An Amazing Story Never To Be Told

If walls could talk, I’d tell them to shut up; I’m trying to hear all about the adventures of the dollar bill…

An average, ordinary dollar bill has a story more remarkable and prolific than a human being ever could, regardless of age or experience.

The dollar bill that the little child hands to the ice cream man was once also tucked into the G-string of a stripper; thrown into the donation basket at a church; used to buy a regrettable sandwich at a rest stop; used to pay a toll; used to buy an Auntie Anne’s pretzel at the mall; found in the wallet of a dead guy; used to tip a bartender; used to tip a hair dresser; used to buy a lottery ticket; used to buy cigarettes; stolen in a robbery; used to buy crack cocaine; used to pay a baby sitter; donated to a politician; used to buy a gun; used to help the homeless; used to be exchanged for quarters so that a depressed drunk could play a game of skee-ball at a bar alone one night; etc, etc, etc…

Imagine: A person receives a dollar as change at a news stand at an airport. In a matter of hours, that dollar is the across the continent in a new city, where, maybe after only a few hours of arriving there, is spent again and given to someone else who is then on their way on a trip in an entirely different direction…

And the bill keeps traveling and traveling and traveling…

I guess you can say the story of a dollar bill is note-worthy. You guys like puns?

The journey of a dollar bill is so epic and nonstop, that if it happened to a human being, it would likely push them to the point of exhaustion and cause them to have a breakdown.

The story of just about any dollar bill is one of the greatest secrets there is and it’s right there all around us.

Think about it.

God bless you and good night.

May the universe shine it’s light on you.

May your journey through life be a fraction as incredible and eventful as that of a dollar bill.

Namaste.

Peace.

One love.

Check out this shit. This is a stock photo and I don’t even know what it means. This is just a part of the story of these 4 dollars. “Yeah they rolled us up, stuck us in the dirt upside down, and then took photos of us.” People do some weird ass stuff with money.

Sal’s Club

The Sal Densen Is Not Allowed Club is the shittiest name for a club and I’m not just saying that because my name is Sal Densen. The name has no catch. It lacks flair. Nothing about it makes me want to go inside.

The word club means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. To many, the word club means an establishment that you show up to to have drinks and dance and socialize.

To me, the word club means a gathering of people who have come together for a common cause. And when people would come to Sal’s, (the original Sal’s, the only true Sal’s, the owned by me) they were coming, well, to be with me– Sal!

Me and the townspeople have had a few minor disagreements about the way things run at Sal’s over the years, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s always been great!

Some of the complaints were that I’m too buddy buddy, that I spill too many drinks, that I photobomb too much, that I talk too loud, that I only play music that I want to hear, that I’m overwhelming, etc. Small stuff, no big deal.

But then one night, this one guy, this one real big hot shot stood up and yelled at me,

“THAT’S THE 6TH FUCKING BOTTLE OF CHAMPAGNE THAT YOU’VE POPPED. EVERYONE’S SOAKING WET BECAUSE OF YOU YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

It hurts.

I can never forget that.

I hear constant echoes of it looping in my head–it never stops.

I run a club for years, never once ask a cover charge, never once close for holiday, never once cut a customer off for drinking too much. And then one night, after popping 6 bottles of champagne, 6 bottles of champagne that came out of my pocket for everyone’s enjoyment, you’re gonna then yell at me and call me an asshole in front of all my friends?

That was night everything started going down hill.

With my position in local politics once upon a time, I was in charge of everything. Everything went through me. All the permits went through me. If you wanted a liquor license you had to go through me…

And with that– I was on top of the world.

But then the people revolted.

I tried to change the town name to Saltown, and they said that that was the final straw. They dissed me. I said “What? You don’t like Sal?” They screamed and cursed at me more and then 96% of them went out and voted against me.

It started with that one guy.

And with me out, there was no longer only one bar allowed in town.

It used to be that if you wanted to go out and party, you had to party at Sal’s. Things were so much better in those days. I had so many friends back in those days.

But I guess people just don’t like having fun anymore.

They got this new club now. A club that is based in discrimination and hate and cruelty towards a fellow man. It’s sick how they’ve all turned against their caring, loving, and generous neighbor Sal.

And they never even gave a chance to look at the blueprints I had made for projects in Saltown.

Since then, I have turned the music down a few notches. I starting putting out bowls of peanuts, sometimes even pretzels. But rarely does anyone ever show up.

Travelers pass through and stop for a drink. They ask me where everyone is. I tell them, “You missed them. Everyone is dead. This town here used to be booming, but sadly, now it’s a ghost town.”

Sal’s Club is now just a relic of simpler, better time.

Everyone calls this new place Sal’s for short, and I know they’re just doing it to hurt me, and honestly, it’s working. The Sal Densen Is Not Allowed Club will only last so long though, I’m confident in that.

It lacks the one thing all club’s need–a Sal.