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Hank Epstein

A Night At Walley's Bar

     Last night, on my way home, I stopped at Walley's bar for a beer. In case you have not read of Walley's bar before, let me, refresh your memory on what Walley's bar actually is.

     Walley's is a hole in the wall bar where the only people who show up are the people who know life and have been through it more than their share. Walley likes to look at us like a secret group that trades ideas or just tell each other to fuck off if we do not agree with their viewpoints

                                    

     Last night seemed to be a normal night at Walley's bar. We all had a few beers, each of us noticing Charlie's urn sitting between a bottle of Jack Daniels and a bottle of Jim Beam in front of the huge mirror behind the bar (posting from 9/24/15), and we had to all throw in each of our ideological P.O.V.. The only people who ever come back to Walley's bar for a second time or more are the ones who feel like they are meant to be there. I might disagree with some of them some of the time, but we are in that bar for a reason. What it is, we still have not come to a definite conclusion. When we find out, I will let you know!

                                                                                          Hank Epstein

President Squirrel Part 1

      One sunny day, in a North American Forest, Mr. Furry Gray Squirrel was walking, with a smile on his face, looking for nuts to store for the winter. Everything seemed to be a perfect day, just the type that Mr. Squirrel loved to be part of until he saw a large line of rabbits holding signs and causing a ruckus. Mr. Squirrel walked over and noticed they were standing in front of Mr. Possum’s soft mattress store. Narrowly able to get past the hostile line of marching rabbits holding signs, Mr. Squirrel enters the mattress store to ask Mr. Possum why the rabbits are unhappy. Mr. Possum was so happy to see Mr. Squirrel and poured him a cup of nut tea. He explained to Mr. Squirrel that the rabbits are mad at him for making more money than they are and he should forfeit a large part of his money to give them. After a long conversation with Mr. Squirrel, he ended it with they do not work but want everyone to have an equal income offered to them, having nothing to do with how they are not productive and offering nothing to the economy. Mr. Squirrel replied with If nothing is made nothing exists. Mr. Possum liked what he heard and called Mr. Chipmunk, at Mr. Chipmunk's printing business, and had him print flyers saying Mr. Furry Gray Squirrel for president. TO BE CONTINUED! 

                                                                                                            Hank Epstein

The Title Is Only A Piece Of The Story

     When I am sick, like I am today, I sometimes have an interesting place I dwell.

     Today has been awful. I had two meetings this morning that failed to achieve working even a podcast option. Yes, they do exist. Seeing how my day was going as bad as I felt, I made some phone calls and had the rest of my day free after lunch. 

     I take it upon myself to visit smaller businesses whenever I get a chance to help support them. There is a small, independent, bookstore, which I find a very nice place to dwell in on days like today. When I say dwell, I literally mean dwell

     When I am sick and stressed out, nothing is going my way. I like to go this bookstore and stay there for hours, yes, hours. The first time I did it, they almost called the police on me. They thought I was scoping the place to rob it. As time went on I got to know the owner of the store, a nice fellow, and he understands my situation and told me I am welcome whenever it occurs. I have yet to tell you what I actually do at the store.

     When I am using the bookstore as a place to dwell, as a temporary domicile, or even as middle earth, the adventure all begins. Okay, I know you are saying I sound like a fruitcake, but you are wrong. At the bookstore, I walk around and read the titles of books, just the titles. I walk up and down the book aisles visually grabbing the titles that interest me and write them down. When I feel I have enough book titles, I set down and start piecing them together in a workable order, from just what I think the titles mean and having nothing to do with the actual books. Piecing them together in a workable order, I get them to the point to where it starts making a story and when the story hits a stopping point, I gather more titles to lengthen the story... 

     This whole structure can take hours but it helps me keep my sanity on days like today. Or does it…

                                                                                      Hank Epstein

Bunny Squish Squish

     I was sorting through some old file cabinets I own that have been locked for years. I felt like a hoarder when reading the dates on a few of the files. There were a few bad memories I, unfortunately, came across. The shocking thing about it was most of those memories were old IRS tax forms. There was one good file in there that made my day.  I found a file that is a collection of articles, and so on, about one of my college friends. Every time I use to come across an article about him in life, I would cut it out and put it in the folder. After sorting through the articles, reading a few of them, I found a sticker in the folder.

