It was a cool June weekend. Payday had come, and Murdock and I were ready to blow some cash at our favorite place (the coolest bar of all time). While grilling out in the backyard, I received a text from one of my best friends from Believeland telling me to tune into the SciFi channel immediately. I was curious, thinking it was the movie "Dracula 3000" with the guy with the afro in That 70's show. Little did I know. As we moved inside with our first beers I grabbed the remote and tuned in. "Total Recall" was on. If you haven't seen it. I recommend you stop reading this blog and Netflix it immediately: Arnold in top form. Anywho, I texted my friend in Cleveland and asked him if he would be watching with his roommate. He replied with "yes, but he's getting beer so we can play the Total Recall drinking game.
Total Recall drinking game? Go on.
"Any recalling you drink. and the term recall is arbitrary."
Sweet. Just my type of game. Arnold remembers something? Drink. Someguy gets murdered? Drink. You get the idea.
So as 10:00 rolls around and we're several high lifes deep, I decided to don my American t-shirt for the night (it's June, how many weekends do we get? Not many is the answer). We make our walk to the bar. Neither of us really remember what happens between the time we get there and closing time. As she begins to close down the bar, I remember I bought the shirt so that it could be sleeveless/more American. I lean over to Murdock and tell him my wishes, and within 2 seconds that has been relayed to the only other person in the bar, the bartender. Before I know it there are scissors in Murdock's hand, and he cuts the top of the sleeves. I pull down as hard as I can.
Voila! My t-shirt for the July 4th weekend in Chicago!!!! An American flag cutoff. As soon as the sleeves come off, I turn to the bartender and say, "I'm pretty sure when I put on this t-shirt, the sleeves just blew right off!"
"That's what I saw!!!" She exclaimed.
And Murdock and The Dude left the greatest bar in the world happy, drunk, and American.
Monday, June 13, 2011
To the guy who took my hat, and wore a stupid blue shirt
So Saturday started with a hangover as most others do. All involved felt the same I hope. After a few hours we began our trip to Lancaster, Ohio. The Dudes girlfriend was graduating from college and her family threw a rager In celebration. Once our hearts were filled with the majestic sights of the beautiful Ohio countryside, and by that we saw all but a rainbow and a unicorn. We drove back to Columbus blasting mumford and sons for the duration; arriving shortly before midnight. Freaky and I left for the greatest bar of all time, the name needn't be know. Ithappens that saturdaythis establishment is blemished by bags of douche. One knows went to the olymics and won a gold medal in taekwondo. The other took my hat. Two others decide to move the billiards table (yes, I said billiards table). So shoot me. Freaky tracked down the two bags that moved the table and made them move it back!! Awesome site
To see. The two other bags were tossed to the Street by the greatest bartender the world has ever seen!! The reason, they were fucking with the regulars. Yeah we are proud to be granted status as regular patrons!
To see. The two other bags were tossed to the Street by the greatest bartender the world has ever seen!! The reason, they were fucking with the regulars. Yeah we are proud to be granted status as regular patrons!
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Taekwon-NO
Freaky here, just arrived back in the Windy City after yet another eventful weekend back in the 'Bus. Actually, to say it was "eventful" is a bit of an understatement considering what took place over the course of the past 36 hours. But first things first: Go Mavs! Now, to provide some exposition about the weekend, the Dude's girl graduated this weekend from OSU and she had a graduation party at her farm on Saturday. So of course, I'm not going to pass up on an opportunity to drink ... outside ... on a farm. But let's rewind back to Friday night because it set the tone for the remainder of the weekend. I arrived around midnight and met up with the crew as they were a couple bars into their "Sorry For Partying" bar crawl (More like Sorry, I'm Not Sorry For Partying). I walk in to the said tributary and the Dude and Murdoch, without hesitation, begin chanting the proverbial, "America needs farmers, we don't need you!" I know what you're thinking and yes, that chant is the name our crew's own road map to recovery for America (the "you" is directed at the French).
I digress.
