It occurred to me that activity on the Drinking Stories page has kind of stalled. And that bothers me a little bit because it's one of my favorite places on this great board. I love great drinking stories.
So in an effort to breathe a little life into this page, I've started this thread with the intention of creating and sharing brief tales of encounters, adventures, and observations taking place in bars.
I chose this general setting because I believe that bars are the great equalizer of man. A bar is the place where relationships begin and end; where lies are told and truths are uncovered; where deals are made and debts are paid; where facts are argued and lessons are learned; and where bookies, bus drivers, cops, coal miners, pipe fitters, pimps and hospital workers can all share a round of drinks after a hard day at work. My friend Willies calls it "church". And I like that a lot. Throughout the world, communities are built around, and bound by, churches. Parishioners share common values and principals.
Tell me the difference between the two institutions.
I'm waiting.
Here's the thing about bars: A man's station in life isn't important. Any idiot with forty dollars in his pocket can score a front row seat to the greatest show on earth. It's true. For the price of a beer, patrons are treated to an interactive experience that never gets old.
So, here it is. Please share your observations, overheard comments, experiences, encounters, misfortunes, and adventures.
Stories From Bars
Moderators: Artful Drunktective, mistah willies, NYDingbat, Judge, oettinger, Oggar, Badfellow, Mr Boozificator
- Dear Booze
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Stories From Bars
Last edited by Dear Booze on Wed Nov 22, 2017 8:29 am, edited 1 time in total.
DRINK!
- Dear Booze
- Drinking God's Good Scotch
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Re: Stories From Bars
My buddy Allen and I took a trip to Sacramento for a golf tournament his company had sponsored. After a very long day on the course, we found our way downtown and started sampling the dozens of bars in the area. We eventually settled in at the The Hotel Bar on L Street, located about a block from Capitol Mall. It was a busy night and we were lucky to get a seat at the bar.
There was a wedding party going on next door at the Residence Inn, so there was plenty of entertainment as fat and drunk bridesmaids formed an impromptu parade of sluts falling down as they attempted to order dozens of sugary shots and shooters.
Following close behind was a lose group of clown-like groomsmen. Their tuxedos were partially missing and one hundred percent disheveled; it appeared that Roman Greco Style wrestling must have been the main event during the ceremony.
Allen and I sat wide eyed as the bartender cut them off. It was like a carnival shooting gallery. Pow. Pow. Pow. One by one, the bartender picked them off until, eventually, it was just the two of us left in the bar.
Shortly after the wedding freakshow disappeared, a young man came in and sat down next to Allen and, with a strong Eastern European accent, ordered a Bacardi and Coke. After a few sips of his cocktail, he began to get chatty. His name was Vitoli, he was Ukrainian but moved to Chicago a year and a half ago. He was a truck driver. As a matter of fact, he was on the tail end of a run to deliver a load of plywood to San Jose. It was also his twenty-fifth birthday and he was celebrating with us.
We bought him several more drinks and listened to his stories. At one point, he pulled out his phone and showed us videos from when he had been a semi pro boxer in the Ukraine. "That's me," he said. "I'm the one een red trunk. Boom, boom. Look, I knock opponent down right here. Boom, boom. I knock heem out cold."
And soon Vitoli began showing us pictures of his girlfriend. She was a pretty Mexican girl and we could tell that he was proud of her. "Look at this," he said. "She send me vidyo. I show you." Allen and I stared at the screen on his phone as he played a 90-second clip of his girlfriend shoving a can of coke in her pussy. "You see," Vitoli smiled, "she loves Coca Cola, no?"
There was a wedding party going on next door at the Residence Inn, so there was plenty of entertainment as fat and drunk bridesmaids formed an impromptu parade of sluts falling down as they attempted to order dozens of sugary shots and shooters.
Following close behind was a lose group of clown-like groomsmen. Their tuxedos were partially missing and one hundred percent disheveled; it appeared that Roman Greco Style wrestling must have been the main event during the ceremony.
Allen and I sat wide eyed as the bartender cut them off. It was like a carnival shooting gallery. Pow. Pow. Pow. One by one, the bartender picked them off until, eventually, it was just the two of us left in the bar.
