How's the balls of your feet?

The bat wing door of the old bar banged open as the half drunk farmer came stumbling in.

"Hey Bubba," he yelled. "How' the balls of your your feet."

Bubba, the bartender, shuffled slowly towards the tap beer in the middle of the bar. He took a cold mug from the freezer and poured "The Banker" a beer and slid it down the bar.

"Not good Banker," he answered. "They hurt like hell."

"That's not good," The Banker slurred back through the foam in his beard.

The phone behind the bar the bar rang and all nine men sitting at the bar said the same thing, "I'm not here."

The doors flew open again and Ballard, the pool shark, came in looking for some action.

"Man with all you old goats at the bar, it looks like zoo in here. Anybody want a game. Hey Bubba, hows your sex life?"

Bubba shuffled over to the cooler and found Ballard a bottle of Coors.

"Not good Ballard...my wife cut me off again and I'm hornier that a two-peckered billy goat."

"I thought it was a three-peckered billy goat," someone yelled.

"That'll be next week if she's still mad."

"How long before she gets un-mad?"

I don't know but when she does I'll be home quicker that a New York minute."

"Hey Ballard, rack em up. I'll be off quicker than you can shake a leg."

"Don't you think you better get home to the little lady?"

"Not for awhile...when I left this morning she was madder than  a wet hen and screaming, 'you make my blood boil'."

Another voice laughed, "There's no making whoopee for Bubba tonight."

The bat wing doors flew open and Bailey the plumber yells, "Hey Bubba, how's the balls of your feet?
Gimme a beer sausage and a cold one."

Bubba shuffled to the taps and said, "Do you want horseradish?"

Damn tootin," the plumber replied. "You should put some of it on the balls of your feet. It'll cure what ails ya."

"Maybe I'll try that," the limping bartender said.

"Maybe you should try a little of that on your wife and see if it makes her blood boil in the right place."

written for "Mindlovemisery" - cliches

When I was going to college I worked at one of the local "Farmer Bars" as a part time bartender. Bubba was the day man. Most days consisted of the farmers taking a break, drinking a few beers, shooting a little pool and talking in cliches. It was a bar that catered to men only as it had only one john. If a woman came in and needed to use the rest room she had to wait her turn and then get someone to guard the door.

The owner of the bar was a firm believer that woman and alcohol spelled trouble with a capital "T". Those were the days of good beer, awesome beer sausages, wicked, mean,evil and nasty horseradish and, of  course, less government intervention.

                                     old grizz