Fast forward a couple hours and many drinks and we find ourselves at the usual night cap watering hole. Generally we have an unwritten checklist when the crew ventures out (it is a living document and subject to change). Avril Lavigne's "Complicated." Check. Jackson 5's "ABC." Check. Miller High Life. Check. Girl crying. Check. Eliciting a response via a chant. No Check. The whole gang is sitting outside watching the wasted talent leave the bar with some bro-ed out frat boy when one couple in particular begin fighting. We were on top of our game that night and pounced on this effin golden opportunity. So naturally, we begin chanting, "She's gunna win! She's gunna win! She's gunna win!" Well, homeboy didn't appreciate our commentary and turned at gave us the old, "I'm gunna act tough so my girl thinks I'm not a vagina when in reality I shave my arms!" He then proceeded to raise his middle finger and judging from the size of it, he probably has some other issues to deal with. Regardless, the bro left in a flurry of frustration and the crew scored another victory in the fight against the Axis of Broskis. That pretty much concluded the night and we went back to our respective places to get some rest for what was going to be an epic Saturday.
Seven hours and 10 Triscuits later, Murdoch, Murdoch's woman and myself went to the all-time greatest bar of all time, the Hiz Hey, for an afternoon bloody mary and a quick chat with our favorite bartender. We begin our 45 minute trek out to the party riding in a jeep with the top down rocking out to Rebecca Black's Grammy worthy hit song "Friday." So for the next five or six hours we drank a lot of libations, ate a ton of brisket and lounged outside and enjoyed the remarkable view of rural Ohio. I also learned how to put the top of a jeep on, so yes ladies, I now can do it all ... except crochet. So we eventually ventured back to German Village and Murdoch and I headed to the Hiz Hey to close out the night.
MAVS WIN! MAVS WIN! Any player that looks like their team's mascot should be required to play for them ... I'm looking at you Chris Bosh, you Bosharaptor!
ANYWAY, Murdoch and I are sitting in the booth drinking some Budweisers when two poofs move a pool table which clearly was out of use. So our favorite bartender gives them a quick scolding; however, it doesn't seem to deter the two cardigan poster boys. So they finish their round of awfully played pool, actually they're so bad, they don't finish and leave the bar without moving the table back, apologizing to the bartender or at the very least clearing the table of the balls. So, seeing this I go outside and ask them to move it back and in their defense, they amicably agreed. Murdoch and I agree to help so we don't further damage the table and was three of us logically begin to the table from underneath, the fourth decides to try and grab the silver plate at the corner of the table. This genius move prompts Murdoch to still say, "Pick it up from the bottom like a man." Boom. Roasted.
A couple hours pass by and Murdoch and I have migrated back over to the bar when we order some BBQ pork rinds to munch on. We are lounging at the end of the bar when we see this tight shirted, frat boy talking to this chick right next us. Judging from her facial expressions it seemed as if she was pretty annoyed by the Jersey Shore wannabe, so I leaned over to Murdoch and said, "She definitely isn't going home with him tonight." Now, I guess I said it a little too loud because he leans over and snarkily asks me, "What did you say?" My mother has always told me to speak when spoken to and answer questions, so I responded, verbatim, what I had just said to Murdoch. Homeboy didn't like this too much. At this point, he perked up his chest like a peacock and said, "Do you know who I am?" Refusing to answer with the natural smartass response, I say no I don't think so. In which he responds with, "I won the gold medal in taekwondo in the Olympics for the U.S." I'm going to venture that he didn't, but this was too awesome, so I congratulate him for winning the medal and smile prompting his lady friend to laugh and eventually walk out. So three douchebags down and a couple more to go before we claim the weekend battle a victory. To cap off the night, Murdoch and I were in our same seats when some drunken fool decides to take off Murdoch's hat twirl it around and put it back on and then sets his sights on my Hawaiian lei. Clearly looking very annoyed, our favorite bartender comes over and tells them that it's time to leave and get out as he is bothering her "regulars." Yes, that's right. We are now protected under the Patron Protection Act of 1938 and let me tell you, when you are considered a regular, then you know you've made it.
And so, the night ended, Murdoch and I walked home and he made me some awesome potatoes and sausage. I once again fell asleep watching a shitty movie on Encore and woke up with yet another pounding headache, a sure sign that the night was a success. Well until next weekend friends, remember, don't piss with the toilet seat down and when life throws you a curveball, don't swing, life will most likely throw you a fastball the next pitch because everyone knows you don't swing at a first pitch curveball.
Cheers!
I digress.