     My friend and I use to have a collection of stickers that we had made, called Bunny Squish Squish. I know it sounds like a goofy name but the sticker made its point very well.

     When we were in college we got tired of all the constant BS we heard whenever we went through the court yard, went to the lunch room, or pretty much anywhere on the campus, so we decided to make our mark. Every time we came across a person or group, bitching about something that we were opposed to we would take one of the stickers and put it on their flyer, poster, door or whatever to make our point. It was amazing to how much of an uproar just two guys and a suicidal bunny rabbit could actually cause. People can say what they want when in college but if two guys and suicidal bunny rabbit opposes it they are condemned.

                                                               Hank Epstein

Thanks For Reading My Blog

Here is a nice little-animated gif file someone sent me. Please feel free to post it to other places on the web so people can know where to read about me. Why anyone would want to read about me I still have no idea; other than my friend, the publisher thinks my life is interesting. I often worry about my friend.

                                                                                              Hank Epstein

If You Can't Find It, Draw It

Around 9 AM this morning, after I made a nice fresh cup of coffee, my friend Jerry, the book publisher, called me and asked me if I would like to meet him from brunch. I told him that would be great and I had something I found for him in a bookstore, a large bookstore chain which I do not want to mention the name.

While Jerry and I were eating, I handed him a bag. He stopped eating and reached into the bag, pulled out a book, and read the title. DRAW A DICK ON IT. He looked at me, started laughing, and said what, the hell, is this. I brought up the point on how hard it is to get a book published by a publishing company, and he finished my point by saying how hard it is to get a bookstore to stock a book and sell it. He asked what section was the book shelved in the store. I told him in the game section with the other game books. 

Jerry loves a conspiracy. He started going on how America has become so feminine, we both love women lol,  and how the book is being used as a form of advertising to make or change a gender of your choice... I just sat there and listened to him until he was red in the face. Jerry is a smart man and I never argue with him, for many reasons. I told him he should write a book and once again, he asked me how much longer before you finish writing a book. We called it a stalemate on the book writing and left the book on the table.

                                                                             Hank Epstein

Poker, Harry Potter, and The Red Envelope

     This evening I reached into my post office box and pulled out the normal trash mail and a few other pieces that were actually of importance. But as far as the trash mail is concerned, I never can understand how some of these companies can afford to waste so money in trash and postage.

     One piece of mail was a red envelope, sealed, with a wax crest. I was very interested to see what the envelope contained. I kind of felt like Harry Potter getting his invite from Hogwarts. The red envelope contained an invitation to a poker game that usually consists of a group of professional book authors, authors names not permitted. I have been asked many times if I might like to play cards with the guys, as they say, but have never been actually invited till tonight. Tonight is going to be fun!

     I guess in Washington they sure have great poker faces, but they suck at cards.

                                                                                  Hank Epstein

The Cover Never Tells The Story

     I was walking down the street, heading to meet for lunch with a friend, and a bum approached me. He was rather ragged looking with a hat covering his head. I felt sorry for him because he looked like he was honestly down on his luck in which we all may fall in our life sometimes even more than once. I gave him a ten-dollar bill and wished him the best of luck in his future. 

     When I got the restaurant, my friend was already there and had a table for us waiting. The Lunch was fantastic. We talked about a few projects we might interact on and relived the days when we were in college and the crazy things we did. We could barely eat from all the laughing we were doing.

     About the time my friend and I were about to wrap the lunch meeting up, three gentlemen sat down at the table next to us. One of them looked awful familiar. I could not exactly place his face but I knew he looked familiar. I asked my friend and he told me he did not know his name but he knew what he did. He referred to him as a S.C.R.A. Not knowing exactly what that was, he explained to me that it is short for Socialist City Rollers of America. I was very confused by the name.  He told me that is where they dress up like vagrants during part of the day and make enough money to be flashy city rollers for the rest of the day.

     When we were leaving, I approached the guys' waiter and told him they wanted me to tell him they are expecting three more people and I gave him the most expensive orders I could think of on the menu. I hope they know how to wash dishes!

                                                                                     Hank Epstein

The Hangover Equation

     This morning I woke up with a headache that hurt like... I cannot even think of how to compare it. I walked into my den and saw a pyramid of beer cans on the coffee table. Looking towards the front door, I saw an Animal House baseball cap lying on the floor. Oh yeah, Andy, and I were watching a movie. There is an old black and white movie, Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, Andy and I watch sometimes and get so drunk we can't stop laughing. I guess, last night I was so drunk I passed out. 

