The good news is that my favorite bar, Whiskey Tango - which I've written about extensively over the years - has re-opened after closing in January 2013! The location was shut down for a while, then became a country bar called Bull Shooters, which was always odd for an establishment in Philadelphia. Well, Bull Shooters is mercifully gone, and Whiskey Tango is back. That's right - there are more opportunities for stories about Blondtender (though she was fired), Lennon, Melvis and Slav, and the creepy guy who stalked my female friends!
The bad news? Despite Whiskey Tango being open for several months, I haven't gone yet.
You might be wondering, Walt, what the hell is wrong with you?, and to that, I can only say that I'm equally disappointed in myself. I was so devastated when it closed, and I would've given anything for more nights there. However, there are a few factors involved:
First of all, Whiskey Tango is different. It used to be a fun hangout to just drink and play pool/darts, and they were so chill about everything. They didn't even have anyone check IDs at the door; one time, this girl I know from my parents' neighborhood was there, and I knew for sure that she wasn't 21. Yet, no one cared. I guess maybe that's why they closed in the first place, but it was nice to go to a bar where they weren't uptight or anything.
Now, they have a cover charge to get in, and they do this so they can pay the band they have each weekend night. To this, I say f*** the band. I hate bands. They're loud and they're smelly. Plus, I'd rather just have music on in the background, just as long as it's not blaring so that I can actually hear what people are saying. That's my No. 1 pet peeve about most bars - I hate it when it's impossible to have a conversation. Forgive me, but I'd rather talk to people than dance, and I'm not particularly keen on having blood spew out of my ears by the end of the night.
Second, there's no guarantee that any of my favorite characters would be there. Blondtender, as mentioned, was fired, so there would be no one to rape me with a cucumber. Lennon may have married an Asian whore by now. Melvis and Slav are probably peering through windows with binoculars and jacking off to women undressing. And the guy who creeped on my female friends undoubtedly has joined Melvis and Slav in their new ventures.
And third, most of my friends don't go out anymore. We all used to meet up every Friday night at Whiskey Tango, but everyone has grown up and graduated, and now people are too tired/busy to go out all the time. This is absolutely horrible, as I expected us to all go through liver failure together.
At any rate, one of the people I used to go to Whiskey Tango with each Friday night was my friend Glimmer. She's getting married next summer, so she wanted to have an engagement party of sorts at a bar. I figured she'd choose Whiskey Tango, but she opted for another bar somewhat close by called Oh Bryon's. I'm not exactly sure why she eschewed having it at Whiskey Tango, but I imagine that she was disgruntled with the same things I was. Who wants to pay a cover charge and listen to some crappy band? I'd rather only pay for alcohol and be able to talk. I mean, if I can get raped by a cucumber, it might be worth the $7, but definitely not the case otherwise.
Something I quickly realized upon arrival is that the thing I missed most about going out to bars is the drunken conversations I used to have with my friends. I'd often mention them and everything that happened each night in Jerks of the Week, and that's been an element that has been missing in this section of the site for several years now.
So, here's a rundown of what happened at Oh Bryon's, and what we talked about that night. I'll warn you: Some of it is controversial, so if you're one of these microaggression pansies with sand in your vag, you should probably step away now before you have a brain aneurysm.
Girls Getting Hit on at the Gym:
This didn't exactly happen at the gym; it was something my girlfriend and I discussed at dinner beforehand. Dinner, by the way, was comprised of some potentially great food. There's this pizza place/deli near the local dog training place where we were earlier in the evening, so we decided to give them a shot. I ordered a cheesesteak, fries and buffalo chicken strips. Delicious and nutritious!
Well, maybe not so delicious. The chicken strips and fries were great, but the cheesesteak was missing one key ingredient - cheese! How can you forget the cheese in a cheesesteak? It's literally in the f***ing name! It's like if you buy a sailboat, and they forget to include the sails. Or maybe they give you the sails and forget the boat. I imagine the latter is much worse.
At any rate, my girlfriend's brother Jimmy called up and mentioned that he joined a gym. He talked about perhaps using it as a place to hit on girls, but my girlfriend shot down that strategy:
"Jimmy, don't hit on girls at the gym!" she exclaimed. "We find it creepy! We're all sweaty and disgusting and stuff, and we don't want to be hit on like that!"
From the sound of it, Jimmy seemed confused, and I more so. In fact, I interrupted their conversation to give my take on it.
Shouldn't women feel super complimented if a guy hits on them when they're sweaty and "disgusting?" Think about it: If a guy likes you in that manner, think about how much he's going to love you when all dolled up.
There's nothing wrong with hitting on girls at the gym, or even just ogling them. In fact, if you ogle a chick, she should come up to you and kiss you on the cheek for raising her self-esteem.
Like I said, this wasn't discussed at the bar, but it sounds like something I'd rant about while drunk, so I thought I'd include it. I also hopes this serves as a PSA to all women. Guys hitting on you at the gym is actually a great thing!
Rolling Rock vs. Miller Lite and Homicidal Maniac:
When I arrived at the bar, I did what I used to do: Offer to buy everyone drinks. Two people took me up on the offer, one of whom was my friend Pat, who asked for a Rolling Rock.
I ordered the two drinks, plus my own, which was a Miller Lite. The bartender, who was in her 40s, but still had a nice a**, set the mixed drink and the two beers down. The problem? She didn't specify which was which.
"Hey, which one's the Miller Lite?" I asked, but to no avail because she already walked away. I stood there utterly confused, unsure of what to do until she came back my way.
Another bartender - slightly younger, but a lot uglier - walked by, so I figured I'd ask her if she could help solve my dilemma. She looked closely at the two glasses, but came to the same conclusion I did: The two beers looked exactly the same, so it was impossible to tell.
