Good Evening Me Droogs and Droogettes. Greetings from the beyond the pale (my behavior in public that is)… The Intrepid Reporter went out this afternoon/this evening after the earlier post about The Hermey Mengele Connection, and had ourselves an early dinner/supper?
Whhatever the fuck the meal itself is called, we had us the bomb for food tonight… Mongolian Style Grill. Meat. Lotsa dead animal flesh, grilled up right in front of you with some rabbit food thrown in for good measure. Take note, this -will- be on the final exam tonight.
Infidel Meat, Beef Tips, Shredded Steak, Shrimp, Chikin of all sorts… quite the choices. Almost too many choices, leastways for the what I consider paltry serving… Kinda small for the Big Country in my world. The Large did in fact do me right serving wise. I was full when I left… not too full…. just that “OK, can’t eat anymore without needing to either shit or puke.”
Great chow. Got home and met up with the Sapper. We had plans to go out to meet with another bro of mine, a former employee, Jarhead. Yeah, a Marine. Great guy, just need to keep him away from the crayons. Anyways, Jarhead is a bit of an entrepreneur and a year or so, might even be two… fuck time flies.. he got himself a 24 Foot Airport Passenger Style van. Gutted it and turned it into a full bore mobile cigar humidor. Jarhead is –all- about some premium cigars. Loves them fuckers, so his dream is to sell ’em. He does events like Daytona, some of the NASCAR thingies… all in all he’s actually been making bank doing it. To the point he’s about to open his own shop/lounge.
He invited me and Sapper about a week ago to an event at World of Beer.
Mad Brewskis Bro!
It’s a chain, (how far it is nationally I have not one whit of a fucking clue) but it’s pretty prevalent around Floriduh. Basically a metric fuck-ton of beers from like everywhere… which therein lays (lies?) the problem.
Now, I haven’t partaken of too many bars since the divorce with XHH6, and the only ones I -have- frequented were Irish Dive bars, of which one of them I was the head bouncer until an unfortunate incident on Halloween a year ago. (They managed to re-attach his arm and told me he’d regain full use eventually but shit do happen… don’t expect mercy from me after you already hit me 3 x times in the head with a glass pitcher… and no, it didn’t break, hence my shall we say extreme measures in disarming him… hee hee.. I made a pun!) But yeah, I dig me old school biker bars. Manly bars where the broads are slutty, the bands are loud (and preferably Irish in nature) and scant a limp wrist in sight.
This fuckin’ place? Not so fuckin’ much. Apparently BECAUSE it’s “Beers from around the world” it attacts a certain -ahem- clientele…
I get hit on by some old dude of the homer-sexual persuasion not two fucking minutes in the bar!!!
And then some..
I managed to just ignore the old Queen, (the death glare I gave him was enough for him to realize his mistake) and then I started scanning the Area of Operations. I was hoping to assist as wingman for the Sapper, but man… talk about a target poor environment. It was a train wreck. The -majority- of the women looked like Snausages… those overstuffed doggie treats that smelled like shit and probably tasted worse? Yeah. Those fuckin’ things. All tarted up old wall hitting if not pipe-to-the-face hitting broads.
Moments like this…. >sigh<
Then, the doodz accompanying these trollops? Two categories: Lumbersexuals and Pure Soy-Bois. The stench of failed masculinity and toxic soy byproducts, combined with ‘Drakkar Noir’ and ‘Axe’ bodyspray, weltered about haphazardly, leaving a miasma that made me wish for the stench of a good, clean burn pit in Iraq…
No joke, I think three out of these four motherfuckers were there:
I am not joking.
One couple, dood hadda wannabe “samurai top-knot” goin on… he and his female kept talking about their diet, how Vegan they are and worrying about calories. This’s why, no bullshit I counted no less than six separate plate deliveries of soy-tacos to their place at the bar… I mean these two had to be cow derivatives… they were literally grazing all night, right up and until I had to leave.
