This is sooo ghetto, but we're out of soda, she, the chainsmoking young co-ed bartendress said.
I looked at her for a moment thinking not only how in hell does a bar not have soda but also that the reason I was sitting in that bar was that it IS so ghetto. A place of ramshackle charm, an occasional death metal band nite, where the t.v. is always on and regulars strut in with teeth a-missin'.
Also, of similar theme is this tale.
Went out for two Janet Reno Fan Club birthdays except one JRFC member decided instead to attend band practice. Small plate joint called Bacchus, wine is their thing. Oban is not. And how do I know this? After dinner drinks were ordered. OBAN I slobbered and, at $8 a glass, it was underpriced = ojoy.
So it comes to the table in an oversized brandy snifter.
So I grabbed it from Smedly the Waiter and tossed the glass with all my energies at the plate window.
No.
I said I hate to be a glass snob but could you please get me a rocks glass?
Nincompoops.
Just had a gig at the Middling City Museum of Science and this is one fun fact I learned: mastodons are not dinosaurs.
Informational love.