Bar Dreck

our 5 year mission, is to confuse as many bar patrons as we can, and leave them head scratching to the very last man my uncle Artie and I would calmly sit at the bar, and speak just loud enough for others to see we were most odd in our discussions, maybe "mad" a better term we had our very goal, to drive them mentally infirm gibberish talk, inane, insane so sense of it could one could not make, and the crazier it got, the more intense we would fake... like terms, "what's up with the copper-status?" and where's the "finiggin pin"? off shore, he glibbly told me, just where the heck you been? we'd mumble on for quite awhile careful not to crack a smile It was real cool to watch those around us, who thought for sure we were, escaped lunatics , where is the asylum bus? I loved to watch reactions, very carefully be assured, I still think of those great times, somehow I have endured, long after his sad passing, but I gotta wonder if at St Peter's gate he stirred up a giant angel fit.... through babbling on in heaven about his mythical finnigen pin and if they ever opened up and let that sweet fool in.