Drones Club

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Pub name correction from Ray.

When last I wrote, Ray seemed to have wholeheartedly endorsed my suggested name for the pub I am about to open: "The New Public House." It was straightforward and unpretentious. Immediately after I suggested the name to him, he shot back with a "Wow. Dude. Yes." and hung up. I didn't hear from him for a few days after that, and assumed he was filing the necessary paperwork. Well, one knows how it is with old Ray, doesn't one? I rang him up earlier today and ran the whole thing past him again, this time with drastically different results. Witness:

- - -

RAY: [answering] Heyo! We got a phone call here!

ME: Hello, Ray. This is Cornelius.

RAY: Connie! Oldest man on the books! How you doin', peaches?

ME: Very well. Are you still excited about the new name for our pub?

RAY: Huh? What? Oh, uh...run that by me again, would you?

ME: The New Public House.

RAY: Whoah.

ME: After I suggested it to you last week, you immediately exclaimed, "Wow. Dude. Yes." I have it here in my notes.

RAY: ...last week...last week...oh. Shit, dude. You know what it was? Right when you were tryin' to tell me the name you thought of, the UPS guy showed up with my new Louis Vuitton golf bag. This thing is the sliz, man. This thing is kridden. This thing cost fifty large, hoss.

ME: So, you don't like the name.

RAY: Huh? Public Bathroom or whatever? Naw, dude. Listen, the thing has got to be nuts, just grab you and not let go. It's got to be like, you see the sign, and you can't not go in. What you got along those lines?

ME: The Sliz and Kridden.

RAY: Ha ha. Those words don't make any sense in this application, man. You got to have an ear for the jizz bus to be able to use those.

ME: My goodness. I don't suppose I have that sort of ear, no.


ME: Excuse me?

RAY: There's a damn dog in my yard, dude! It's totally fat!

ME: Did you leave the gate open again? What is it doing?

RAY: It's totally lickin' my grill brush and spatula! God DAMMIT! YOU THERE! STOP IT! I KNOW YOU KNOW I'M MAD AT YOU!

ME: Perhaps call animal control. You never know how a dog will respond, especially to a cat.

RAY: Damn straight I'm callin' animal control. STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE. SIT DOWN, FAT DOG.

ME: Say, that had a nice ring to it.

RAY: What? Dude, it's totally gonna slide my grease trap outta the little holder. It totally found it.

ME: Sit Down, Fat Dog. It's rather a nice pub name.

RAY: Sit Down, Fat Dog...Sit Down, Fat Dog...wow. It's like, "I have to know what that is." Damn, dude! Yes! I'll call Tim down at City. Got to go. Ciao, bye, hi, etc. [hangs up]

- - -

So, finally we've got a name we are both pleased with. "Sit Down, Fat Dog." Truth be told, I rather like it more than The New Public House, which now strikes me as too plain. If you've got to choose between "The Muck & Galoshes," and "Sit Down, Fat Dog," I think we both know where you'll be hanging your hat and plonking down your hard-earned dollar.

Off to scheme on the shingle illustration. It's a bit of a puzzle what, precisely, to depict.