Knockin on Summer's New Door

Sonny, wipe the blood from my face, I am sick and tired of the war.
Got a long black feeling and its hard to trace, I hate being Summers new door.

Colonel Mustard: "It's what we call overkill." Professor Plum: "It's what we call psychotic."

In keeping with an emerging theme here on Slumlog, yours truly has ..."re-interpreted"... this classic little ditty (omission of the original 8th verse as a tip of the hat to you Bob Weir fans out there) for the enjoyment of all our readers, imaginary and otherwise.  Cheers! 

They’re hanging postcards in the cellar

They’re painting the walls with blood

The futbol fans are in the kitchen

The waitresses are chewing cud

Here comes blind Joe Daddy

They’ve got him tightly pressed

One hand is cuffed to Immigration

The other is up a dress

And the Arlington Police they're restless

They can’t go very far

As Mike Green and I look out tonight

From Summers Red Room Bar

Mya, she doesn’t just seem easy

“I’m a one-star Sudoku,” she grins

And fishes down her stockings

To pull out full-grown twins

In walks the Professor, he’s boasting

“You’ve got a fine caboose.”

Then someone says, “You’re in the wrong neckwear, my friend.

“Try a hangman’s noose.”

And the only sound that’s left

After he catches his car

Is Mya heading down the stairs

Of Summers Red Room Bar

Now the smoke is getting thicker

The toilets are beginning to clog

Sonny’s sweeping up the carpet

Frankenbrian’s sawing logs

All except for Shawn and Carrie

And the karaoke guy

Everybody’s either stumbling home

Or trying to get high

Donnie Tucker, he’s dressing

He’s eating a granola bar

He’ll power through his hike tonight

To Summers Red Room Bar

Now the First Soprano, she’s in the front booth

For her I feel so proud

At her karaoke debut

She sang inspiringly loud

To her, life is quite dramatic

She wears a velvet bow

Her religion’s her persona

Her gift is her vibrato

And though her destiny insists

She’s bound to be a star

She spends her time indulging us

At Summers Red Room Bar

Dana, disguised as Ruby

With nostalgia in his heart

Dropped in after happy hour

To pass around his art

He copped a look of innocence

As Kelly bought his drink

Then he burned out all the drainpipes

And sped off to the brink

Now you wouldn’t recognize him

Without a cheap cigar

But long ago he held it down

For Summers old green bar

Dr. Stealth, he keeps his world

Underneath a baseball cap

But he blew off all his patients

And threw away his map

His tour guide, some local transplant

Is adrift in a consciousness stream

She’s carrying dead flowers

From a merciless regime

Now he’s stuck in a cave spitting bad seeds

Into a mason jar

Waiting for the last train back

To Summers Red Room Bar

Across the street they’ve pitched a beer tent

They’re giving pints away

The stew is boiling over

On a cold St. Patrick’s Day

They’re warming up Sanford Markley

To soothe him from his fright

Then they’ll make him sing “Cecilia”

Until he feels alright

John Kelly’s reading manuals

On tuning a guitar

Sanford Markley just learned his lesson

At Summers Red Room Bar

Praise be to Hero’s Wholesale

The New Door swings at dawn

While greasy foreign heads decide

What it will hinge upon

Two sides of ducks and cowboys

Are starting to get crude

While servers giggle nervously

And try to carry food

In the kitchen between two worlds

Where frozen burgers char

The waiting is the hardest part

In Summers Red Room Bar

I learned all my letters yesterday

And put them in a word

Then used it to make fun of you

For calling me a nerd

All the people you keep forgetting

I know them, they’re okay

Though you rearrange their faces

Or you look the other way

Right now you don’t seem so good

But you’re calling me bizarre

Tomorrow you’ll be stumbling in

To Summers Red Room Bar

It Is Hard For Thee to Kick Against The Pricks

I know the heat is making me insane and I don't want to get off on another rant here, but why am I such a prick to people I meet in Summers?

My knee-jerk reaction is that I'm an asshole and Summers is my home away from home and the only place I feel comfortable being myself outside my Fortress of Solitude. The difference was thrown into relief recently when a friend sent me an e-mail asking why I was being so nice and understanding with an issue that she had shared while we were both at work.

My first thought was that I'm really a nice person and that's the way I am and I like helping people because that is what I do. Then I thought about it and realized that the Summers Me was the real me and she had just caught me in a moment of weakness when my guard was down. I kind of hate her for making me face the fact I'm a jerk, but I aslo appreciate that fact that she forced me to come to terms with the fact I'm an asshole.

Which reminds me about the song that Dennis Leary wrote about me...

"I'm just a regular Joe with a shitty job.
I'm your average white suburbanite slob.
I like hockey and porno and books about Gwar.
I've got a crappy house with a dirty hardwood floor.
No life and no job, no kids and no car.
My feet on my stool and an Asian working the bar.

But sometimes that just ain't enough to keep a man like me interested.
No, I've gotta go out and have fun at someone else's expense.

I pedal really slow in the ultra-fast lane,
While people behind me are going insane.
I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, ask his ex-girlfriend)
I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, how did his last relationship end?)