She told me she'd ask the other bartender, who was now starting to help someone else. While waiting, it dawned on me that I could perhaps ask someone else at the bar. I looked at the one dude closest to me, and I immediately cowered in fear. He had red, spiky hair and wore an extremely angry expression on his face, almost like he was plotting to kill someone. I kept tabs on him, and he sat by himself for most of the night. Undoubtedly, he figured out his master plan to kill all those who made fun of his whacky hairdo. Ah crap, I hope he doesn't read this, or I might be next!
Anyway, the original bartender came over after a couple of minutes, and she looked frustrated.
"When I sat these beers down, I said this one is Rolling Rock, and this one is Miller Lite," she spat.
She definitely did not say that. I'd definitely recall it if she did. This got me so angry that I actually forgot which one was which.
"Wait!" I shouted as she was walking away. "Which one is the Miller Lite again?"
She looked even angrier, almost as if she wanted to grab a beer bottle and bash me over the head with it. I'm actually shocked she didn't enlist the services of Red Spiky Hair Killer to take me out.
A few beers later, one of the girls mentioned something about a gynecologist. That's when my first truly drunken thought popped into my head.
"I'm glad I don't have a penis doctor!" I shouted, prompting quizzical looks from everyone around me.
"What the f*** is a penis doctor?" this one girl asked.
Walt's Drunken Take: Women always go to gynecologists. Men don't visit doctors to check out their penis. Why is that? We don't get our wangs checked every month, or however often women take trips to the gynecologist. I imagine that would be awfully tedious.
The girls at the table were still somewhat confused, but as expected, Pat agreed. Penis doctors would suck. Well, not literally suck - otherwise they'd get sued for sexual harassment.
I can't remember who brought it up, but someone mentioned global warming. I don't think anyone was actually complaining about it, as I make sure not to hang out with microaggression communist hippies, but I still had to rant about it.
Walt's Drunken Take: Global warming is such bulls***! This is the coldest May of all time. Seriously, we've had one nice day this month. If we have three nice days in December, the communist hippie douche bags will jump down our throats about global warming, but where the f*** are they when we have our coldest recorded May ever? I've seen my breath outside every night this month! It's May 13, and I can see my breath outside, and I'm wearing f***ing winter coats everywhere! This is f***ing bulls***! And I love how the global warming a**holes don't mention that we had a global cooling in the 80s and 90s because of the sulfur in the air from a massive volcano eruption, and now the temperatures are just readjusting. We actually need global warming because it's so f***ing cold outside!
As you can probably guess, this was my longest drunken rant of the night. Unfortunately, I lost about half my audience at least halfway through because they were already talking about something else. The people who still were listening to me looked at me sullenly, as if they thought I was about to have a nervous breakdown. And I don't blame them at all!
Girl Being Too Hot:
Someone asked Pat if he ever looked at a girl at a bar or a party and thought, "Yeah, I can do this." As in get in her pants that very night. Before Pat could answer, I had to interject with my own story, which occurred prior to the creation of Jerks of the Week (in 2009), so I thought I'd share it with you:
Walt's Drunken Take: One time at my house, my friend brought over these girls. One was perhaps the hottest chick I've ever seen. I normally don't like tall girls, but she was supermodel kind of tall, and her body was amazing. Anyway, I was getting a drink when she came over to me. She put her hand on mine and whispered, "Can you make me a drink?" I didn't know what to do. I just froze. I didn't even expect her to acknowledge me at all, as this occurred in my low-confidence days. I had some drinks in me but wasn't completely drunk, so I had the sudden urge to leave. "You're too... too hot for... for me," I stuttered and walked away. I later told my friend who brought her over about this, and he said I totally could've gotten her. I just shook my head, "Nah man, she was way too hot. I don't even know what I'd do with her." He looked at me and laughed. "You stick your dick in her p***y!"
Everyone seemed disappointed that I didn't nail this girl, and they were all more delighted to hear Pat's story, which ended much more successfully.
Glimmer said that she had to go to the bathroom, prompting her friend Marlana to say that she'd go with her. This led to Pat asking a question no guy truly knows the answer to:
"Why do girls announce that they're going to the bathroom so that another girl goes with them? Us guys don't. We just go by ourselves. Why do girls do this?"
Of the seven people who heard this question, everyone had a different answer. One person said it was to invite another girl for gossip purposes. Another suggested it was for lesbian activities. Someone else thought it was for security (i.e. if a girl's not back for a while, people should be concerned.)
I didn't have an answer - I've given up trying to understand the thought process of women long ago - but I offered my take on the whole thing:
Walt's Drunken Take: That's gotta be super stressful! What if a girl announces that she's going to the bathroom, and all you hear are crickets because no one wants to go with her? Wouldn't that be super embarrassing? Like, this girl would have to go and cry in the bathroom by herself because she doesn't have any friends to go with her.
Man, I'm glad I'm not a chick. I don't think I could handle it.
Game of Thrones Party:
We were discussing having parties during the summer, and St. Stalin's Day came up. This year will mark the fifth-annual St. Stalin's Day, which is difficult to believe. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you can read all about the first St. Stalin's Day here, and once you do, I'm sure you'll want to wear red and celebrate it with me this summer.
When discussing what the date for St. Stalin's Day would be, Pat suggested a party with another theme - a Game of Thrones costume party.
That sounded like an awesome idea. Two thoughts popped into my head. First, would this Game of Thrones costume party be on my birthday, or would it be a totally different event? And second...
Walt's Drunken Take: That reminds me of a porno I watched recently! It was a Game of Thrones-themed porno. It was called Game of P***y!
Some of the girls looked at me strangely and just got up and left the bar. And that's when it hit me: People might still be going out Friday nights. Perhaps they're just not inviting me because of my drunken takes.