Greetings and salutations! Hope you remember me, I'm the baby with the bottle. The distant relative to ol' Hack Wilson. We Wilsons never veer far from the happy spirits, you know. Great-great-great-grandpa once drank a fifth of Jack, hit a grandslam, threw back a bottle of 'shine, walked, and then drank two beers per inning until hitting a game winning single in the bottom of the 16th. Then he went out for a victory brew. That's why he is my idol.
Anyway, I had a little incident I think you should know about. Seems the authorities got wind of me living here in Thunder Matt's place. I don't know how. Maybe it was that guy who came in for a drink wearing the badge and carrying a gun. He seemed real suspicious. He kept asking White Chili if he heard a baby crying. I'll admit I was crying, but it wasn't my fault, Wolter was trying to wash me in a toilet bowl. And if you have ever been to the restrooms at the Saloon, you know those toilets haven't been flushed since the Gary Varsho Era.
So the next day or so, a few cops came in the Saloon with some people from the Chicago Child Services Department. They asked some questions, got some answers, and ended up taking me away. I spent the last few weeks in the Cook County Prison. It was cool, no one messed with me. Some big guy named Zeus took care of me. He was real nice. Apparently, he was also a relative of a former Cub. Do you remember Mike Harkey? Me neither.
After a while, I was finally released from the slammer. Unfortunately, they told me I can't live here in the Saloon anymore. Something about it being illegal for babies to live in places where they serve alcohol. Jordi said that was one of The Man's rules. I'm not sure I believe in all that "omnipotent bugaboo" mumbo-jumbo Jordi is always talking about, but I'm going to agree with him this time.
The sad truth is now I am homeless. Perhaps I can find a home with one of the other bartenders. Maybe the College of Idiots will admit me, or perhaps the Mandfelt Family will adopt me. Or maybe those fine gentlemen of Unprofessional Foul will bring me in, or maybe I'll go Hitler punching with Wolter. Maybe I can join Vinnie over at Mythological Inches or Ginger Russ at the Andy White Fan Club. Then, of course, there is the Shooter-loving crew over at Effectively Wild, or The Hundley's crew over at Blog of Eternal Stench. If all fails, I'm sure The Slog or The Three Seashells will give me a place to rest my head. I'd ask Kayne, but he would probably blame my problems on the al-al-al-al-cohol.
Wish me luck as I bid farewell to the Saloon. To quote the great Snoop Dee Oh Double-G, "a tear drops my eye".