Shortly after the wedding freakshow disappeared, a young man came in and sat down next to Allen and, with a strong Eastern European accent, ordered a Bacardi and Coke. After a few sips of his cocktail, he began to get chatty. His name was Vitoli, he was Ukrainian but moved to Chicago a year and a half ago. He was a truck driver. As a matter of fact, he was on the tail end of a run to deliver a load of plywood to San Jose. It was also his twenty-fifth birthday and he was celebrating with us.
We bought him several more drinks and listened to his stories. At one point, he pulled out his phone and showed us videos from when he had been a semi pro boxer in the Ukraine. "That's me," he said. "I'm the one een red trunk. Boom, boom. Look, I knock opponent down right here. Boom, boom. I knock heem out cold."
And soon Vitoli began showing us pictures of his girlfriend. She was a pretty Mexican girl and we could tell that he was proud of her. "Look at this," he said. "She send me vidyo. I show you." Allen and I stared at the screen on his phone as he played a 90-second clip of his girlfriend shoving a can of coke in her pussy. "You see," Vitoli smiled, "she loves Coca Cola, no?"
DRINK!
- mistah willies
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Re: Stories From Bars
(Hey, can all you rock and roll stars stop dying this year, for a minute? Holy shit.)
Great idea, longtime friend on this mighty ship, Dear Booze.
All right, here’s my take on a bar story.
The best way to get home from a really bad ending to a really good party is to have some really good snow in your navy. No, not the belly button, not the ocean army. Your naval cavity.
It will wake you up for 20 minutes after a nightlong party at some rich asshole’s house, at his personal bar in his man cave. It wasn’t his fault that the bad people showed up.
They were after his personal collection of sports memorabilia. It was because they were the dealers, and they ran out of wares form giving it away to get the first buy form the enjoyers. First one is free, isn’t that correct? Indeed. It’s a different business model, and one currently employed by the big pharma, legally, using doctors as mules.
So, he had a nice place, and he wanted to participate in this new business model, this logic plan. It didn’t work out so well for him. He got involved in the festivities too much, and he was the one who began to hand it about.
When the bad folks came back for their recompense, I knew this, for I am bad as well. But I’d never do what they did. But I know how to talk to the badfellows.
I procured some with real cash money as soon as they came in, and then found my lady and niece and grabbed drive us the hell out of there. I was completely wasted, but I had enough in my pocket, with house key bumps form me lady, to make it back home.
We drove by bight flashing lights along the bay’s western side, headed in the opposite direction, north.
Nice bar, but not a favorite. I don’t think I’ll ever go back there. This was on the first coast, after the other visit to the west coast. Hey, I never said that I hadn’t completely cleaned up.
True story.
…Out.
Great idea, longtime friend on this mighty ship, Dear Booze.
All right, here’s my take on a bar story.
The best way to get home from a really bad ending to a really good party is to have some really good snow in your navy. No, not the belly button, not the ocean army. Your naval cavity.
It will wake you up for 20 minutes after a nightlong party at some rich asshole’s house, at his personal bar in his man cave. It wasn’t his fault that the bad people showed up.
They were after his personal collection of sports memorabilia. It was because they were the dealers, and they ran out of wares form giving it away to get the first buy form the enjoyers. First one is free, isn’t that correct? Indeed. It’s a different business model, and one currently employed by the big pharma, legally, using doctors as mules.
So, he had a nice place, and he wanted to participate in this new business model, this logic plan. It didn’t work out so well for him. He got involved in the festivities too much, and he was the one who began to hand it about.
When the bad folks came back for their recompense, I knew this, for I am bad as well. But I’d never do what they did. But I know how to talk to the badfellows.
I procured some with real cash money as soon as they came in, and then found my lady and niece and grabbed drive us the hell out of there. I was completely wasted, but I had enough in my pocket, with house key bumps form me lady, to make it back home.
We drove by bight flashing lights along the bay’s western side, headed in the opposite direction, north.
Nice bar, but not a favorite. I don’t think I’ll ever go back there. This was on the first coast, after the other visit to the west coast. Hey, I never said that I hadn’t completely cleaned up.
True story.
…Out.
