Strange Encounter of the Third Kind

a man goes into a bar and has the shock of his life.

Fifteen minutes. That’s all it took for the deluge to come pouring down. One moment, it was clear as you like and the next, the heavens opened up and rain came down battering the earth. Visibility was reduced to within a meter and the cars slowed down to snails’ pace. Similarly, in the town’s park, snails slowed down to cars’ pace.

Mahatma Koatamoff, caught by surprise, secured his hat on his head, buttoned up his coat and started running as bucketfuls of water came down on his head and drenched him in no time at all. He cursed himself for not taking his umbrella when leaving the house. He’d looked at the sky and hadn’t thought much of the few clouds scuttling towards the east. That’d teach him to pay more attention to the weather forecast. 

The “Skull n’ Bones”, his regular bar, was still four blocks away but, fortunately, “Thistle” was just round the corner.

“Thistle have to do,” panted Mahatma and sprinted the few remaining paces. He slammed into the glass door that said PULL. His nose hit the pane and he saw stars.

“S**t!” he yelped, “this is a pane-ful entry!”

He hurriedly pulled the door and nearly fell inside. The door swung shut behind him, effectively cutting the sound of the onslaught. Mahatma’s glasses, already speckled with rain, instantly fogged up. He stood there, in the puddle that started to spread at his feet, catching his breath and fumbled for a tissue. He wiped his glasses, thinking he’d have a drink, well maybe two, wait for the rain to ease off then run back home to get changed, otherwise he’d catch his death if he kept those soggy clothes on his back.

“I’m gonna catch my death if I keep these soggy clothes on my back,” he muttered under his breath. Damn! I’m good. I know exactly what my characters are thinking before they even open their mouths.

Suddenly, he realized that the bar was unusually silent. Puzzled, he squinted around. Not a soul! His eyes fell on the Popeye clock hanging on the wall. It was only nine in the morning. That explained it. It was not so much the urge to drink that drove him out of the house as his wife’s nagging. I know many will relate. Don’t we all?

Mahatma Koatamoff took off his hat and coat and hung them by the door. He then approached the bar, got on a stool and patted himself for a cigarette before remembering he was trying to kick off the habit. Instead, he reached out and plucked a toothpick from the little figurine standing on the bar. it was in the shape of Bluto.

“I wonder where Olive is,” mused Mahatma, studying the shiny surface of the bar. He stuck the toothpick in his mouth. Poor substitute but it did seem to work.

Nobody came out to greet him so he rapped on the bar. As that produced no result, his leg started giggling. He willed it to stop.

“This is ridiculous. I’m not alcoholic,” he thought, irritated at himself.

“Anybody home?” he called out.

“Coming,” came a muffled reply from an open door behind the bar. Mahatma heard noises. Someone walking about and what sounded like something being dragged on the floor. Then, out came a superb black and white stallion with a luxuriant forelock that almost hid its eyes. It was wearing a red apron with a huge thistle emblazoned on it. It dumped the six-pack it was carrying on the counter.

“Good morning,” he (I guess we can now safely refer to him as a he) cheerfully greeted his first customer. “What’ll it be, Guv?”

Mahatma’s jaw nearly touched his collar bone. His face drained of blood ad his eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets and go honkety-honk on the counter. His heart skipped a beat (I KNOW IT’S A BLOODY CLEE-SHAY. I’m describing what happened. Think I’m making it up?) then started knocking wildly against his ribcage. His breath caught up in his throat (yeah, yeah).

The horse waited patiently for the soon-to-have-a-heart attack Mahatma to regain control then said:

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. How about a pick-me-up?”

Mahatma Koatamoff slid off his perch on shaky legs, took a couple of steps back and without taking his eyes off the horse, stammered:

“Has… Has… the.. the cow sold this place?”

Author's Note

originally this was a poem of the same title I posted here a while ago. Marie felt it would make a better story than a poem. I finally got round to following her advice.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

You are in rare form here, this time, as far as popping off all along the way with your conversational asides & puns. Even before I finished recognizing the first name "Mahatma" I could already feel something hilarious coming on . . . did not disappoint. So many tiny treasures, like the Popeye clock & Bluto toothpick figurine. I definitely was NOT thinking "cliché" when I read: "pop out of their sockets and go honkety-honk on the counter" becuz you have a way of spicing up every line & in this case, it's the "honkety-honk" (nice sound effects!) Well, I could go on, but I'll save you some time. You have definitely mastered your niche, which is filled by nobody but you! *smile*

[Woody]

aaah nobody but you :)))))) what a song that is, eh? gosh, I'm lost for words. too much honour.
read moreaaah nobody but you :)))))) what a song that is, eh? gosh, I'm lost for words. too much honour.
a big fat THANK YOU.

[Terpsichore]

Great play on words throughout. Genuinely fun to read. T

[Woody]

thanks a lot, Dear. I'm elated that you found this funny :)

[Will Neill]

Woody you are with out doubt the Woody Allen of this site, I crown you king of comedy writing...there now it's official.
Brilliant.
Will

[Woody]

you know what I'll do? I'm going to enlarge your review, print it and put it in a frame. then I'm going to take down the Mona Lisa from the wall, hang this one instead for visitors to see.
I'm flattered Will. thank you very much. I'm thrilled that you liked.

[Will Neill]

It....u forgot .

[Woody]

I did that on purpose to see if you were following. good boy!!

[MomzillaNC]

LMBO! Moo!

[Woody]

hahaha. neigh!!
thank you for taking the time MomZilla. glad I made you LYBO.

[MomzillaNC]

YW :D

[M.E.Lyle]

Woody my man, you are a sheer genius. Your punsmanship is unmatched. Is that a word...puns-man-ship. Sounds like it could be a boat or something. One thing you do better than anyone else(mainly because no one else does it) is put yourself in the middle of the story "What, you think I'm making this up." Hilarious stuff. Keep it coming, but beware, I may die laughing and tomorrow you may find me a grave...man.

[Woody]

I'm flattered my friend. kind of you to think that.
punsman ship is good. I like that :)
and no I wouldn't want to have your death on my conscience grave-man :)
thank you Mike.

[Samuel Dickens]

Ehhh, ya killin' me, ya killin' me..... (I think, after reading this, Bugs Bunny has possessed me) Ma-hat-and-ma koat-a-off--clever! Now, about this horse--have you talked to the man?

[Woody]

god how I love your reviews Sam hahahaha.

[Marie]

It does make a good story.

Are you using "Mahatma" as a first name. I thought is was a title.

Check the second to last sentence of your second apragraph.

I love your description of the horse. He sounds like a most excellent bartender. But he must be wearing a "red" apron, not a "read" apron.

[Woody]

done! both glitches fixed.
thank you very much Marie. I think you're right. it does look better because of the details and extra craziness.