“Hey Orv!” shouts Stan.

Orville swallows the lime wedge previously floating harmlessly in his vodka gimlet. After almost wrapping up his coughing and gagging jag, he finds enough air, to hoarsely wheeze,” Gat dang it, you commie creep! Quit it with the sneaking up on people. Crimony.”

“Who snuck?” objects Stanley. “Have you zero peripheral vision, you old blind goat? Should I bang on a cowbell before approaching his highness? Or bounce an ashtray off your gourd? Good thing the garnish wasn’t a stalk of celery. Jeebus!”

“How do you always find me, anyway?”

“How do I not find you? You’re always planted on the same stool, in the same place. There’s an address stenciled on your butt. You’re on Google Maps! The street view isn’t flattering, though, and I would stay away from Yelp. Some of your reviewers aren’t fans, to say the least. Just saying. What’s with the cologne? Did you splash a quart, or so, of fermented herring juice on your chins before leaving the house? Good lord! Bloodhounds in Cleveland are probably having fits. And maybe you should mix up your routine a bit, to throw off the kidnappers of old rich farmers. You’re practically inviting someone to throw a black canvas bag over your head and push your decrepit old body into a white cargo van. Maybe your boys will remember that one day you weren’t a dick and pony up a combine, or two, to get your worn-out carcass back while it’s still warm, or not. You’re smart to dress like a bum, though. Or, and this is just a wild idea, but perhaps you could take a day off. You’ve a got a problem, dude.”

“And how is it any of your business, you nosy nabob?” barks Orv.

“It’s not, but that’s not one of the requirements that guide my mouth. It wouldn’t matter anyway. If you quit drinking this second, it would either add 12 minutes to your life span, or kill you dead, from the shock. That’s what a doctor in Grand Forks told me one time. He said, ‘stop drinking, or it will kill you, but don’t do it cold turkey, or it might kill you.’ I took it under advisement. Of course, I was much younger, so you should just keep doing what you’re doing, except for choking down the fruit. It’s the citrus that will get you. Did Anita Bryant tell us that? Not that I recall. I guess you can beat the hell out of someone with a bag of oranges, which seems like a waste, when a pool cue will solve the problem a lot faster. They aren’t cheap, though. A good cue will run about …”

“What the hell do you want, Stan!?”

“I want to be able to scale the stairs at the FargoDome to the roof, but I can’t. And even if I can get a seat down low, you’re required to stand up, then sit down, 539 times per game. It’s like being in a goddamn Richard Simmons video. Then, you try not to get crushed by a Range Rover in the parking lot, go home and work on your core, whatever that is. Have you seen those man buns? Ugh.”

“Sigh.”

“And if you can’t stand up every friggin time, you can’t see what the hell is going on. For sure, I need to see which of the players and 19,000 fans are properly situated during the national anthem, and who hates America because it’s my business to decide and expose them. I just watch the games on the TV, which is fine, but it isn’t the same. The announcers really know their business, though. Did you know that being in a third down and 29 is not a situation the team prefers? Ooooh, John Doe getting injured is a blow to the Fighting Termites already thin offensive line. Oh, woe. Turnovers are bad? I had no idea. And Bison fans are real smart, real savvy because they know to be quiet when NDSU is on offense and make a racket, when the opponent has the ball. I think they have classes to learn that binary brain teaser. It’s really quite complicated. And if you don’t shut up when you’re supposed to, Easton Stick flaps his arms like a goose too heavy to lift off. It’s a subtle signal. Carson Wentz has to do the arm thing all of the time in Philadelphia. I think half of the crowd at that venue are too hammered to clearly focus on the game. I know you’ve invited me join you in one of those box seat rooms, but I would rather drink a Coke Zero than hang around with the crooked @$$hole hypocrite Trump supporting politicians in the good ‘ol boys club you’ve chosen to associate with. How many millions do you need to have offshore before you’re allowed behind one of those secret doors, anyway? They have free hot dogs in there, don’t they? Gotdammit! And the tickets are probably comped.” Stanley takes a breath.

“What the hell do you want with ME, Stan!?”

“Maybe I was just stopping in for a refreshing ice cold cola.”

“I doubt it. You’re trolling, you perpetual irritant.”

“Well, if you must know, and you must, since I won’t get a response from you otherwise, I was wondering where you alt-right guys get your fake news. Do you get it straight from Trump, via Tweet, maybe, or do you have some favorite purveyors of fictional information? Or maybe you don’t know the difference between true and false, in which case I can understand how we got to this edge of hell scenario. I get most of my false news and misinformation from the Forum’s Sayanything blog. I like to keep my consumption of BS local. It’s been yesDAPL propaganda everyday for months. I thought I was obsessive.”

