Post-Drinking Post

As is my Friday ritual, time for the Post-Drinking Post. Got home just fine thanks to geebee and Mr. Morning and no thanks to cabbie who had some – problems. For the record, I did not fall asleep in the cab. I was just resting my eyes. No valerian/melatonin combo for sleep – conked right out from the PBR. And that is all I will say about the physical effects of PBR on my body. Because there is too much nastiness on the internets already.

In spite of Mr. Morning’s imploring, here is the link to the Flickr gallery of last night’s festivities. Admittedly, HP picked a lame-ass place – Coyote Ugly. It was balls-hot (my description) and stank of stale beer (HP’s description from CBNYC). General rule of thumb – don’t pick the bar that was featured in a movie starring five starlets dancing around on in tight clothes. And the corollary – don’t pick said bar during Fleet Week. For the record, we were in the East Village, not the West Village, and those are REAL sailors.

Everyone should be proud of me. I socialized with members of the Armed Forces and didn’t get my ass kicked. Good thing too because HP and Mr. Morning would not have had my back. And can I just give a WTF?! to the crew of the USS Ramage, a guided missile destroyer. I expect our nation’s fighting men and women to drink something better than Bud Light on tap. I weep for the Navy.

“You want a BEER?!”

“I want PBR!”

“You can’t handle PBR! Because deep down, in places you don’t talk about…”

Sorry, the joke will now be allowed to die with what semblance of dignity it still has. So, what is the end result? Patriot would have been strangley apt during Fleet Week and Puddin’ sucks at darts.

Scott, Jerry, Art, CBNYC welcomes you to New York. Enjoy your Fleet Week.