The DJ hadn’t even started, so I thought I had some time before amateur hour began. I was wrong.
*SPIRITUAL RE-ENACTMENT IMAGE COURTESY OF EVERYONE WHO’S EVER BEEN HORRIBLY BOMBED IN THE CAN. It was apparent she was drunk when I sat down. Her makeup was smeared and her hair had given up, the tracks of her extensions sticking out more and more every time she attempted to run her fingers through […]
The thing to remember is this: You are drunk. I am not.
With winter right around the corner, I thought I, your friendly neighborhood bartender. would share three solid tips on how to get through the next four miserable months.
Be it Davis Square in Somerville, the wild shoddy badlands of Allston, and even the nooks found around Fenway Park, what you’re about to read is a story involving intoxicated buffoonery all conducted at your favorite (or not-so-favorite) local haunts, be it drinking in public outdoors (but just for a photo), allusions to shooting pornography, and even men in ruffled shirts becoming threatened by small children drinking out of coconut shells in close proximity to them.
There reaches a point when you should just stop, and go home while you’re ahead. Newsflash: That girl is not going to call you. She wants pizza.
As you, my little droogies, have often shown, sometimes ordering isn’t as easy as you would think.
“We wanted to facilitate the in-bar dynamic, instead of recreate it.”