     I made a pitcher of coffee, sat on the sofa, and turned on the TV. I pushed the pyramid of beer cans off the coffee table and sat my cup of coffee down as I was channel surfing. Since I had destroyed the pyramid, I found some darts on the table that Andy brought over last night. Andy's darts are something he had concocted and was thinking about looking for a factory that could make them to sell. 

     The Andy Darts, he has not found a catchy name for them yet, are made so you can throw them at the TV screen and they stick with a suction cup. Note: Only TVs with a solid screen are workable with Andy Darts. We had fun last night, to the best of my memory, in being the first person to hit specific things with a dart when they appeared on the screen. Each time the loser had to guzzle a beer. We had to buy beers from my neighbors twice, if not more, last night. I am not sure who won. I have a meeting he will be at tonight, so maybe he will remember.

     Ok, back to this morning, I was channel surfing and remembered I still had the news stations. I called and tried to cancel them yesterday but it did not work because of the channel plans in which they had available. My head was still hurting like... I still have not scale to compare it to so I grabbed a bottle of hot sauce from the frig and every time certain people popped up on the news stations I would hit them with darts and take a hit of hot sauce. In ten minutes, my head did not hurt anymore. I was shocked. Wow! I will have to try this again on the next hangover I have.

                                                                                            Hank Epstein

The Book, The Politician, and Hank

     I talked to a friend today that I have not spoken to in awhile. He is a book publisher and has been bugging me for over five years to write a book. I told him I do not have time to write a book. He told me if I had to, I could just make a book of excerpt and stories like the ones I am writing on the blog. I almost gave it half a thought but knew I would be worse than a politician trying to attempt it. You know, think about it, talk about it, half ass it, and lose money doing it.  

                                                                                           Hank Epstein

News. Scripts, and Pimps

     I woke up this morning around 4 AM. Staring at the ceiling, I knew there was no hope in me going back to sleep. I turned on the TV flipping through all the info commercials and the same news from the day before. I wonder if I could get a cheaper cable bill if I had them take the news stations off my TV? I made a note to call the cable company. After searching through my refrigerator, I found the coffee grinds and made a nice pitcher of hot coffee. While I was staring at the wall, drinking coffee, and feeling my eyes burn from the lack of sleep, I grabbed a script from the top of the pile and started reading. The script was about a dog who was a pimp and smoked weed. I thought it was funny how the dog could smoke weed but his primary job of being a pimp to solve his betting debts just did not roll. I pitched it in the trash can and started staring at the wall again. I looked at the scripts and grabbed one more. The story was actually quite nice. I was really impressed until it got to the point where they main character was in a downhill fall and his dog shared a bong with him, not only that, but he learned how to be a pimp from his dog and they both wrote a book and sold it on an info commercial. Now I probably would have bought the book just to see what they wrote, but I turned to the cover of the script and saw it was the same scriptwriter from the earlier script. I sent an email to the scriptwriter and told him he was very original but please do not send me another script until the dog is shot in a drive by while pimping. I got dressed and went to my favorite breakfast restaurant, but I could never get the dog out of my mind.

                                                                                                          Hank Epstein

Read My Blog, OR...

Read my blog. I am not the begging type. Although my ex whatever says quite the opposite. She still does not understand why she is my ex. 

 Hank Epstein

Beer and Pizza at the Shack

My buds at Jack's Pizza Shack called me and told me Molly got a new board game they were going to play tonight. It was like a text back and forth and I was telling them I appreciate the invite but I had too much work to do tonight. They said they understood and I told them thanks, but the shifty bastards ended it with free pizza and a free pitcher of the beer of your choice. I called and changed a few appoints to later in the week. I guess it is game night at the Shack then.

                                                                                                                                Hank Epstein

Bucket List Number One

     I had a meeting this morning and somehow we got off the primary subject of optioning a comedy script and ended up talking about what is at the top our bucket lists. I think mine, kind of, stole the show. Here is what is at the top of my bucket list.

     Did you ever watch the 2006 movie titled Accepted? I love the movie and have never forgotten the line that Jonah Hill said when wearing a hot dog outfit. Ask Me About My Weiner. The reason I mention this is it is part of the top of my bucket list.

