White Light, White Heat, White Trash

Another Thursday night adventure for EBONY. I get home around 7:30, having run after work, then head over to Patsy's Place to meet up with Rick, Adam & Sonny. They've all had waay more to drink than I have (zero).
Adam destroys everyone at darts despite his inability to hit the bullseye (he had everything closed before I had more than 1 number closed). We talk to the bartender & owner about EBONY's 2009 mission, they offer us encouragement and buy us a round of shots.


Next up, Adam & Sonny ditch us for some reason to go drink at Prost!, which is a terrible decision on their part. Rick and I head across the street to The Home Tavern, which is roughly 20x more scummy than Rose's, which I didn't think was possible. Potato the Dog holds court here, and his family runs the place. It's empty except for us. Rick buys me 2 shots so I can get caught up, captured horribly on video over on the facebook group page.


We decide to knock off another gay bar tonight, but not before stopping into Big City Tap on the way. This would be only the second time I've been to Big City prior to 2am. Also of note, I have never found a trip to this bar to be worthwhile. Apparently it's White Trash night here. First, the bartender doesn't know what "312" is after I order 2 of them (right there, the 3 tap from the right, the one with the phone on it, and it says 312). He walked around the bar twice before asking me again what it was that I wanted.
We grab a table by the front, entertained by Cheddar Bob and his motley crue of social misfits. The tall, skinny, tattooed friend of his tries to hit on the pierced waittress by telling her about the 3 gunshot wounds he has, and tells her he can give her more tattoos. He then shows her his latest tattoo, on his shin, which is a picture of his fingers holding open his eye.

I'd like to get off my high horse for a minute and not judge these people, but then another one comes walking over to us, and I literally tried to write down exactly what he said to us immediately after he walked away. This is what I wrote:
"When I was 8 years old my dad gave me crap about eating Taco Bell while he had two porterhouse's on the grill. Now you eat Taco Bell and you have diarrhea for 8 months. Anyway, this is my dad's home. When he asks you to do something, you do it. Don't look over here, (at this point he places something into the large bag at the table next to us) this is where we keep the body parts."

So yeah, we left.

We stop into Spin Club so we can get it out of the way. Two Leine's 1888 Bocks are ordered, and our Bartender hits on the single man sitting to my left. This place has what seems like 16 different rooms and would be a good setting for a horror movie where you can never figure out how to get out. We head downstairs and witness about 5 minutes of a transvestite song & dance review. All in a day's work.