Age:
34
Weight:
Enough
to have earned the name Big Mike.
Penis Size:
see Weight.
First Beer You Drank:
There’s been too many nights of beer
fueled mayhem since then for me to remember.
Current Favorite Beer:
My favorite beer is a refreshing blend of
two brews. It is Michelob Ultra with just a splash of flavorful
Pear cider. Sadly, it has a punk ass name-Passion Pear.
Favorite Shot:
The infamous Bull Blaster, baby. Well known
for keeping a party going way longer than is reasonable.
Favorite People To Drink With:
My fellow Knights, of course, along with
our near and dear attendant circle of Shot Knight Associates.
There are others, but I can’t name names because the Man
might track them down through this site and hassle them.
Favorite Places To Drink:
B-Dub, no question. For those not in the
know, B-Dub stands for Buffalo Wild Wings. Another place that
follows very closely is the honey spot, Baker Street Pub.
Bar
You'll Never Go Back To:
Mike & Charlie’s, man. That place
is cursed, man. There’s something about that place that
gives me a woody…I mean the willies. Yeah, that’s
it, the willies. You know what I heard? I heard that place is
haunted by the spirits of hundreds of unpaid tabs. Tabs people
bailed on after discovering how much the place both sucks and
blows. Hell, I didn’t even know that was physically possible.
Do
Bartenders Or Waitresses Love Or Hate You?
What kind of question is that? I am well
loved at all of my favorite watering holes. Well loved because
I’ve helped put some of the bar staff through college with
the unreasonable frequency of my patronage.
Funny Drinking Story:
First of all, let me tell you that there
is no such thing as a funny drinking story. The quest for inebriation
is serious business and is never a laughing matter. For example:
There was this time I started drinking at…you guessed it,
B-Dub. I was spending the evening with someone who is an old friend
of mine, as well as a hated enemy. My friend is/was Bacardi 151.
You see, there was a time when I used to enjoy bar and club hopping.
Apparently 151 did too, because everywhere I went the sorry bastard
was there. As my night with 151 wore on, I began to get some hits
on the Player-meter. This top shelf honey was digging my quiet,
gangster ways. As we all know, the more a smooth talking pimp
like me drinks the more suave he gets, right? Wrong. So it should
come as no surprise that the well prepared, bra and panty dropping
lines in my head came out sounding like a tongue tied dyslexic
on crack. I’ll spare you the details of that minor set back,
but rest assured that it DID NOT end with 151 comforting a curled
up Big Mike, sobbing in the shower. It absolutely did not.
Closing comments:
Let me leave you with a few words of bar
room wisdom and etiquette before I say goodbye. If you’re
out drinking with a drunken posse and a pretty lady wants some
of your time, remember that all women can appreciate a cunning
linguist. But if an argument ensues because she thinks your diction
comes up short, don’t hesitate to let her know that you
are also a master debater and, if necessary, quite willing to
beat off the reason for her complaint with both hands. Bye, guy.
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