[Note: some salty language is translated from Polska]
Mushrooms. Serious business.
There are some people in the world — I’m not one of them, but I’ve met them — anyway, these people instinctively know who’s full of crap when they threaten you, and who isn’t. I’ve been in a barroom where the owners thought it necessary to hang a “No Colors” sign on the wall, and the toilet paper was chained to the wall to keep it from being stolen. If you’re unfamiliar with “No Colors,” it doesn’t refer to Benetton. They’re talking Crips and Bloods and so forth.
Anyway, behind the bar was a little gnomish fellow. He was about four foot thirteen inches, and weighed about as much as an elephant fart. He had a genial smile, missing a few teeth, but really friendly. He looked like he’d just gotten out of leprechaun prison. While I was in there, a guy that looked like Gorilla Monsoon came in and started pushing people around, and generally making a nuisance of himself. The little leprechaun came out from behind the bar, and without hesitation walked up to a sixteenth of an inch from the dude, scowled at him, pointed at the door, and said, “Leave. Now.” The huge guy meekly complied, immediately. The little fellow knew who was frontin’ and who was for reals, yo. The big fellow didn’t.
I think the little bartender has retired, learned Polish, and likes to ride motorcycles in the forest.
The New Oldsmobiles Are In Early This Year — This Place Has Got Everything
They’re on a mission from god — or dog. They’re all Polish, so there’s no way to tell what’s happening. They could’ve taken a wrong turn for all I know. If they’re Polish, that wouldn’t be completely out of the question. It’s true that everything’s a drive-thru if you’re brave enough, but I wouldn’t try that anywhere where the security is armed and on edge. A few cups of coffee at the end of a long shift can make a man pretty trigger-happy. Then again, they’re in Poland, so the most heavily-armed guard in the area will have little more than a colorful squirt gun full of hot-sauce.
Three men were all applying to become NYPD detectives. One was Polish, one was Jewish, and one was Italian. Unfortunately, there was only one position available, so the police Chief decided to interview each man himself to see who was the most qualified. Rather than go through three lengthy interviews that would take up his whole day, the Chief decided to ask each applicant just one, unorthodox question and base his decision on their answers.
When the Jewish man arrived for his interview, the Chief asked, “Who killed Jesus Christ?” The Jewish man answered without hesitation, “The Romans killed him.” The Chief thanked him for his time, and the Jewish man left. When the Italian arrived for his interview, the Chief asked the same question. He replied, “Jesus was killed by the Jews.” Again, the chief thanked him for his time and the Italian left. When the Polish man arrived for his interview, he was asked the exact same question, “Who killed Jesus Christ?” The Pole leaned back in his chair and stared off into space for about five minutes before saying, “Could I have some time to think about it?” The Chief said, “Okay, but get back to me first thing tomorrow morning.”
When the Polish man arrived at home, his wife asked “How did the interview go?” He replied, “Great, I got the job, and I’m already investigating a murder!”