Fast forward a couple hours and many drinks and we find ourselves at the usual night cap watering hole. Generally we have an unwritten checklist when the crew ventures out (it is a living document and subject to change). Avril Lavigne's "Complicated." Check. Jackson 5's "ABC." Check. Miller High Life. Check. Girl crying. Check. Eliciting a response via a chant. No Check. The whole gang is sitting outside watching the wasted talent leave the bar with some bro-ed out frat boy when one couple in particular begin fighting. We were on top of our game that night and pounced on this effin golden opportunity. So naturally, we begin chanting, "She's gunna win! She's gunna win! She's gunna win!" Well, homeboy didn't appreciate our commentary and turned at gave us the old, "I'm gunna act tough so my girl thinks I'm not a vagina when in reality I shave my arms!" He then proceeded to raise his middle finger and judging from the size of it, he probably has some other issues to deal with. Regardless, the bro left in a flurry of frustration and the crew scored another victory in the fight against the Axis of Broskis. That pretty much concluded the night and we went back to our respective places to get some rest for what was going to be an epic Saturday.
Seven hours and 10 Triscuits later, Murdoch, Murdoch's woman and myself went to the all-time greatest bar of all time, the Hiz Hey, for an afternoon bloody mary and a quick chat with our favorite bartender. We begin our 45 minute trek out to the party riding in a jeep with the top down rocking out to Rebecca Black's Grammy worthy hit song "Friday." So for the next five or six hours we drank a lot of libations, ate a ton of brisket and lounged outside and enjoyed the remarkable view of rural Ohio. I also learned how to put the top of a jeep on, so yes ladies, I now can do it all ... except crochet. So we eventually ventured back to German Village and Murdoch and I headed to the Hiz Hey to close out the night.
MAVS WIN! MAVS WIN! Any player that looks like their team's mascot should be required to play for them ... I'm looking at you Chris Bosh, you Bosharaptor!
ANYWAY, Murdoch and I are sitting in the booth drinking some Budweisers when two poofs move a pool table which clearly was out of use. So our favorite bartender gives them a quick scolding; however, it doesn't seem to deter the two cardigan poster boys. So they finish their round of awfully played pool, actually they're so bad, they don't finish and leave the bar without moving the table back, apologizing to the bartender or at the very least clearing the table of the balls. So, seeing this I go outside and ask them to move it back and in their defense, they amicably agreed. Murdoch and I agree to help so we don't further damage the table and was three of us logically begin to the table from underneath, the fourth decides to try and grab the silver plate at the corner of the table. This genius move prompts Murdoch to still say, "Pick it up from the bottom like a man." Boom. Roasted.
A couple hours pass by and Murdoch and I have migrated back over to the bar when we order some BBQ pork rinds to munch on. We are lounging at the end of the bar when we see this tight shirted, frat boy talking to this chick right next us. Judging from her facial expressions it seemed as if she was pretty annoyed by the Jersey Shore wannabe, so I leaned over to Murdoch and said, "She definitely isn't going home with him tonight." Now, I guess I said it a little too loud because he leans over and snarkily asks me, "What did you say?" My mother has always told me to speak when spoken to and answer questions, so I responded, verbatim, what I had just said to Murdoch. Homeboy didn't like this too much. At this point, he perked up his chest like a peacock and said, "Do you know who I am?" Refusing to answer with the natural smartass response, I say no I don't think so. In which he responds with, "I won the gold medal in taekwondo in the Olympics for the U.S." I'm going to venture that he didn't, but this was too awesome, so I congratulate him for winning the medal and smile prompting his lady friend to laugh and eventually walk out. So three douchebags down and a couple more to go before we claim the weekend battle a victory. To cap off the night, Murdoch and I were in our same seats when some drunken fool decides to take off Murdoch's hat twirl it around and put it back on and then sets his sights on my Hawaiian lei. Clearly looking very annoyed, our favorite bartender comes over and tells them that it's time to leave and get out as he is bothering her "regulars." Yes, that's right. We are now protected under the Patron Protection Act of 1938 and let me tell you, when you are considered a regular, then you know you've made it.
And so, the night ended, Murdoch and I walked home and he made me some awesome potatoes and sausage. I once again fell asleep watching a shitty movie on Encore and woke up with yet another pounding headache, a sure sign that the night was a success. Well until next weekend friends, remember, don't piss with the toilet seat down and when life throws you a curveball, don't swing, life will most likely throw you a fastball the next pitch because everyone knows you don't swing at a first pitch curveball.
Cheers!
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