The Fish Fry.

One night at Gannons….

We started early; the Green Mill was on tap first that night. It always starts with just one... Before you know it, you’re stuck in a stop motion picture meant run at 33, but someone set the switch to 45. Conversation turns to hoots and grunts, and the smoke in the place turns into fast moving springtime clouds. And when they come around with the donation basket at 8, asking, “Hey, you staying?” Me and Baby take another sip and exit the joint. We gave at the office.

So Baby’s on the phone, and Tiny-A’s on the other end, it’s time to kick start Gannons. Little did we know, it was Friday night fish fry. We didn’t even notice. We rocked the jukebox, and rocked the table with arms in the air, fists pumping for “The Gambler”. Baby and Tiny-A were cutting up the hardwood. Tiny-A pulled out the robot, and Baby pulled out her ace in the hole. With near abandon she brought out the booty, and rocked the fish fry.

Nine at night, we’re such fucking rock stars.

Irish dance-off sandwich

One night at Gannon's not too long ago...
we met an Irish guy and asked him to dance, little did he know what he was getting himself into when he accepted our offer. We had him in the middle of a sandwich of mad fury and wild agression. He was bounced back and forth between us for what seemed like seconds, but was for the duration of a song we played on the jukebox. I cannot remember his facial expression, if any, all I can recall is the look of extreme joy on Angie's face as we nearly knocked the wind out of this poor unsuspecting fellow...