Well, four days late and several hundreds of dollars short, we find ourselves on the other side of Bachus’ most important day, disguised as an innocent Catholic celebration of a wonderful man named Patrick. I think he drove child molesters out of Ireland in the 60’s or something.
Firstly, I must apologize for the lack of coverage on the parade and March 17th, but there were determining factors that kept us from going balls deep this year. We did give live Twitter feeds of our activities, but none of you douche-bags check our Twitter, so that’s your loss.
We had planned on covering the events with our digital SLR’s, and Flips, but the rain was so bad that we couldn’t even make it to the parade. But let me start from the beginning…
Gunn, Drizzle, and Staker’s out of town friends showed up at The 6 House (It’s actually called Slainte, but we refer to it as its pre-murderous-stabbing-incident name, The Six House). We had fun and invented a new game called “face-touching,” which really just consists of wiping your hand against someone’s face.
The out-of-towners wanted some sea-food, naturally, but we didn’t want to take them to the over-priced, faux-fancy Legal Seafoods, so we decided to go to the douche-bags at The Barking Crab. As Gunner describes, we rolled in 10 deep, but were willing to be seated separately…but then they played games with our collective heart, and gave us false hope – just like that girl did to me at the Melissa Etheridge concert in 98. Needless to say, they waited until we racked up a couple hundred dollars at the bar, and then told us they “just wanted to be friends,” and would not be able to accommodate us for table seating. F&*# you, Barking Crab. We hold grudges.
Luckily, one of the best bartenders in Boston works at The Six House. Her name is Megan, and you better tip her well. By the time The Barking crab decided whether or not they were going to blow us, it was about 10pm. We then had to dart back to The Six House to get some food, because we were drinking pretty heavily, and were getting loud and sloppy.
What happened next was like a scene out of JFK. Our friend, Useless Chik (who you will hear more about in the coming days), picked half of us up in her SUV – we called this the advance team – their mission was to order food before the kitchen closed. The rest of us walked back to South Station, and took the T back to Broadway. Staker stopped along the way to pee on the side of the Federal Building, but there were security guards in there, and he didn’t want them to see his D (dick-penis). Anyway, Megan saved the day, we all ate and went home happy.
On Saturday, we spent most of the day at The Burren, where there was a craft show in the back. All of a sudden, we turned around, and there were a bunch of babies in the bar! It must have been some sort of bring-your-slutty-wife-and-kids-to-the-bar day. I shit you not, I feel like I kicked a baby while heading out of the bar for a smoke. When I came back in, this mom was double fisting a pint of Guinness and a bottle of breast milk. The theme for the night was, “Where did all these f%$#ing babies come from?!” We quickly exited when a baby face-touched Staker, and Gunner had to be restrained from retaliation.
We then finished up at Grendel’s Den where the out-of-towners made use of, and enjoyed, the co-ed bathrooms. It was a sight to be seen. Constant rain. Constant drinking. Constant face-touching. A good time was had by all.
On Sunday, we went to The Farragut House. Everybody was drunk and soaked, so they went home to beat their respective partners, and left us with a relatively empty bar. We had a great time with minimal yuppies, and the day was saved…not even a cover charge. I wish we could have done more to document this occasion, but rain and drinking makes for a lazy Drizzle. Oh well, better luck next year!
<3 The Drizzle