     Have you ever seen the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile? Once again, the reason I mention this one also is that it is also part of the top of my bucket list

     The event listed number one on the top of my bucket list is, I would like to drive the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile down the interstate and use a loud speaker yelling. Ask Me About My Weiner. I would have so much fun doing that I would die a happy man.

     I know that sounds a bit odd to many people but hey, WTFC. I would like to see if anyone could beat that lol.

                                                                                                                                      Hank Epstein

Starbucks, The Reason I Filed Bankruptcy

Ok, first, I did not file bankruptcy. I am merely using the Starbucks over priced coffee as an example. I may be cheap and I may not, it all depends I suppose on what I am buying. I went into a coffee house this morning and ordered a black coffee. Yes, a black coffee. I like my coffee just as black as night with maybe a just a touch of honey. The cashier had me repeat myself because I think the person was expecting me to order a coffee with a name as large as its price. I repeated myself clearly and they replied with... and named three types of black coffee. I asked if they just had plain black coffee straight from the coffee pitcher and the person replied no with a smirk on their face. To keep my order as short and fast as I could, not to slow the line down, I said give me the cheapest cup of coffee you have and put my cash on the counter. 

Now let me get back to the title of blog posting. No one in the line could believe I wanted just plain black coffee. But let us not forget, I put cash on the counter. While I waited for them to get me my cup of coffee, I stood off to the side while just about everyone in the line received their coffee and "paid" for it, notice how I have quotes around the word "paid.” I was the only person in line that paid in cash, everyone else paid with plastic. I might not be a master at economics but I will be damned if I am going to pay 5-10 dollars for a cup of coffee.

What Happened To Reality

I went to a few newsstands this morning and acquired a collection of the more current and widely published papers. When I got to my office, I put them on my desk and started flipping through them to find a story of interest that I might option and have a script written for. After about 30 mins of the same BS repeatedly like a broken record, I threw the whole stack in a trash can. I was looking for more of a down to earth, honest, story to be based on a true story or events. The facts were fiction. Believe me, I can tell. I guess it has been a long time since I actually read a newspaper.

Justifying Beer and Country Music

Last night I had too many beers and decided to walk home. 

I am so good at lyrics I should write country music. 

That's a good way to look at it when you drink too much.

Salting New York

     This morning, after woken by a soliciting phone call, I went to a restaurant to eat breakfast. Before I entered the restaurant, a kid probably no older than 15 walked up to me, he asked if I was going to the restaurant to eat. Not sure why he was asked me that. I asked him if he wanted something to eat. He shook his head no and opened up the thin jacket he was wearing in which he had full salt packets and shakers looped onto the fabric. Once again, I was not sure of what he was wanting. He looked at me like the salesman and was stating: three packets for $3 dollars or a shaker for $10. I was so tired I started laughing and even asked him if I could write it down to use in a TV show. 

     I was in the restaurant sitting in a booth looking through a folder waiting on my food. The waitress was someone who I had known for awhile and was always good company every time I ate breakfast there. I saw her coming towards my table with a plate in her hand, so I closed my folder, which had scribbled sentences on it about the kid outside. She said a few nice words to me and sat down telling me she had a joke I would probably like. She was telling me the joke as I got my knife and fork ready to cut up three eggs sunny side up next to the four pieces of bacon and I reached for the saltshaker, NOOOOOOOOO! They did not have saltshakers anymore. Now, not being as tired, I know why the kid was selling salt. I told the waitress to hold the joke right there and went outside and handed the kid a $10 bill. 

     I was sitting in the booth, hearing a good joke, and shaking salt all over my eggs. I love America and its entrepreneurs. I guess New York cut out people's choices but made some of them new jobs.

                                                                                                                Hank Epstein

Hank Is Back!

Hey Everyone,

     Hank is back! Yes, I am back on my blog after being gone for close to two years. Why you ask? Might I say that is a damn good question! Between all the parties and other business endeavors, I can't mention, It has been a not stop roller coaster. I hope I can entertain you with my life once again, and no fault of yours, please feel free to comment or just laugh when you like or cry when you like.

     Please excuse me for the time being. I just walked into my apartment and am so drunk, I decided to continue the blog once again. I will be back later but I have to go crash or throw up, not sure yet.


                                                                                                                       Glad to be back,
                                                                                                                          Hank Epstein