Can we drink now? ---peetie44
At rock bottom, there is no down. ---The Oett
^ ^ ^ Yes his entire cutlery set and all utensils are made from assorted broken bottles.--- The Artful Detective
Just remember Hugh: a good cocktail in a shitty glass is better that a shitty cocktail in a pretty glass.---The Badfellow
I'll buy the first round if you promise to stop being a cunt. --- Dear Booze
At rock bottom, there is no down. ---The Oett
^ ^ ^ Yes his entire cutlery set and all utensils are made from assorted broken bottles.--- The Artful Detective
Just remember Hugh: a good cocktail in a shitty glass is better that a shitty cocktail in a pretty glass.---The Badfellow
I'll buy the first round if you promise to stop being a cunt. --- Dear Booze
- Dear Booze
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Re: Stories From Bars
Bar games. Darts, pool, dice, shuffleboard. There are hundreds of them and they've been around for centuries.
But there is one that my friends and I play that I've never seen anywhere else.
When we are sitting at a bar somewhere, anywhere, and a stranger starts visiting with us, he or she is bound to eventually ask "So, what do you do for a living?"
There it is. The game has started.
I will immediately answer "Well, Allen is a _______."
And then, right on cue, Allen will jump in and say "And DB is a _______."
We both make up jobs for the other person, just to see how well we are able to pull it off.
I've told strangers that my buddy was a baker, airline pilot, tire salesman, Major in the Air Force, junior high school principal, welder, structural engineer, electrical engineer, swimming pool contractor, and a border patrol agent. And it never fails, the stranger will start asking questions about things related to the occupation, and if he knows so-and-so, and whatever else they can think of. For some reason - probably because I'm drunk at that point - it's hilarious to me.
Last time it was dine to me, I had to answer questions about my job as a paving contractor. I know NOTHING about the trade.
But there is one that my friends and I play that I've never seen anywhere else.
When we are sitting at a bar somewhere, anywhere, and a stranger starts visiting with us, he or she is bound to eventually ask "So, what do you do for a living?"
There it is. The game has started.
I will immediately answer "Well, Allen is a _______."
And then, right on cue, Allen will jump in and say "And DB is a _______."
We both make up jobs for the other person, just to see how well we are able to pull it off.
I've told strangers that my buddy was a baker, airline pilot, tire salesman, Major in the Air Force, junior high school principal, welder, structural engineer, electrical engineer, swimming pool contractor, and a border patrol agent. And it never fails, the stranger will start asking questions about things related to the occupation, and if he knows so-and-so, and whatever else they can think of. For some reason - probably because I'm drunk at that point - it's hilarious to me.
Last time it was dine to me, I had to answer questions about my job as a paving contractor. I know NOTHING about the trade.
DRINK!
- Casual Binger
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Re: Stories From Bars
At bars in NSW they have a thing called a Joker Draw. It's one night a week, usually Friday. When you buy a drink you get a ticket. When the draw happens they call out the ticket numbers. If your number gets called, you get to choose a card. If you get the joker, you win the jackpot. If no one gets it after a certain number of draws, it rolls over to the next week's pot. Typically it goes up $50 each week.
So, I'm at the pub with our social club from work and the Joker Draw pot is somewhere over $1,000. We're sitting at a table outside and my number gets called. So, I go in and I'm told I need to pick a card. So I pick a card and the guy says he can turn it over to see if it's the joker, or I can have $50 right now. OK, I'll have the $50. I figure I've got less than one in 50 chance of getting the joker, which is why it rolls over so often. $50 sounds good to me. Are you sure? I'm sure. OK, this guy's got $50 on the bar. He tells me he was authorised to go up to $300 before turning the card. That's fine. $50 sounds good to me. So, I go to the bar and order a tray with $50 worth of scotch and sodas and take them back out to our table. No one else wins the joker and it rolls over again.
I call that a win for the team.
So, I'm at the pub with our social club from work and the Joker Draw pot is somewhere over $1,000. We're sitting at a table outside and my number gets called. So, I go in and I'm told I need to pick a card. So I pick a card and the guy says he can turn it over to see if it's the joker, or I can have $50 right now. OK, I'll have the $50. I figure I've got less than one in 50 chance of getting the joker, which is why it rolls over so often. $50 sounds good to me. Are you sure? I'm sure. OK, this guy's got $50 on the bar. He tells me he was authorised to go up to $300 before turning the card. That's fine. $50 sounds good to me. So, I go to the bar and order a tray with $50 worth of scotch and sodas and take them back out to our table. No one else wins the joker and it rolls over again.