We met up with Jarhead shortly after, and it was a good reunion. He’s got a line on some potential work, so good networking eh? We got some stogies and chilled for a bit. Then me n Sapper went back to the bar.
We got there, and Sapper hadda go ‘break the seal’ so I held down the fort. At which point the second most obnoxious couple in the world descended into our A.O.
Now mind you, we’re sitting at the bar. On an not-so-crowded Tuesday. We’re not even close to the taps, servers or register even. We’re on the corner of the bar.
And Fuckwit #1 and Fuckwit #2 plonk down right to my right. Like the broad sat down practically touching my shoulder. Personal space? Yeah. I need enough to throw a left hook, but when this bitch looked at me and sort of gave me the “Are you going to move?” look, I was like mentally “Fuck no.” Never give an inch. Now, to give you an idea of her ‘man’, add a ballcap to Douchebag Number Two up above and no joke, these fuckers would be brothers. I didn’t move, she -wouldn’t- move (to move would be to giving in to the patriarchy if I hadda guess her resting plate-flat bitch face meant anything by the glare she gave me…) Sooo, I settled in.
I proceeded to bring up in conversation with the Sapper, the Christmas Gift that I got with the Ole Lady for the granbaby… We got her some tablet-learning thingy that’s supposed to be awesome and semi-indestructible. As I relayed it to the Sapper, (in a somewhat obnoxiously loud voice) “The Ole Lady insisted on getting the armor case in Hot pink.” I was like “How can you possibly be so gender conforming in a time like this? Thats not right, we should let HER pick her color AND her pronouns!!!!” The last line garnered a small smile/recognition from the audience… until….
We lasted all of 45 seconds before breaking out in great howls of laughter… The audience, realizing it’d been played, got all uptight again and made poo-faces at us. Like I give a shit.
I then went outside to bullshit with Jarhead. Despite being cold, the back deck smoking area had overhead gas heaters… bit on the warm side so I ditched the jacket, forgetting I’m wearing FedBros B-Day gift. A “My M-4 Identifies as a Dreamer” or some shit, with a big assed M-4 on the back. Many sneers and such were thrown my way, so many that the Mongolian/Korean Spicy Beef was calling my name, so I cropdusted a table of these morons for good measure. I had just finished, and as Fat Bastard sez “Everyone likes their own brand!” I was reveling in the nasty I had just dropped. Jarhead, well, he looks over and is like sotto voce “Dude, did you just drop ass?”
“Fuck yeah bro… serves these soi-fucks right!”
Like That, but Better
He of course started laughing as we watch some of the ‘finer folk’ hightail it out of the range of the attack. I made my courtesies with Jarhead, thanked him for the stogies and went in.
I figured it was time for the coupe-de-grace. Bitch practically in MY lap will she? Sapper got up to piss again (boy’s got a baby bladder when he breaks the seal I swear) and I wanted him clear if it came to fisticuffs. I pounded down the last of my beer, getting a good sudsy swallow so the foam would hit the guts -properly-.
The belch, nay SMELTCH that erupted from my gullet, aimed coinky-dentally with the Broad’s face, was epic. A mishmash of Mongolian Dragon Spice and Korean Beef, with an portion of formaldehyde washed over her grill… she looked physically ill.
Resting Bitch Face started furiously gesturing to her ‘man’ who, in turn –utterly refused to look me in the face-. Otherwise, Z-E-R-O. His response finally was to move his seat down 3 feet from where me n’ the Sapper had been (which is what they shoulda done in the first place) and then swapped seats with her.
God… what happened to this planet? I’m normally not one to punk out a motherfucker like that. I hate bullying, but they were soooooo obnoxious, in my space, my face and fuck… just existing in this universe is enough to make me reconsider staying on this planet…
So here endeth the evening… we left.. and man… it’ll be like -never- when I go back to that fuckin’ joint… Until later, I remain, The Intrepid Reporter