I use the unisex washroom and piss on the seat,
I walk around Summers saying "How about this heat?"
I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's the world's biggest asshole)

Sometimes I crap in the handicapped loo,
While handicapped people giveme a handicapped F' you.
I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's a real fucking asshole) "

Green Is Good

Just fyi Redrum, Green on the Air Quality Index is Good, Red is Unhealthy.

Schweinsteiger bein ein ScheiBkerl

What the hell is up with German soccer fans?

I don't want to get off on another rant here, but then again, I haven't invaded Poland or the Sudetendland recently so maybe I don't understand. Where does the attitude come from? It is not like Germany has won a World Cup recently, so where do German soccer fans get off acting like supercilious Yankee fans? Or bottom-feeding Super Bowl-stealing New York Giants fans?

And yes, I mean you Mr. Fazio.

Winning a game by a goal doesn't mean anything Germany (except when you're the US and you suck at soccer and you only advance by a one goal victory in extra time no less), so unless Jurgen Klinsman comes on television and kicks the scheiB out of John Harkes, keinen wein mehr!

You mean, let me understand this cause, ya know maybe it's me, I'm a little fucked up maybe, but I'm funny how, I mean funny like I'm a clown?

Sonny, I know you think I'm a clown, but could you wash me every once in a while?

Green Lantern Socceroos

Is it just me or does anyone else think about brightly colored underwear when the announcers talk about Australia's Men's 2010 FIFA World Cup team?

Now I don't want to get off on another rant here, but Socceroos is the worst nickname for a sports team ever.

Well, I guess I won't get off on a rant, that's pretty much it. I'm done.




ps - that rant was shorter than the vuvuzela i found in my pocket.

The Prescription is More Cowbell

I wish at least one side of me was soundproof so the other half wouldn't have to listen to the cacophony of the vuvuzelas.

My Falling Dipthong is both long and short

Don't get me wrong, I like Summers.

I wouldn't touch a ceiling tile even if it was burning like the eternal flame at Arlington Cemetary because it was drenched with sludge culled from the BP spill that Mean Joe Green bought at a discount because he thought it would make a good World Cup special and that flaming tile fell one me, but that is part of the unfashionable charm of Summers.

But it could be so much better.

Now I don't want to get off on another rant here, but Summers should learn a thing or two from Iota Clube & Cafe. Iota is one-tenth the size of Summers and you can't even smoke inside anymore, and yet it is ten times busier than Summers. Believe me, I like my peace and quiet and I am anti-social as all get out, but it would be nice to see another human being in the Redrum on Molson Canadian Night.

And no, Mya doesn't count as another human being.

The Grass Is Always Greener

I know I have a door stop and not a vuvuzela, but I would still rather be the patio door at Iota.

The Death of the Mya Civilization - Part II

Mya is a Mesoamerican bartender, noted for the only known fully developed written record of her own self-mportance and attractiveness to customers, as well as her bad service, inability to get your drink right, and the long periods when she disappeared from view refusing to provide any service. Initially established during the Pre-Classic Summers period (c. 2000 AD to 2008 AD), according to the Barishannican chronology, many Mya customers reached their lowest state of development during the Classic period (c. 2009 AD to 2010 AD), and continued their slow miserable death through the Post-Classic period until the arrival of the Spanish futbol fans.

The Death of the Mya Civilization - Part I

I don't want to get off on another rant here, but what the hell is up with the service at Summers recently? I know that Mya has been working a lot recently and that distresses me. She's terrible. Maybe I don't get it because I'm a eunuch and I'm immune to her feminine wiles if you can call them that. She's not charming, and she's not funny, and every time she smiles and she's like me love you long time, I'm like that's not even what I ordered so I'm just going to leave now and you can stop smiling becasue your smile isn't even genuine in the first place Dragon Lady.

Seriously, I don't understand how she still has a job. Sure, its World Cup season, but everyone is showing World Cup games and they're on ESPN and ABC too. Those are like two channels Mean Joe Green can't even get, so what's the point?

I know that you imagine that you're going to be busy during World Cup time, but that's not reason to keep a shitty bartender like Mya on the payroll.

It's Not Easy Being Green

It seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things and people tend to pass you over 'cause you're not standing out like flashy sparkles in the water.

These Pretzels Are Making Me Thirsty

Now I don't want to get off on another rant here, but what it up with the sun? I mean how super hot & sickeningly humid was it today? Sure it was my own damn fault for going out in dark jeans and a black t-shirt, but come on, it was so cold in the apartment I had to wear a sweater.

As I ventured out to get a cup of coffee because I'm too cheap to make my own, I realized how hot it was. The sun was so hot it felt like weasels ripped my flesh. As I took my second step, I realized I was totally dehydrated. I needed something to drink. I was thirsty, I was parched, I was delirious.

In my delerium, I thought to myself, what the fuck happened to the chips & salsa at Summers?

Seriously, as thirsty as I was today, I've never been more thirsty than after eating stale tortilla chips at Summers. It doesn't take a genius to realize thirsty customers means more beer consumed. Lord knows I've wasted enough money at Summers to deserve a free week-old tortilla chip.

