Patron Of Bar Where Everyone Knew His Name Dies, Liver Failure


A Bay Area man, Sean Weakins, passed away today due to extreme liver failure. A long-time-single lizard owner and Costco employee, Weakins spent much of his free time at The Boneyard, a small bar near his one-bedroom apartment. The bar’s many patrons may have known him best.

“Sean died?  Man, that sucks,” said Morgan Grace, a freelance musician. “He was a great guy.  Any good stories?  Ha, this one time... we...”  Mr. Grace fell in to silence and took a sip of his beer.

Oddly, although Weakins was said to have many good friends at The Boneyard his funeral was left unattended. Bobby Pilkins, or “Pilky” was generally known to be closest to Sean, and was asked why he chose not to attend.

“Oh, I’m definitely going to pay my respects this Saturday. Seany got me through a lot. My first divorce. The times I lost jobs. Deaths in the family. He was like a brother. Wait, is today really Sunday? Fuck! Oh well, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Have you heard the one about the...”

This kind of casual indifference almost leaves one feeling as if the world is cold and unfeeling. Is a life fulfilled only if one has achieved what society has deemed our goals? Did Sean need to have been successful in business or fathered a family, in order for his considered worthwhile? Regardless, Mr. Weakins at least had a place to go. A place with friends. A place where everyone knew his name.

Said one patron, “Sean? Yeah, I knew him. I mean, didn’t really like him much, though. He was kind of a dick when he got drunk.”

Caleb Finch

Caleb Nathan Friedrich was born in a small coal mining town in northern Pennsylvania to his biological parents Gretchen and Ivan Friedrich. Being the Friedrich’s eleventh child, and seeing the steady decline of Ivan’s health, Caleb was dropped into the, then tumultuous, foster care system. When he turned sixteen he gathered what few items he had and set out to make his mark on the world. Forging false identification and assuming the surname Finch, he was able to talk his way into position for the world renowned San Francisco Inquisitor. He went on to become the newspaper’s longest running editor and chief, and has had many printed collections, including The Time I Spent and The View From the Engine Room. In 1943, Caleb passed away by succoming to his long and painful fight against Butt Aids. It is belived by some that his ghost still haunts different locations in San Francisco, and that it's sort of a dick.