Part II: Now You’ve Made A Mohawk

In the morning we scouted out some tennis courts not too far away. Maybe 4 blocks, a.k.a. 12 chrome-rimmed cars a.k.a. 24 churches. There are many measurement options in the ghetto. And yet they still had two quality tennis courts! A sign of a growing middle class, eh Mitt?

We played for an hour or so until most of the prior night’s drinks had been sweat out and then cooled ourselves off in the old flooded splash pad in the park, which was a sight to see. Like the end of Christina Aguilera’s “Dirty” video. But hotter.

After tennis we grabbed some nutrition, both solid and liquid, at the seediest looking bar even by biker gang standards. But when we went inside, it was like tennis court oasis no. 2. Or tennis court Beady Eye? There were TVs everywhere, a giant bar, and some very decent food; and all affordable. After years of watching feel-good movies I finally caught on that it’s what’s inside that counts. And there were some very cute girls inside.

Later, we decided to hit another part of town for some more nightlife. We found a place that had both a beer pong table and a 5-foot tall Jenga game. It also had a bartender who thought a Vodka Red Bull was 2 ounces of Smirnoff plus 2 ounces of Smirnoff. Oddly enough, a few minutes later that bartender was quite sexy.

Ohhh, okay.. so the moral of the movies was that it’s what’s inside ME that counts.. Now I get it. Thanks Walt. And thanks Russia, where they’re not shivering, they’re just so drunk they’re hitting on the wildlife.

In Soviet Russia, horse … well, you get it.

Or do they?   ick.

Hmm, my “d” button wasn’t working there.

The next bar on the list was one to remember, for some strange reasons:

Firstly, we walked in and it was DEAD. But we were thirsty and lineups are only worth it if you’re picking out the thug that mugged you. After a beer or so, we noticed a few more people show up, and this one guy was just loving life. He was Ned Flanders a mickey deep. The server asked us what we wanted next and one of us said whiskey. Which one said whiskey? The one who hates whiskey. Figure that out.

A gulp and burn later, we tried to pay the waitress but she said it was already covered. I turned around and Flanders was fist-pumping and smiling. Thank you, Ned.

Secondly, we took over the beer pong table, and in the middle of the game the waitress brought us a round of drinks. Well, I was the only one she informed about what they were so I just died laughing when the other boys slammed their Dom Perignon like bad tequila. Beautiful. Another point for Ned.

Thirdly, and who knows, the bubbly might have inspired this one, but one of the three amigos was dancing with a stool over his head when his toe slid forward in his sandal and found a little too much traction on the floor.

Oh my alcohol-thinned blood, we had a geyser. It was that priceless moment when you’re laughing so hard on the inside that you tear up and actually look sympathetic. I think that’s art.

We got him in a chair and one of the bartenders actually went over to the Walgreens to grab some supplies for us. His toe looked like the back of an open cargo plane.

We patched him up and called the rabbi to even out the other one.

Like a true champion he finished the game and powered through to the next day.

Which, unfortunately, I will not do…

Stay tuned again, friend(s?).