“Sigh.”

“Never mind the juvenile innards of the publication, the blog, or clog, or whatever you would call the shameless shilling, imaginary scandals, innuendo, smears, the love affair with oil, and the anti-science, anti-education and anti-Native rhetoric; the comment section will make your ear hair curl. You could comb yours down and sport those cool Grover Cleveland mutton chops, Orv. The chicks love the chops. Anyway, most of the regulars just read the misleading bloody sirloin headline, and it’s off to the races. Conspiracy theories … the Clinton’s have rubbed out dozens of humans, Agenda 21 nonsense, stone-cold racism, anti-government everything, bigotry and automatons that will repeat any wacky thing that the voices in in their heads whisper — or a Russian teen has made up. I’ve been banned from commenting, but I can still see the delusional stupidity on display. Are you one of the anonymous nuts who comments, or do you go straight to the hard core fake stuff, like Breitbart and Alex Jones? Red State, maybe, or The Blaze?”

“Who are you calling a …”

“Trump is in cahoots with Jones, who believes that Sandy Hook was faked, thinks 9/11 was an inside job and that the government was involved in the Oklahoma City bombing. A Breitbart guy is on Trump’s staff. We may as well install Putin’s little brother as our president. Are you one of those in the ‘basket of gullibles,’ Orv, or do you do your due diligence? I need to know, so I can sleep at night.”

“Just shut up, Stan. I know what’s true, and you’re just jealous of whatshisface, the blogger guy, you moron lib%&$#, because of his success. You’re just winding me up. Trump is going to make this country great again, and has no reason to lie about anything.”

Stanley shakes his head, “Orv, Orv, Orv … you poor man. Trump lies like people, without fruit stuck in their gullet, breathe. And yes, I’m jealous of the corn dog- fed blogger because I, too, wish to have no shame, lie, and falsely impugn others without consequences. My family would be so proud.”

“Oh, you’re still bent because he lied about you once, aren’t you?” mutters Orv. “That was over two years ago, you Marxist @$$hat. When are you going to let that go?”

“”Never!”shouts Stan. “There are no statute of limitations. How many times can somebody lie about you, Orv, before they get their jaw wired shut and other parts wired open, and keep in mind that I’m familiar with your demure essence?”

“Once,” mumbles Orv.

“And, you never forgive the slightest slight, so if I want to badger the kid until my deceasement, I will. The hot dogs are free in those box rooms, aren’t they? Dammit! They could sell tons more dogs, pop, cotton candy and beer if they had salespeople scaling the stands. No question. Of course, the climbers would need a physical several times a game and legs like a highland gorilla, but large-thighed youngsters with good circulatory systems aren’t hard to find. Look man, I see the memes you post on Facebook, and half of them aren’t even close to being true. Do you know how to work the Google, or the Bing, or anything, Orv? You have to put some effort into this, you old scutter. Some people believe any crap, especially stuff with small simple words, and repeat it.”

Orville’s face gets redder than usual. “It is none of your damn business what I post on MY page, and it’s all true. And, the hot dogs are free in our box!”

“Blimey. I knew it.”

“And I’m not reading, or distributing, false news, or fake information, you half-wit commie twit, so mind your own business for a change.”

“And there’s how we end up with an lying assaulter of woman as president,” groans Stan. “Widespread ignorance, with an assist from the Russians and the FBI. Bush is a Rhodes Scholar compared to this grifter. The tax dodger doesn’t know what he’s doing. I hold you personally responsible, Orv, for what is about to transpire. If we live through it.”

Orv just waves Stan off. “I don’t care what you hold, so either shut up, or disappear, dipwad, and I’m not going to change, so you’ve wasted your time. Besides, we only have three electoral votes, so what difference does it make?”

“Well, I’m blaming somebody. Kevin Cramer, for sure. Boy, did that rascal get the full demeaning Trump treatment. Kev will need his lips detailed after that ugly episode. I hope the con man groped him, or gave him a wedgie. And anyone else who voted for that triple-chinned chimp is going to catch hell, too. Do you think Trumpy can inflate his chins like one of those old bullfrogs? That would be cool, but bad things are going to happen. I guarantee it. I said it before Bush, and I’m saying it now. Actually, lots of people are saying it now. I’m going to heckle you every time orange possum hair does something stupid, right here at 666 Orville Ave. Heil Trump.”

“Screw you, Stan! You lib#@$&’s think you know everything. Just wait. Trump will be wonderful! You’ll get tired of how wonderful he is.”

“I think they should hand out mustard and ketchup packs with the dogs, rather than stand there on the steps squirting condiments all will nilly and blocking the view. An errant squirt of mustard could take out an eye.”