“Is that your friend?” she asked, interrupting his poorly executed pickup line.
“Yep, that’s Steve” he told her.
“Why does he have a hockey helmet on?”
“To lower the possibility of brain damage from head butting random walls during fits of rage brought on by overindulging in alcohol,” he replied.
“Does that happen often… the head butting thing?”
“Yep! Did my answer sound rehearsed?”
“Yep… so where is your helmet?” she asked him, grinning.
“It’s in the seat next to Steve.”
“Oh by the way, I’m Sara,” she said.
“I’m Jim,” he replied reaching out to shake her hand.
“So, Jim, why aren’t you wearing your helmet?”
“Because, it was my turn to wear the goalie helmet. Do you have any idea how hard it is to drink beer while wearing a goalie helmet? I got tired of drinking through a straw so here I am.”
An announcement came over the loud speakers. “Thunder Buck, you’re up next with ‘The Love Shack’”
“Hold that thought,” he told her, getting up, walking toward the karaoke stage.
“Wait, you guys are Thunder Buck?”
The stage erupted with background music from the B-52s, screeching voices of drunken middle age males, spirit fingers and a failed attempt at a front kick that resulted in a tumble off the tiny stage.
“That was quite a performance.” She said when Jim returned to the bar.
“Consider yourself lucky, Steve decided against the kilt this week.”
“What’s so bad about his kilt?”
“He always goes commando, even in the kilt, the famous front kick you just witnessed usually sends the crowd into a frenzy.”
“Ew, does he really ‘always’ go commando?”
“Not always I guess, he wears whitey tighties when he cooks. I think that’s a fairly new development though, not too long ago he burnt his pecker cooking an omelet.”
“Ha, how funny. How do you know that? Were you there?”
“Oh no, he told me all about it, he would have showed me if I hadn’t refused. He’s not shy.”
“Maybe I should go ask him a few questions myself,” she said getting up from the barstool.
“Be careful, he bites.”
* * *
“You’re at it again huh?” the bartender asked.
“Yep, and I’m going to need another round of Thunder Bucks.”
Jim grabbed the freshly poured shots and headed to the table.
“Shots all around,” he said as he approached.
“Not for me,” Sara replied putting her hand up.
“Oh especially for you my lady, these are Thunder Bucks, named after us, you can’t turn that down.”
* * *
“Ah, my head is killing me,” Jim said to himself, rolling off of Steve’s couch.
He went to the kitchen for water. A few moments later Steve came walking out of the bedroom in his birthday suit.
“Are you going to cook an omelet for you guest?” Jim asked.
“No, at least not yet, we didn’t sleep much.”
“Ya I heard. Don’t forget it’s my turn to wear the helmet next week. You’ve got it two weeks in a row.”
This is my response to the WordPress Daily Prompt: You, the Sandwich
If a restaurant were to name something after you, what would it be? Describe it.