Inquiring Mind wants to know

Don't we all, sir.

The truth is that I do not know who half of the people who drop by The Wulfshead are either, sir...

They were all invited in, at one point or another, just like you were, sir. And some of them just stumbled into the place--there are authorized access points to the club at locations all around the world, if you know where to look. People walk in and people walk out, all the time. And there is no offense in either way. If the gentleman or the gentlelady wishes for an invitation to be extended to their friend, I am sure the bartender can see to it that an invitation be sent to whichever e-mail address that either the gentleman or the gentlelady will care to provide.

The Wulfshead is what it says, sir. No more. No less. A virtual bar. An online pub. And a club. Just a place to kick back and relax, and maybe perchance start a conversation, or possibly, get acquainted with some of the patrons or visitors who drop by. What you find here is what is here, or what you bring in yourself, if you so choose. Back in the old days, sir, you could find all sorts at the Wulfshead, if they didn't find you first, sir. Things have gotten a bit mellower nowadays. The bartender, sir, he says it's the new generation. Though, I understand, that the new generation in the old US of A was instrumental in bringing to power a quite unusual kind of leader to the Presidential office. A very charismatic man, sir. Possibly a healer. Some say a visionary, but I am not so sure, I think it's too early to say.

In any case, sir, welcome to The Wulfshead. The bartender has sent the gentleman's friend an invitation. The gentleman's friend can do as she wishes, sir. It is an open invitation. The gentlelady can always visit without being a member, although the gentleman's friend will only be able to do so while the club remains visible, which is not always the case, sir.

The management thanks you for your kind interest, sir.


  1. Thank you, dear fellow, for your explanation. I'm still getting acquainted here. Now that I'm perusing the dinner menu, I see a similar description on the first page. Well well, quite a history. The place does look...lived in.

    I'm unaware, my good man, of its alleged fame. I did meet a traveler once out on the Nightside, so to speak---first name was Simon I believe---who recommended I look this place up should I feel the need. I did, and by god, here it was! He had muttered something about visiting the nation of Zaius, but I guess I didn't need to go there.

    At any rate I think I'll try the prime rib. Medium rare please...and a refill, over at the table near that mysterious woman.

  2. Hmm... The dinner menu is all well and good, but do you serve dessert at this establishment?

  3. Yes, sir... Alas, pies still have not made it back on the menu, since you and I last talked about this, sir.

  4. I'm just glad the peanut bows are self-refilling.

  5. Let me sit a bit closer to you as it seems fitting and proper at this establishment to communicate, in a subtle way, hushed conversation, almost as if there is entertainment and it is "US." I will be my own piano player...don't even need a bass or drums, and I wil weave my words, tenuously, almost as if I have snippets of excitement to share with you and the bartender. Quite simply, what I have to say is a collection of shadows, sparrows and spring; summer, winter, wonder and I'll even sing a song about inky dark Chicago nights, breezy bright sun swept beaches and perhaps, instantaneously I will grab your tie and tell you about the human soul and ask you questions which you might not know the answers to...but the bartender will know; for he/she knows of life, love, laughter and loss...those myriad moments woven into words and laid out upon my husky alto voice that only you can hear.

    Now, about desert, creme brulet please and use the fire extinguisher under the bar, I love the crust .

  6. May I request the Spring medley? Spring Is Here, It Might As Well Be Spring, Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most...

    Spring arrived on time,
    Only...what became of you, dear?