Now that I've returned to Piedmont Ave., I'm finding myself tripping down memory lane. The Westall Sessions? Alfred Brown Mortuary? The Scerry House? Hell, I even had a dream about the King from Cafe Valerian last night. He looked fit. So I was lounging on the couch yesterday afternoon, perusing the new Modern Drunkard, when the synchronicity switch flipped and one of the great mysteries of that time done got solved- the identity of one Egbert Souse. On a street with horrible bars, Egbert Souse's was clearly the loser's champ. Walking into the Souse was like visiting your dying grandfather in a pub. You could feel the last semblance of spirit being sucked out of you the moment you opened those doors. If you couldn't buy a plane ticket to Florida, it was the next best place to go and die.

Anyway, I'm reading MDM's overview of the films of W.C. Fields, and there it is- Egbert Souse. Seems that was Fields' character's name in what the piece calls his best film, The Bank Dick. Souse is a small town layabout who "spends his happiest hours downing cocktails at the Black Pussy Cafe." Much drunken shenanigans ensues, including a sequence in which a hammered Souse slips a bank examiner a Mickey with the help of the Black Pussy's bartender, played by Stooge Shemp Howard. Wasted scoundrels, mucho misanthropy, and children kicking- I blame Disney and the Boomers, naturally, for the death of fun at the theater. And I'm gonna hit the Souse this afternoon and raise one to the Bank Dick. Here's to the Black Pussy Cafe.