Post by paulyginsberg on Jun 11, 2020 3:43:01 GMT -5
Some places just seem to be magnets for all the low life scum of the world, the type of places that give seedy underbellies a bad name.
Micks Cat-Fe Americain made those places look Buckingham Fucking Palace.
If you stepped foot in Micks you were either looking for something you shouldn’t be looking for , running from someone you shouldn’t have crossed or worst of all a tourist.
It was sometime between Tuesday and the apocalypse when she showed up outside the bar with her entourage.
Girl: OMG I love cats, why didn’t lonely planet tell me this was here.
Like every dame before her and every one to come she walked right in ignoring the signs “Cat Cuddles: 10 drink Minimum” and “No Crocodiles Allowed”
When the gaggle of ditzy dames walk in they see the hundreds of cats everywhere and exclaim in unison “Kitties”.
Mick Cringes from his bar stool without looking up from his laptop, finishing placing his bets on the New Zealand women's table hockey finals.
Carl an elderly fat jolly german host with a heavy accent waddles over towards the screeches and tries to herd the gaggle into a booth at the far side of the restaurant.
Girl: OMG your accent is so cute, are you Mick? You have to have a drink with us Mick, What drinks are you buying us?
The real Mick clicks his tongue so only the cats can hear and they all walk over towards the girls legs and start rubbing all over them.
Carl: No, I am Carl. Mr Dundee never drinks with the customers except for the exceptions.
Girl: OMG did you say Dundee? This place is owned by Mick Dundee? Like THE Mick Dundee? Like Croc….
Carl cuts her off quickly.
Carl: No not that one, we don’t say that word here.
Girl: You can’t tell me what I can and can’t say I am a strong independent Sigma Delta Phi sister and I’ll say Crocodile Dundee if I want to.
After listening to this short exchange Mick shuts the lid on his laptop and takes a cigarette out of the pack he had on the bar. He turns toward the girls before bringing to his lips and lighting it. He takes a nice deep drag staring at the lead Karen and blows the smoke in her direction.
Mick: I believe Carl very politely reminded you of the rules of our establishment, the same ones that are clearly posted by the door you came in through. But perhaps I’m assuming too much in thinking that you know to read simple child's level english.
Mick takes another drag off his cigarette as the lead Karen gets angry enough for smoke to come out of her ears.
Girl: How dare you talk to me like that.
Mick: I’m gonna stop you right there Doll. I Dare because this is my bar, I’m Mick. And this is my home, Maybe not by birth but it is by stagnation. I don’t think this is a good place for you so if you all would go ahead and pay for your ten drinks each you can be on your way and feel free to never come back.
Girl: We haven't had any drinks and we sure as Beyonce aren’t paying for any.
With two quick clicks of his tongue Mick changes the cats mood from cuddly to growling with their hair standing on end.
Mick: Well I’m sorry to say your illiteracy is gotten you into trouble once again because my cats here don't like to work for free.
The cats yowl and yip and herd the women through a door in the side of the bar.
Girl: Hey you can’t do this to us, we’re Americans we have rights.
The voices fade away as the cats take them deeper into the bowels of the bar.
Mick walks behind the bar and pours himself three fingers of scotch mixed with a solid chunk of water.
Carl sits on a bar stool across from Mick and gives him a concerned grandfatherly look.
Mick: Don’t give me that look, Sasha's back there he’ll get their credit cards before they get to scratched up.
Carl: It’s not just that Mister Mick, You’ve been on edge for days now. None of the regular customers will even come inside.
Mick: Ya, well. Fuck em.
Carl: You’re usually so happy before a fight whats wrong Mister Mick?
Mick downs his drink and puts the cup down to pour another.
Mick: nothing really wrong its just well.
He downs the next glassful before reaching under the bar and pulling out a piece of paper that he puts in front of Carl.
Micks: I like to prepare for my fights but look at that there's nothing to go on.
Carl opens the file and sees a picture and a name “Mick Chisholm”.
Carl: he doesn’t look like he should be hard to beat.
Mick: Ya but we don’t know i mean fuck all I know is what he looks like and all the tells me is old Mrs Chisholm had a baby, a dingo ate her baby and she raised the half digested blob the dingo shat out.
Carl: That would explain the face but I don’t think I believe you Mister Mick.
Mick: You’re kinda useless for this Carl. watch the bar for the rest of the day OK.
Carl: Yes Mister Mick. Where are you going.
Mick grabs a few bottles from the bar.
