on. As with any friend, his main conversations with Tony were based around their interests, which matched almost perfectly. They both enjoyed lengthy progressive rock pieces, steaks and the women featured in Nuts. There was always another customer who looked slightly violated when the gentlemen cracked about the latter. Her name was Joan. She was a regular to the bar but said very little, looked at very little and kept knocking back glasses of wine. The wine was not perfect at Marco's ("If you want champagne, go to the fucking country club.") but at least it was cheap and satisfying.
Joan probably knew all about Dan and Tony. After all, she was listening to all their conversations. It was obvious. The way she never looked around, the way she ordered another bottle of wine when things were getting slightly out of hand (Dan would cry if he was drunk) and the way she went off to the lavatory when they began talking about women, and the sluggish bitches they are. She was invisible to them.
One Friday evening, Dan stormed in earlier than usual with such an entrance, it made Joan look up from her glass for a second. He dumped around $100 on the table. "Give me as much as you can. I'll top it up later." Tony fiddled around with the taps, while Joan looked into her glass and pretended not to listen to his explanation. "Is there something you want to tell me Dan?" Tony asked as he dumped a glass of beer on the counter.
"Fucking women." Dan muttered through bared teeth "If she expects me to live in that house alone she's got another fucking thing coming."
"It can't be that bad." Tony helped. Dan just shuddered. The next hour would be unhappy hour. Dan was pissed off at his deceased wife and every woman on the planet. To him, he wasn't being irrational, but making a point. He honestly thought Lady-God had just taken a shit on him.
At the end of the hour, Tony went out back for a minute (probably to smoke, which he apparently didn't do). Dan was finishing off his seventh beer when he made out that Joan was approaching him. It was odd. She seemed so distant before, so cold. For a minute Dan thought he was about to get a mouthful after cursing women all night. She stopped moving and he realized she had sat right next to him. "Hey, what's up?" she asked. Dan ignored the question, "Why you talking to me?" he asked, putting as much seriousness into his voice as he could. "I was wondering how you're doing. You sound…" she paused as if she didn't know the right words, "…shook up."
"I'm fine." Dan claimed.
"Really?" she replied, sounding concerned. Dan did not notice but she was beginning to move closer to him. Her hair was now draped across his left shoulder. If his vision were hundred percent complete, he'd see a good-looking face right next to him. She breathed into his ear, and it suddenly occurred to Dan she was coming on to him. "Do you want to start feeling better?"
"Sure." he said, suddenly happy with himself. That's how you get chicks, he thought, be a jerk. Joan wrote something incomprehensible on a napkin and pulled Dan out the bar, back to her place.
Tony came back from his "sorting" in the back. He suddenly panicked to see two of his customers weren't there. He looked around anxiously, hoping to see them walk out of the bathrooms in a moment. His eye caught the napkin. He could barely make out what it read:
Dan's joining the club.
He stood puzzled for a moment, before being asked by a customer for a beer.
The walk back to Joan's place was certainly a fun filled one. They both had each other in their arms and were giggling along the way, disturbing a few passer-bys. They played tongue wrestling a few times while attempting to talk to each other. Joan wasn't exactly sober herself by this time, having consumed four glasses of wine buy her objective still stood clear. The club.
Joan scrambled for her keys at the door and showed Dan around. Most importantly, she showed him the bed and the small en-suite she would be changing in. Of course, she went in there with the expressed intent that when she comes back, Dan will be naked on the bed. Her wish came true of course. She was clothed in a purple negligee (with nothing underneath) while Dan was clothed only in the dark hairs outlining his penis. Dan was proud of his penis. It had impressed every woman he had ever slept with. It was like a new drill; fast and it got the job done right. Foreplay was magical in a drunken state. It started off with the tongues, and then Dan's groping of Joan's breast nipples as well as a bit of quick licking. Dan wasn't the only one who could get up to a bit of licking either. "Lick the burnt sausage" Joan said as she underwent her activity.
The next morning, Dan was in a daze. He looked around at the blurred colours. He had no memory of what had happened after he left the bar, but realized he was nude and he wasn't at home. Oh God, it's not Tony's place is it? He thought frantically. Deep down he knew it wasn't Tony's place because that's absurd; Tony was living with his girlfriend. Suddenly another thought spoke: You're in big trouble here my friend. Magically, his vision cleared up and he could make out a red sludge on the mirror. It wasn't sludge he slowly realized. It was lipstick, used to write a message:
Welcome to the club, ignorant pig.
There was also a picture, a picture that made Dan snap and scream. It was a penis hanging itself with a sad look on its "face".
Dan, feeling nothing, walked slowly into the en-suite and into the shower. "Such a peaceful shower." he cried out loud as he strangled himself with the lead.
Why can't we do it now Georgina?