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The 69th Meeting of the Skeptics’ Circle: The Skeptics’ Circle Saloon

Howdy, thar, pardners! The Skeptics’ Circle Saloon is open for business, and, after bein’ away for more than two ears, Brent’s done gone and set up a hum-dinger of a meeting:

We rode up to the front of the Skeptic’s Circle Saloon and dismounted. Where once there were only two hitching posts, seven stood in their place. “Old Doc Orac must be doing something right,” I said with a smile.

I had heard that Doc had taken over running the Saloon from St. Nate a while back. I also heard that he had moved out of his office in town and had put up his surgery right in the Saloon. I adjusted the weight of my pistol, carried on the left, butt first, and made sure the leather thong was between the hammer and the firing pin. I’m a careful man by nature, but it pays to be extra-careful sometimes. Music came spilling out of the bar as the bat-wing doors swung outward. An obviously drunk man stumbled past us and into the street, mumbling something about homeopathic hangover cures.

We entered the dim, smoky interior and I waited a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. The main bar was larger than I recollected, with more tables. Doc Orac’s surgery was indicated with a small sign over the door of the old poker room. We moseyed up to the long, polished bar and leaned on it. Glancing sidelong at my men, with a smile, I cleared my throat loudly and raised my voice to a gravelly roar.

“What’s a cowboy got to do to get a gol-durned drink around here?”

Doc Orac stepped quickly out of the small cold room behind the bar. “Quit shouting at me, for one thing,” he said, walking towards us and wiping his hands on a bar towel tucked into his apron.

We shook hands across the bar, trading grins. “Where’s the mask?” I asked.

Read the rest here. And don’t forget to use the spittoons. I just waxed the floor of the saloon.

Once again, as always, if you want to host a meeting of the Circle yourself on your own blog, just mosey on over to the schedule and guidelines and then take a gander at the suggestions for hosts. Then drop ol’ Orac a line over at the saloon ([email protected]) sayin’ that you want to host. If you ain’t a plant for Mike Adams or Deepak Chopra, I’ll get ya on the schedule for the first opening.

By Orac

Orac is the nom de blog of a humble surgeon/scientist who has an ego just big enough to delude himself that someone, somewhere might actually give a rodent's posterior about his copious verbal meanderings, but just barely small enough to admit to himself that few probably will. That surgeon is otherwise known as David Gorski.

That this particular surgeon has chosen his nom de blog based on a rather cranky and arrogant computer shaped like a clear box of blinking lights that he originally encountered when he became a fan of a 35 year old British SF television show whose special effects were renowned for their BBC/Doctor Who-style low budget look, but whose stories nonetheless resulted in some of the best, most innovative science fiction ever televised, should tell you nearly all that you need to know about Orac. (That, and the length of the preceding sentence.)

DISCLAIMER:: The various written meanderings here are the opinions of Orac and Orac alone, written on his own time. They should never be construed as representing the opinions of any other person or entity, especially Orac's cancer center, department of surgery, medical school, or university. Also note that Orac is nonpartisan; he is more than willing to criticize the statements of anyone, regardless of of political leanings, if that anyone advocates pseudoscience or quackery. Finally, medical commentary is not to be construed in any way as medical advice.

To contact Orac: [email protected]