I took notes Saturday, thinking I'd use them to write a proper entry sometime Sunday. Well that plan sucked, and it's two days later, so I'm just going to try and get caught up.
Browning's is too fucking crowded. I doubt that there's a beer on Earth worth putting up with this.
I'm at The Red Star Tavern. My night here has started out just fucking great. The waiter rolled his eyes when I requested no slaw with my burger and fries. So now I'm getting a spitburger. Oh yeah, and a BBC Bourbon Barrel Stout (294).
They usually have BBC Dark Star Porter here. I hope it comes back.
I always like it here at Fourth Street Live. There are actual girls all over the place, unlike Rich O's. It's also a little haunted, and that is like Rich O's.
This beer is yummy.
I just made them change the TV from some poker documentary to the Reds game. I'm an asshole.
Food is here. No slaw. No detectable spit.
Everyone working here is scowling. It's probably my fault somehow.
I just noticed that on the Milwaukee Brewers' shirts it says "Cerveceros." That's weird.
Food is gone. I've moved to the bar so they could have their booth back. I also tipped 30%.
I'm outta here.
Now I'm at The Pub. I don't see that one bitch working. Good. I order a Newcastle (2260).
The Pub has also pulled Dark Star Porter for the bourbon stout. What, it would kill them to have two BBC beers on at the same time?
This Newcastle is yummy. Which backs up what my friends and I have been saying for two months. Either what they sold at Rich O's during DaveFest was old and stale and flat Newcastle, or it wasn't Newcastle at all.
The Stella Artois drinkers crack me up. They pay a premium price for imported piss when they could drink domestic piss for a much lower cost. And, for the truly cost-conscious, I'd piss in their glasses for free just to watch them drink it.
Speaking of piss, I have to.
It's a very quiet crowd here tonight. Not just here at The Pub, but all along the street. It's crowded, but quiet.
Another Newcastle (2280).
Some shithead across the bar just ordered a black and tan, took one sip, then paid and left. Maybe he realized how stupid he looked drinking a black and tan.
The bartender tells me that all the hot girls won't start showing up until after 11:00. That sucks.
I'm not really sure what I should think about a certain reader's absence. I'm quite hurt and disturbed by it, but I shouldn't be. I shouldn't care at all, but I do.
Some woohoos have sat at a nearby table. I hate them already.
Except for that one girl. She's smoldering hot. I like her just fine.
The dingbat next to me just ordered "An ale, but alight ale." I hate her.
The woohoos suck.
Okay, the woohoos and the light ale dingbat have run me off. I'm outta here.
Piss time at the Hard Rock.
I'm just having a Diet Coke here. This one bartender has awesome hair. It's spiky and purple and pink and black. She's hot.
This guy next to me has had a shot sitting in front of him since I sat down, but he hasn't drank it. I'd drink the fucking thing myself, but Holly isn't here. I only do shots with Holly. I miss Holly.
Okay, now the guy is sipping his shot. What a pansy.
I'm outta here.
I arrive at Rich O's and take a piss.
I have a Smithwick's (896).
I wonder if that pansy has finished his shot yet.
This place is a sausage fest again. There are two girls out in the loser area, but that's it for all of Rich O's.
It's boring here. I should go somewhere else.
I'm outta here.
So I went over to another bar, and I ran into a girl I know, and I drove her home because I'm a sucker for damsels in distress. I was a perfect gentleman though. We talked and watched a movie and she fell asleep (passed out) on the couch with her head on my lap. She was like a sleeping kitten, and so I didn't want to wake her so I just reclined the thing back and slept myself.
When I woke up my entire leg was numb from the weight of her head, and I could barely walk.