I call that a win for the team.
Re: Stories From Bars
Staggering into the after party at a random dive in an overrated mountain town.
Making friends by helping my non-credential-havin' self to the spread of food on the private event side of the room. I must not have seen the boundry lines that seperated the drunks from whatever hipster celebration was in motion.
Maybe I'm not in the right bar afterall, as the people who invited me "here" are nowhere to be found.
The DJ misplaced his burger and fries, must have been consumed in his not so memorable laptop set..
Stomach full, multiple free brews upon me, Im going to call this home 'till Im asked to leave. A solo mission win.. If I remember it right.
Making friends by helping my non-credential-havin' self to the spread of food on the private event side of the room. I must not have seen the boundry lines that seperated the drunks from whatever hipster celebration was in motion.
Maybe I'm not in the right bar afterall, as the people who invited me "here" are nowhere to be found.
The DJ misplaced his burger and fries, must have been consumed in his not so memorable laptop set..
Stomach full, multiple free brews upon me, Im going to call this home 'till Im asked to leave. A solo mission win.. If I remember it right.
- Dear Booze
- Drinking God's Good Scotch
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Re: Stories From Bars
I'm drinking Captain and Coke right now. But this post isn't about the drink. It's about the place...
I'm with my buddy Gooch at a place called Sequoia Brewing Company. It's a nice enough place, but the crowd is fucking strange.
We are sitting at a table with a guy and girl on their first date. I'm little loaded and I've decided to see how many times I can work "finger bang" into the conversation.
He's a pretty nice guy named Nate and she's a nice girl named Sharon. She has four kids. Three still live at home, a 20-year-old, a fifteen-year-old, and a nine-year-old.
Nate has a three-year-old.
Both are pathetic.
Not to say they are ugly or anything, but they suck.
He's got a hyperactive case of low self esteem. And she's got a case of "I just broke up with my boyfriend of four years, and I need to fuck".
So she keeps touching my shoulder and laughing at my jokes. And keeps touching Gooch's shoulder and and laughing at his jokes too. What the fuck? Do we both have a shot at her? What about Nate?
I'm with my buddy Gooch at a place called Sequoia Brewing Company. It's a nice enough place, but the crowd is fucking strange.
We are sitting at a table with a guy and girl on their first date. I'm little loaded and I've decided to see how many times I can work "finger bang" into the conversation.
He's a pretty nice guy named Nate and she's a nice girl named Sharon. She has four kids. Three still live at home, a 20-year-old, a fifteen-year-old, and a nine-year-old.
Nate has a three-year-old.
Both are pathetic.
Not to say they are ugly or anything, but they suck.
He's got a hyperactive case of low self esteem. And she's got a case of "I just broke up with my boyfriend of four years, and I need to fuck".
So she keeps touching my shoulder and laughing at my jokes. And keeps touching Gooch's shoulder and and laughing at his jokes too. What the fuck? Do we both have a shot at her? What about Nate?
DRINK!
Re: Stories From Bars
I can think of a few outcomes from this night. Was Sharon's last name Peters?
Dear Booze wrote: ↑Wed Nov 22, 2017 10:28 pmI'm drinking Captain and Coke right now. But this post isn't about the drink. It's about the place...
I'm with my buddy Gooch at a place called Sequoia Brewing Company. It's a nice enough place, but the crowd is fucking strange.
We are sitting at a table with a guy and girl on their first date. I'm little loaded and I've decided to see how many times I can work "finger bang" into the conversation.
He's a pretty nice guy named Nate and she's a nice girl named Sharon. She has four kids. Three still live at home, a 20-year-old, a fifteen-year-old, and a nine-year-old.
Nate has a three-year-old.
Both are pathetic.
Not to say they are ugly or anything, but they suck.
He's got a hyperactive case of low self esteem. And she's got a case of "I just broke up with my boyfriend of four years, and I need to fuck".
So she keeps touching my shoulder and laughing at my jokes. And keeps touching Gooch's shoulder and and laughing at his jokes too. What the fuck? Do we both have a shot at her? What about Nate?