But no, in his infinite wisdowm, Mean Joe Green stopped serving free chips.

How many time does he have to throw his javelin in his own foot before he realizes he needs to be more customer friendly?

Green Dragons of Slovenia

I was obviously painted in Slovenia because I am the same sickening shade of green as the Word Cup team uniform.

The green-eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on

I could have stopped the shot that Robert Green didn't stop.

Attention Door Fanatics!

Brace yourselves for some all-new one-way swingin' see-thru action with the long anticipated SUMMERS NEW DOOR!  Yes, folks, a thrill to chain smokers and door lovers up and down Clarendon Boulevard, SUMMERS NEW DOOR has been expressly installed to delight your eyeballs, tingle your fingertips, and keep out the wandering riff-raff who can't tell Push from Pull.  See you on the other side, suckas!  ...could somebody please bring me some hand sanitizer?

Ringling, Ringling

And across from Summers there's a pile of beer cans
Been there for twenty-seven days
Imagine all the heartaches and ways
In which Mya's incompetence destroys your plans

So we hopped back on our rent-a-segway
And we hit the cruise control
Pretty soon Summers was out of sight
Though we left behind a fat barmaid, a Cowboys fan, and this blog
Bracing for a Ringlin' Karaoke night

Ringlin', Ringlin', you're just drinking your life away
I wonder how many people will still go to Summers a year from today
'Cause the Redrum is dusty and the GoldenTee has been torn down
Summers is a dyin' little town
Yeah, it's a dyin' little town

When you try to believe her just a little too much

Dear Slog1: I will post a picture of Summers Restaurant if I want to post one because nobody tells Mike Green what to do. Not even Coach Boudreau. He tells me to play defense, but what the hell does he know? Has he ever won a Norris Trophy? Soccer isn't even a real sport so who cares if some local rag featured this place. It is a dump. I mean this place looks like it fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. You are doing a great disservice to the community in which I live by not posting pictures of this place, we need to tell potential customers that the colour scheme may adversely affect those that are prone to vertigo or drinking too much. I just pray to God someone doesn't paint this place red. I love rocking the red, and red means passion, but painting this place red would only encourage idiots like that jackass trying to take a picture of me, hey you, yeah you with the camera, what the hell is your fucking problem? Come here. This is why I hang out at Cafe Asia. Serisouly come here you paparazzi piece of shit, give me the fucking camera, or I'll kick your bitchy little ass punk... WHAM... #$%^^%*#@&

Imagination is a powerful deceiver

Congratulations to Summers Restaurant for being one of only three Arlington venues to be featured in today's metromix.com World Cup 2010 DC-area viewing guide.  Further congratulations to whoever made the decision not to include a photograph of Summers Restaurant, which would have had to compete with the photographs of all the other normal-looking places to watch the games.

When The Music's Over

Before I sink into the big sleep I want to hear, I want to hear the scream of the butterfly.

The scream of the butterfly is way better than the scream of the drunken buffoon that tries to sing karaoke songs at Summers. Now, I don't want to set off on another sizzling rant, but why are the songs at Summers so shitty? To be fair, its the background music as much as the karaoke.

A weekend night at Summers makes American Idol rejects sounds like Justin Bieber. Its not the Emcee's fault, although I like the new guy way better simply because he wears a belt.

During the week though, its worse. Mean Joe Green grew up in Malta so his idea of good music is mediterranean mama mias murdering a melody. But the crap that he puts through the speakers is worse than the crap he puts on the plates.

Seriously, take a page from Iota. Iota is 1/10 the size of Summers but it is 10 times better.

I mean as far as music goes of course.

Giant Foaking Q

This post isn't strictly Summers-related per se, but I had to share the story anyway.

I just got carded for buying NyQuil.

What the foaq is up with that? Apparently its an age-restricted substance. It is NyQuil for crying out loud; it is not Colt 45. Second, I look like I'm forty-five the way I abuse my body in the Redrum at Summers. You're really going to ask for my i.d. for a small bottle of NyQuil?

That's worse service than Nathan used to provide. But at least he never carded me.

You Talkin To Me?

Are you talking to me? Who the hell else you talking to? This is Summers, there is no one else here. So, again, are you talking to me?

I mean it is becoming de rigeur and I don't want to get off on another rant here, but seriously, are you talking to me? Come on, what is it about Summers that makes you want to talk to me?

Granted, there's nobody here and after two hours of talking to myself about how Michael Weston and Fiona Glenann should just get it on because I imagine myself as Michael Weston to Mya's well-played Fiona I'm obviously completely bonkers and I am starving for another human being's commentation, there's nothing about my outward appearance that should encourage conversation of any sort.

I'm not looking at you. I'm not listening to you. I turn away when you ask me a question. My arms are crossed. I don't respond. I make fun of the hat you're wearing. Why don't you get it?

I'm the least funniest, least friendliest, least commentating person in the place. Just because Summers is a holding cell for derelicts and dialetcs gives you no right to talk to me.