Bock Obama: The Recently Inaugurated Beer of Choice

Bar conversations are generally either one of two things: a serious convo in which two people partake in intellectual discourse while information is being exchanged, or a rumbling and incoherent gathering of words and phrases, most of which don’t make sense. In my experience, there is not much middle ground as any conversation not applicable to the definition stated above will be forgotten within minutes. Sometimes pure genius arises from these eloquent bar-talks, where you are enlightened by another or you find someone more interesting than the cute bartender. Other times nothing comes of it because the drinks became easier to drink and the distractions of flesh deterred your attention. My point is, that if we don’t look out for those stimulating conversations and intimate discussions that dive bars provide, then we have all failed to profit from our money-burning habit. How do you profit from drinking? You come up with amazing inventions and ideas that only a light buzz could provide.

On a special Monday night at the Tee-Off in which pure genius was encountered during a bar conversation comprising of nothing more than alcohol-influenced banter and a little bullshit, a light bulb in my buddy’s head turned on and produced a great idea. The idea was to open a brewery/bar/pub that names its microbrews after current and ex-presidents. The idea is unique and interesting, but is obviously extremely biased and only reflects the feelings of a small number of people and thus would alienate a ton of beer drinkers making it hard to sell in all places. A bit far-fetched, but a good idea nonetheless. Anyway, about three people not including myself sat around for an hour coming up with interesting names for beers. Some notables were… “Hillary Clinton: Extra Bitter”, “Bock: Obama”, “Bush’s Black Gold Porter”, “Gitmo Toture Ale” etc. Some day, when we choose to erase those party lines and realize that divisions only make progress harder, we will whip up these ales and everyone will enjoy a beer that mocks the history of the presidency while refreshing our palates all at the same time. Yummy.

-Gramps

Bacchus Kirk…

Bacchus Kirk…
Apex of a Plastered Universe
(Nightlife, Bars, Life)

San Francisco, CA, 10/18/08 – Have you ever been to a bar where everyone is so ridiculously shitfaced that it feels like you’re in some sort of alternate universe? Well if not, stop by Bacchus Kirk on Bush & Taylor in SF and you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. “Bacchus” refers to the Greek god of wine and intoxication and “Kirk” refers to a church or Lord’s house. Strangely fitting, Bacchus was also known as the Liberator, freeing one from one’s normal self, by madness, ecstasy, or wine, and the frenzy he induces, known as “bakcheia”, which happened to be in full effect last night. It started out as a normal evening; I met Gramps to shoot some pool and there was this group of haggard Danish dudes who had been boozing all day at the Red Bull soap box races, one of which wrote his name on the white board for pool and it looked like chicken scratch from a 5 year old doctor. Nonetheless, everything was pretty standard until a group of about 25 socialites coming from a bowling alley wedding reception showed up and all hell broke loose. The place instantly turned into a sloppy old person dance party which was actually pretty entertaining, until I noticed one of the freaks watching us play pool and rolling her eyes like she was watching a bunch of mentally challenged toddlers trying to do quantum physics. We made eye contact and I gave her a little nod like “What the fuck’s your problem?” and she automatically came over and proceeded to tell me that this was the most pathetic game of pool she’s ever witnessed. In so many words I told her to fuck off and get over herself and continued with my game. A couple minutes later another tore-back individual, who was wearing a Bill Clinton mask for whatever reason, was dancing wildly and unknowingly knocked over the devil woman’s full glass of chardonnay and continued on with his embarrassing charade, which was absolutely awesome. Devil woman proceeded to flip out and Bill Clinton’s friend bought her a new glass of wine to calm her down. The pompous bitch then decided to skip about 3 people in line for pool and began playing against this cool little skater chick. I noticed this about half way through, called her out on it, we bickered back and fourth for a few minutes then she continued with her subpar performance, all while exuding pool snob retardedness. The skater chick ended up scratching on the eight ball and devil woman made some comment like, “Don’t you think it’s fitting that I won?” and the skater chick’s friend came up and gave the Asian pool Nazi a nice elbow to the back. At this point shit started to go down. Half the bar’s hammered patrons were trying to break up the bullshit and calm the bitch down, all while she was screaming that she was a lawyer and the girl was going to jail, etc, etc… Eventually the bartender kicked the barnacle out, but she proceeded to call the cops in an attempt to press charges. All in all 6 cops showed up and while eavesdropping on the Nazi’s side of the story I felt the need to get involved, so I dropped some knowledge to the pigs and they agreed that the pompous bitch was retarded and that they were completely wasting their time. Bottom line, if you hate life that much, you should just stay inside your apartment watching Requiem for a Dream on repeat, drowning in your own bitterness and depression, because all you’re doing when you go out is spreading negative energy and making yourself look like a douche bag. After that, the drama may have been over, but the “bakcheia” was only getting started as the drinks continued to flow. From the Clinton masks, to the guy/girl (not sure) dressed up like a geisha, to the dude in a kilt and the blacked-out Danish air guitarist who looked like Peanut and told me about Scottish sheepherders who eat corn with sheep’s blood, to the barney that wiped off a whole white board of pool players to plan out his jukebox playlist, to the overweight guy confessing in detail his desire to screw all the older women in the bar, something about this place just makes people loop the fuck out. I don’t know if the planets align when you walk through the front door, if there’s something getting pumped through the vents or being put in the drinks, or if it’s the work of a Greek god, but whatever it is… Bacchus Kirk is fucking awesome!

Get Bacchused or Go Home…
Scheme-On