So the other night I went out for some beers with the old man. It was a couple of firsts, as I hadn't gotten drunk in public since coming to Oregon and hadn't hit a bar with my dad ever, mostly because we haven't seen much of one another in the past decade, up until recently.
So we go to this little bar in the small town I live next to. It's a good time, as we shoot some pool and drink a couple of pitchers, and the old man starts slurring and pointing out every piece of *** which wanders into the pub. All doubt is removed regarding my paternity.
So one in the morning rolls around, and the owner comes around and tells us it's last call. We order one last pitcher and rack another game. Before I can even break, this drunk slob comes over and starts bitChing at us, going on asking if we'd heard that it was last call. I yell across the bar to the owner, ask if he works for her, and upon her reply of 'no', tell him to fUck off, and for awhile he does.
So this midget comes in, with two regular sized dudes, and they start playing pool at the table next to us. After a bit of conversation, I score a bag of pot, and the midget says he trusts me enough to front the twenty-bucks, since the ATM in the bar is down.
Then this drunk dude comes back and starts talking Shit again. Pops and I are finishing our beers by this point, so after we tell him to fUck off again, we decide to head home. We exit the bar, and this dumbShit follows us out. We give him several chances to walk away, but in the end he reveals that he is a lumberjack, pulls out his teeth, and proceeds to get his *** kicked by a father-son-duo. Truly a bonding moment, sniff-sniff.
In summary, Oregon is fUcking awesome, midgets are remarkably trusting in addition to having some good smoke, and thanks for reading my blog.