Mama Bran

Joe the Hefty sat at the bar.  He may or may not have been in Limbo, but there was a dude who looked like a young Lemmy tending bar and boy, Joe felt as if he were on a cloud.  He saw another Joe across the crowded room, talking to a Katryn, and a guy who looked a lot like his friend José, but that was like, totally impossible.  On the dance floor, a swarthy, lanky older gentleman danced with a young red headed woman.  She seemed like she was young enough to be his daughter yet looked upon him like she might a hot young stud.  Joe the Hefty wished in vain that he wasn't so HEFTY.  His current situation was an archetypical American nightmare.  A wife who loathed his touch and was convinced he had failed her and was little more than a sometimes amiable female roommate and of course, wonderful mother to his boys, Bobby and Enrique, and the flea tortured cat, Moses.
     Joe ordered another beer and watched the couple dance, wistfully remembering former romantic escapades and withering in his longing and pain.
     How desperate he must have become, to put his heart in the hands of such a woman.  His ignominious death as a proud and lone bachelor was complete with the utter failure of his first marriage.  After all, he had told himself that this time it would be different than all the girlfriends who had both worn out their novelty and grown sick of him, whom he'd cast off to look for new quarry in the deep sea of young and available nubile ripe-fer-pickin lusciousness.  He had told himself that the woman he chose to procreate with would totally understand and love him and that there would be this great harmony.  Instead his great worrisome fear had come to pass and he had become his short tempered father, and now he was getting a D-I-V-O-R-C-E.  What's worse was that he had let her sabotage his soul.  He ordered a shot of bourbon.

A young black lady with an enormous fro sat right next to him.  He dared not look at her.  His lust had destroyed his fucking life.  He hated life and wanted to die.  The very worst part was that his music was suffering.  His very drive to be a creator was drying up, replaced by a blank blackness, a depression that was deeper than that sea of poon that he so longed to get back to.  Joe the Hefty really feared that his heart really would break.  He lamented the fact that his wife would not even care if he died.  He was saddled with responsibilities and enormous debt, and in a dead marriage that was literally sucking the fucking life out of him.

Just then the foxy Cleopatra at his side spoke up.

"Hey, baby.  Whass yo name?  I'm Mama Brain".

Joe was lost in his thoughts and misheard her.

"Did you say 'Mama Bran'?"

Just then, Dougie walked in.