- Dear Booze
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- Artful Drunktective
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Re: Stories From Bars
Yes you both have a shot. You and Gooch could take turns "finger banging" her.Dear Booze wrote: ↑Wed Nov 22, 2017 10:28 pm
So she keeps touching my shoulder and laughing at my jokes. And keeps touching Gooch's shoulder and and laughing at his jokes too. What the fuck? Do we both have a shot at her? What about Nate?
Who gives a shit about Nate?
Wow what a lovely Thanksgiving story!
Okole maluna!
- Dear Booze
- Drinking God's Good Scotch
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- Joined: Thu Jun 27, 2013 11:01 pm
Re: Stories From Bars
Fuck Nate! What a pussy!Artful Detective wrote: ↑Thu Nov 23, 2017 12:17 pmYes you both have a shot. You and Gooch could take turns "finger banging" her.Dear Booze wrote: ↑Wed Nov 22, 2017 10:28 pm
So she keeps touching my shoulder and laughing at my jokes. And keeps touching Gooch's shoulder and and laughing at his jokes too. What the fuck? Do we both have a shot at her? What about Nate?
Who gives a shit about Nate?
Wow what a lovely Thanksgiving story!
Sharon ended up leaving with three black dudes.
DRINK!
- Artful Drunktective
- Chugging Like Churchill
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Re: Stories From Bars
Perhaps you didn't see the line because drunkards don't care about boundary lines?Earl wrote: ↑Wed Nov 22, 2017 9:58 amStaggering into the after party at a random dive in an overrated mountain town.
Making friends by helping my non-credential-havin' self to the spread of food on the private event side of the room. I must not have seen the boundry lines that seperated the drunks from whatever hipster celebration was in motion.
That was pretty ballsy of you to just stumble into a private event like that. Hopefully you rolled in hunter S. Thompson style. That could have been traumatic for the hipsters ya know. Kudos sir!
I'm imagining you furtively looking around heading to the spread and then casually picking up a chicken wing and then putting the entire thing in your mouth and then pull it out completely stripped clean of meat like it's done in cartoons. And then toss the bones back on the platter. That would rock.
Last edited by Artful Drunktective on Thu Nov 23, 2017 2:35 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Okole maluna!
- Artful Drunktective
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- Location: Yautja Prime
Re: Stories From Bars
Well...considering all options...who wouldn't?Dear Booze wrote: ↑Thu Nov 23, 2017 12:23 pmSharon ended up leaving with three black dudes.Artful Detective wrote: ↑Thu Nov 23, 2017 12:17 pmYes you both have a shot. You and Gooch could take turns "finger banging" her.Dear Booze wrote: ↑Wed Nov 22, 2017 10:28 pm
So she keeps touching my shoulder and laughing at my jokes. And keeps touching Gooch's shoulder and and laughing at his jokes too. What the fuck? Do we both have a shot at her? What about Nate?
Who gives a shit about Nate?
Wow what a lovely Thanksgiving story!
Okole maluna!
Re: Stories From Bars
Haha, negative. However, leaving with 3, I can confirm that she was indeed Sharon Peters.
Re: Stories From Bars
Thanks for the good word, Detective!Artful Detective wrote: ↑Thu Nov 23, 2017 12:29 pmPerhaps you didn't see the line because drunkards don't care about boundary lines?Earl wrote: ↑Wed Nov 22, 2017 9:58 amStaggering into the after party at a random dive in an overrated mountain town.
Making friends by helping my non-credential-havin' self to the spread of food on the private event side of the room. I must not have seen the boundry lines that seperated the drunks from whatever hipster celebration was in motion.
That was pretty ballsy of you to just stumble into a private event like that. Hopefully you rolled in hunter S. Thompson style. That could have been traumatic for the hipsters ya know. Kudos sir!
I'm imagining you furtively looking around heading to the spread and then casually picking up a chicken wing and then putting the entire thing in your mouth and then pull it out completely stripped clean of meat like it's done in cartoons. And then toss the bones back on the platter. That would rock.
I relied on the likker for guidance that night. If Hunter S Thompson style means showing up with bloody knuckles from unsuccessfully hopping a fence on the way to the wrong bar, then he was I, and I was him. A fine mixture of courage and luck ( aka corn whiskey and beer ) landed me a platter and a cheeseburger that night. Ill keep the chicken wing approach in mind for the next mission! Cheers