Mick: it's been almost two hours I’m gonna go resupply Nathan and get nice and drunk.
Micks Cat-Fe Americain made those places look Buckingham Fucking Palace.
If you stepped foot in Micks you were either looking for something you shouldn’t be looking for , running from someone you shouldn’t have crossed or worst of all a tourist.
It was sometime between Tuesday and the apocalypse when she showed up outside the bar with her entourage.
Girl: OMG I love cats, why didn’t lonely planet tell me this was here.
Like every dame before her and every one to come she walked right in ignoring the signs “Cat Cuddles: 10 drink Minimum” and “No Crocodiles Allowed”
When the gaggle of ditzy dames walk in they see the hundreds of cats everywhere and exclaim in unison “Kitties”.
Mick Cringes from his bar stool without looking up from his laptop, finishing placing his bets on the New Zealand women's table hockey finals.
Carl an elderly fat jolly german host with a heavy accent waddles over towards the screeches and tries to herd the gaggle into a booth at the far side of the restaurant.
Girl: OMG your accent is so cute, are you Mick? You have to have a drink with us Mick, What drinks are you buying us?
The real Mick clicks his tongue so only the cats can hear and they all walk over towards the girls legs and start rubbing all over them.
Carl: No, I am Carl. Mr Dundee never drinks with the customers except for the exceptions.
Girl: OMG did you say Dundee? This place is owned by Mick Dundee? Like THE Mick Dundee? Like Croc….
Carl cuts her off quickly.
Carl: No not that one, we don’t say that word here.
Girl: You can’t tell me what I can and can’t say I am a strong independent Sigma Delta Phi sister and I’ll say Crocodile Dundee if I want to.
After listening to this short exchange Mick shuts the lid on his laptop and takes a cigarette out of the pack he had on the bar. He turns toward the girls before bringing to his lips and lighting it. He takes a nice deep drag staring at the lead Karen and blows the smoke in her direction.
Mick: I believe Carl very politely reminded you of the rules of our establishment, the same ones that are clearly posted by the door you came in through. But perhaps I’m assuming too much in thinking that you know to read simple child's level english.
Mick takes another drag off his cigarette as the lead Karen gets angry enough for smoke to come out of her ears.
Girl: How dare you talk to me like that.
Mick: I’m gonna stop you right there Doll. I Dare because this is my bar, I’m Mick. And this is my home, Maybe not by birth but it is by stagnation. I don’t think this is a good place for you so if you all would go ahead and pay for your ten drinks each you can be on your way and feel free to never come back.
Girl: We haven't had any drinks and we sure as Beyonce aren’t paying for any.
With two quick clicks of his tongue Mick changes the cats mood from cuddly to growling with their hair standing on end.
Mick: Well I’m sorry to say your illiteracy is gotten you into trouble once again because my cats here don't like to work for free.
The cats yowl and yip and herd the women through a door in the side of the bar.
Girl: Hey you can’t do this to us, we’re Americans we have rights.
The voices fade away as the cats take them deeper into the bowels of the bar.
Mick walks behind the bar and pours himself three fingers of scotch mixed with a solid chunk of water.
Carl sits on a bar stool across from Mick and gives him a concerned grandfatherly look.
Mick: Don’t give me that look, Sasha's back there he’ll get their credit cards before they get to scratched up.
Carl: It’s not just that Mister Mick, You’ve been on edge for days now. None of the regular customers will even come inside.
Mick: Ya, well. Fuck em.
Carl: You’re usually so happy before a fight whats wrong Mister Mick?
Mick downs his drink and puts the cup down to pour another.
Mick: nothing really wrong its just well.
He downs the next glassful before reaching under the bar and pulling out a piece of paper that he puts in front of Carl.
Micks: I like to prepare for my fights but look at that there's nothing to go on.
Carl opens the file and sees a picture and a name “Mick Chisholm”.
Carl: he doesn’t look like he should be hard to beat.
Mick: Ya but we don’t know i mean fuck all I know is what he looks like and all the tells me is old Mrs Chisholm had a baby, a dingo ate her baby and she raised the half digested blob the dingo shat out.
Carl: That would explain the face but I don’t think I believe you Mister Mick.
Mick: You’re kinda useless for this Carl. watch the bar for the rest of the day OK.
Carl: Yes Mister Mick. Where are you going.
Mick grabs a few bottles from the bar.
Mick: it's been almost two hours I’m gonna go resupply Nathan and get nice and drunk.