Down At The Tiki Lounge

“A transfer, please”, he asked so nattily
that I, (bemused and nodding)
could scarcely bring reply.

He said,
“By gum, your customers are cool.” (By
that he meant his own svelte self, and
none of his rat-tailed neighbors, harboring their
hatreds on every handy stool.)

“Now look at him, now look at her,” he
pointed at his nestling neighbors, “think
what a difference a hob-nailed boot,
a flying foot,
a rooty-toot
would bring to those ruddy faces (faces? farces!)
But No! they’d rather flap,
and overlap
than wear the cap I recommend.

Dish-tailors all!
Well, leave them to their sorry fate,
no time to wait,
I’ll duplicate, not implicate.”

and fingering his green lapel,
a gesture that we knew too well,
he flapped his tail and left us
in a cloud of perfumed bells.

contributed by Beatitude Tutman


10 thoughts on “Down At The Tiki Lounge

  1. You see the walk-ins
    You see the tropics
    You see the Pacific water s
    drifting into the U.S.
    We’re looking for whales

    It’s not flooding in El Paso
    but it floods in La Crosse
    The river is wide and
    and I can never
    cross over
    neither have
    I wingsto fly.

    A wise man was
    telling stories to me
    about the places he has been to
    and the things that he has seen.

    No way out, Pig.
    Leave the bar and
    dont buy no drinks
    for nobody that you
    don’t know.

    The evil men do
    lives for years
    after them.
    The good is
    oft interred in
    their bones;
    for too long;
    for what?
    For now.

    So let it be
    with Caesar.


  2. Ah, Trad’r Sam. A relic from my past that was a relic even then, a reminder of another age, when The Boys came home with tales of the tropics. When was the last time we shared a Scorpion Bowl? And what are the odds that “96 Tears” is still on that juke box?

    Chris, I discovered your blog accidentally during a search for shared experiences on the Fake Rocks, just one of the odd neuron firings that my brain occasionally urps up for no apparent reason. Fifteen years your junior, I still share so many of the same memories, or memories painted similarly of the same magical places, of things that no longer exist save in the history of those left to share them. I have spent hours reading your beautifully-written, personal tales and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for creating them, even as I read them through tears. Maybe it’s because I helped pack the belongings of one of my last SF native friends, sending him off to a new life in Michigan just last Saturday, but I find myself profoundly depressed and nostalgic for the people and places now gone and for my dwindling connection the city where I grew up. At any rate, your words help take me back there and to know that, as alone as I sometimes feel, there are other humans who share a love of a time and very special place that we can never return to.

    Please keep it up, Professor Pig.

    A New Fan,



  3. Thanks for the kind words, Ray, I do appreciate them. I write for guys (and ladies) like us. Do you still live in the City At The Rainbow’s End? I read that handle once in a memoir by a ‘once was’ silent film star and it stuck in my mind. She was describing the SF of 1920 but it still fits.


  4. PP-
    Alas, I no longer live in the City, but in Davis, near Sacramento, where the rainbow flies right over without ever stopping. Perhaps one day I will bore you with a brief history of my life and its geographic trail, but it’s hard to know where to start or when to stop. We share some history on the Peninsula, the Inner Sunset and the Haight, not to mention time at Balboa and La Playa, where my mom’s boyfriend would send my little sister and I off with five bucks to Playland for a few hours of alone time. Playland was a sad sight in those days before Jeremy Ets-Hokin got his hands on it and tore it down. I was a teenager when he auctioned off the relics but managed to bid on and win a number of old signs, which I still have, “A barrel of fun skins a peck of trouble” from the Fun House, and one from the “Fun Tangle”.
    See, it’s hard to know where to stop….


  5. “A barrel of fun skins a peck of trouble”??? That would be the perfect motto for this blog – do you happen to have a scan of that sign? I would like to post it.


  6. Chris-
    I missed the last part: “A Barrel of Fun Skins a peck of Trouble a Mile”. Do you remember the Barrel of Fun in the Fun House? It was a revolving wooden tube that you walked/ran/fell through.
    The sign is about five feet wide by a foot high, but I’ll dig it out and shoot some pics.


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