Because Bars Are Where I'm Most Comfortable

I am procrastinating going to the gym and making an effort to deter the inevitable apple- shaped physique that my family tree is laden with. So I think the logical idea is it stop denying my true identity and bring forth what I consider would be the easy (read: wrong) choice for my future.
I can see myself being a red-faced, mildly sweaty, and drunkenly jolly alcoholic that frequents TRUE drinkers saloons. I have some very foggy, but also very fond memories in my favorite bars some of which are still standing and sadly, some that are not. Also, I have thought about the people that I spent those drunken moments with and while some I still am close with. sadly some I am not. I'm now going to try and assemble a poorly thrown together list of my favorite bars and attempt to include some stories that I can remember and who was involved in them.
DISCLAIMER: Please keep in mind that anytime alcohol is involved in my life nothing good becomes of the events that follow immediately after. Also, I do not encourage anyone to do the things that I have done in these stories.

Favorite Bar #1 The Barrel House, Buffalo, NY
Unfortunately the Barrel House is no longer in business. It was sold and while it technically is open, it's called something else and I haven't been back since. Back when I was working in the downtown bar scene before it was ran into the ground by college kids and shitbags, the Barrel House was the place for bar employees to go drink at when they weren't working at their own bars. This place was open every day and every bartender that worked there was a PROFESSIONAL drinker. I mean this with all seriousness. PROFESSIONAL!!!!! No matter what time or what day or no matter how long they had been there for, they KEPT DRINKING! I never seen another bar go through as many bottles of Crown Royal as the Barrel House.
I hazily remember going there on Tuesday nights with a core group of friends that included Rocket, Bodenburg, and Metcalf. Now some weeks we could be found there almost every night, but we religiously made our appearance on Tuesdays to visit our friend and the bartender on duty; Chuckie Pockets.
One particular evening I believe it was in the winter season and our group of drunken losers were at The Barrel doin shots of "liquid gravel" (Crown Royal) when in walked these two older women who were well dressed and didnt exactly fit the usual Barrel House customer profile. Now at the Barrel, there was something that the bartenders called "Asshole Tax". This tax was applied to customers who were not following the code of ethics that was put forth by the Barrel. (Trust me. there was nothing ethical about this unwritten Code of Ethics) Basically a normal bottle of beer was aroung 2 bucks, but if a drunken asshole was not tipping and being a fucking moron then that price was quietly raised to around 4 or 5 bucks. Hence, "Asshole Tax". Now these women wanted martini's and I swear the music in the bar came to a screeching halt! Fuck that martini bullshit. This is the Barrel! Crown Royal or Die! But Pockets made them their drinks and we went about our business of throwing peanuts at the drunken bums at the end of the bar and then hiding behind one another. At the end of the evening the 2 bitches who explained that they were in town for some business meetings were hungry and wanted to know where they could get some food to cap off their stupid girls night out. One of the morons in our group (maybe even me) drunkenly pointed across the street and slurred, "Sssteak Out!" They thanked us and left to venture for some fattening drunk people grub across the way. We then noticed that they had left Chuckie Pockets no more than about 40 cents on the bar for a tip on a bar tab that was over 50 dollars! This type of slap in the face does not go unpunished in the Barrel! Pockets immediately called Steak Out on his phone and explained what the cheap-ass whores had done. Pockets advised our friends in the kitchen to do their worst!!! When the skanks had left with their greasy food the cook ran from across the street and described a scene that still haunts me to this day. Inside the tacos prepared for the unsuspecting customers was a large amount of spit from the entire kitchen staff, as well as boogers and pubic hair. While this alone is vile, what follows can only be described as utterly sickening. The kitchen staff then pulled their prep tables away from the wall in the cooking areas and using metal spatula's scraped off decade-old mold from the corners of the kitchen floor and sprinkled it liberally into the meal's! Yak! All this was done while giggling like a bunch of children. Some thing to be taken from this is to please be courteous to whoever serves you your food and drink. Remember always tip well!!!

Last night I went out with Rocket, a girl who can't be mentioned, my sister Susan and her husband, Mike. We went to a bar not far from my house and I proceeded to drink an entire bottle of Jack Daniel's. Now before I stepped out of the house to join my friends and family at this meeting place for drunks, I snatched up my digital camera to throw onto the bar. I feel that if someone brings a camera to a public outing no matter how boring or formal it may be, having that camera out for everyone to see and/or use and having plenty of alcohol present, leads to a GREAT night out. Unfortunately, I got so completely shit-faced that I needed that camera to piece together what actually took place. Also, I puked my ass out of my mouth and had to army crawl around my house because if I made an attempt to stand I would have smashed my fat, ugly face off whatever was within reach. So, another wasted day and tomorrow I will continue with my list of Favorite Bars and horror stories that go along with them, Kill Yourself.