Originally Posted: 2005-06-22 12:07pm
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Dear Moe's and Joe's
What the hell gives you the right to serve delicious PBR until two in the morning for the low low price of 3.25/pitcher while simultaneously packing your homely little watering hole with young hotties? Its as if you've looked deep within my soul and discovered I have a serious problem controlling myself around these two things, then decided to make both of them readily accessible to the point of obsenity when I have to work in the morning. Fuck you Moe's and Joe's.
Pitchers #1 & 2: I arrive fashionably late. Meet up with 5 friends of mine. Small talk. Game 6. Go Pistons.
Pitcher #3: I introduce myself to friend's date. She looks like Jewel without the snaggle tooth. I remind myself this is my friend's date and I should keep Jewel fetish to myself.
Pitcher #4: Buddies and I spot woman who seems to be bestowed with the finest ass God has ever created. She is unfortunately surrounded by balding 30ish dudes and even worse, enjoying their attention.
(If I was the bitter type, this is where I'd join the bandwagon and complain about Atlanta women being heartless golddiggers. However, I realize that at some point I will probably be 30ish, balding and still single. However I'll most likely be making more money than I currently do and it will be then that women like her will be attainable. For now, I'll just bide my time.)
Pitcher# 5: Jewel strikes up converstation with me while buddy is in bathroom. Asks me where I went to school, what I do, yadda yadda.... she's so hot. Cannot get 'Who Will Save Your Soul' out of my head. She can save mine any day. And by save my soul I obviously mean make sweet, sweet love to me in the back of the volkswagon van she is living out of while struggling to make it as a folk musician. Whoa... lost myself there for a second. Buddy comes back and Jewel seems to be ignoring buddy. Fuck. I mention something buddy does to remove myself from no-win situation and shift her focus back to him. Realize having a conscious is totally overrated.
Pitcher# 6: Pistons win and I give a fist pound to token thugged out black dude in booth behind me. Huge ass zircon ring cuts my knuckle wide open and I make a small sceen as I walk/bleed my way to the bar for medicinal beverage napkins. Thugged out black dude complains about the "white boy dat bleed on my bling". One buddy excuses himself because he "has to wake up early in the morning for work." I remind myself I have to do the same and should probably get going soon. I also taunt buddy for being a "raging pussy".
Pitcher# 7: I demand to know why bartender won't sell me pitcher# 8 with #7 because, goddamnit I have $6.50 burning a hole in my pocket and my friends are thirsty. Poor bartender repeatedly explains to me that ass crowded bar means not a whole lot of available pitchers and I am not the only one in the bar drinking. Fact that world does not revolve around me seems foreign and frustrating.
Pitcher# 8: Papa Roach song comes on the Jukebox and I loudly demand to know who in their right mind would play such a musical pile of dog shit. After a few minutes of ranting, I meet cute girl who hates shitty band as much as I do. 2 minutes into our Papa Roach bashing it becomes clear cute girl has even cuter moustache. Hate my luck as I always seem to have a chance with a cute girl with a major defect. Remind myself that I'm no longer in college and that I will regret taking her home.
Pitcher# 9: Jewel and buddy leave. I stand up on the seat of my booth and politely remind everybody at the bar that its a school night and they should probably start heading home just like my 2 "worthless friends". I've just been told by email that I also asked them to "fuck their mothers for me" while they're at it. (This probably scored me no points with Jewel in the event that she chooses to dump my buddy) Medicinal beverage napkins have fallen off and I am aware, but ambivalent to the fact that I am bleeding on my favorite t-shirt. I tell my 2 remaing friends I'm going to walk home. After this pitcher, of course. They berate me for all of 5 seconds before I give in and agree to stay.
Pitcher# 10: I challenge my 2 remaining (and jobless) friends to a game of quarters. Only to celebrate our 10th pitcher of the night I suggest we use dimes. I bring two quarters to the bar and ask for 5 dimes. Bartender hates me. I tip him 2 dimes for the exchange. Bartender hates me even more. Playing quarters with dimes not nearly as fun. Switch back to using quarters and destroy my friends. However, I do lose the game in which we've bet that the loser has to go and talk to amazing-ass-girl.
Pitcher# 11: I agree to bet on the grounds I don't have to pay for last pitcher. Friends agree. Walk over towards amazing ass girl feels incredibly slow. I cannot tell whether this is because her ass has me locked in its hypnotic tractor beam or because the gallon of beer I've drank so far probably has my BAC hovering around .25. I squeeze in between the 3 potbellied 30 somethings surrounding her and lean against the bar as I look her square in the eye. Her gaze meets mine and I am slightly disappointed at my first good look at her face. I tell her so. This apparently makes me an asshole and largest 30 something kindly informs me that I'll have to "move my skinny ass before he runs it over". I ask him whether or not that meant he mistook me for a homosexual and that I'm flattered, but not gay. 2 remaining (jobless, but caring) friends take it upon themselves to escort me home. I am disappointed because large 30 something and I had so much to talk about. Zig zag my way home and wake up fully clothed. Awesome.
So now I'm sitting at my desk. Its almost noon and the 800 pound gorilla playing the cymbals in my head has not stopped since 7am. My farts smell like limburger and death. I've nodded off twice. Thank you Moe's and Joe's. Thank you for nothing. See you next Tuesday.