The holidays are legitimately over with.
Though most of us would prefer to get hooked on codeine and wait it out 'til Easter, we should resist that urge.
None of us want to be like Lil' Wayne.
For those of you who are literate, you've likely seen the awards.
End of the year, you want a spread's worth of additional advertising in your publication.
In order to buy more Macs and fax/printer/copiers that you'll never use.
So, you put out a Best Of edition for your paper.
Best Tire Rotation.
Best Homeless Male/Female.
All of that.
Below I have included a suggested article for one such 'best'.
A Halifax-based venue, I encourage The Coast or those Metro people to pick up this article and not pay me for it.
Ahem:
Best Worst Place in the Entire City To Go and Sit:
Winner: BUBBA RAY'S
Honourable Nod: (though I've never been there) THE TOOTHY MOOSE
Bubba Ray's: A Stumbling Hall of Mirrors
If you're sick of trying to seem pretentious in that place that sells cake, why not slum it, off the sidewalk, in Halifax's premiere testosterone trough, Bubba Ray's. Located in the Heart of Spring Garden's Area of Bums and People Who Yell At You, Bubba Ray's provides a chaotic, deafening atmosphere for anyone who wishes to be ostracised by a large group of men who possess one shared, common consciousness. Strain to hear dinner conversation over this dull-witted herd of erections as they dwell in their natural habitat, just inches from your table! Hear impassioned whoops and hollers from dozens and dozens of men, in unison, whenever your favourite team scores a touchdown or secures an end. Look on in unfettered bafflement as patrons high-five at their tables and bark (actually bark) at the panopticon of LCD displays that haunt your every turn and lurk in every corner. Mesmerize yourself on Bubba's sports display, which boasts some four-times-ten televisions. During the most grisly UFC rackets, resist in futility to watch them unfold in remarkable gore as you find yourself transfixed on the action, regardless of the direction you face. Receive excellent service (provided you have a square head and jaw) from terrified bar wenches, each boasting a fantastic ass, sported in mandatory yoga exercise pants. Flirt in vain with the self-entitled staff as they provide a façade of job satisfaction while unabashedly handing you 9-dollar onion rings. Pay cover to watch televised events that you legally cannot be charged for, so that you can enjoy Don Cherry's quality food at slightly more exorbitant prices. This cacophonic din of an eating experience is nestled (not unlike a tick) into the centre of Halifax, and it is no wonder that this establishment enjoys continued success from a niche market of individuals who are clinically obsolete so far as the human race is concerned. Bubba Ray's: as viable a waste of money as a tattoo of your mother's asshole on your forearm. Don't miss it!
Absolutely disgusting.
Bubba Ray's was actually a disgusting event in my life.
Toeing the line with Kyle, Peter White (of Peter White comedy), Bryant Thomson, and the rest, I spent an agonizing hour and some in this place last week.
Five dollars on the door. Some UFC bullshit.
The guy on the door, with his almond-shaped head, was trying to act like he belonged on the door.
Arms extended from his sides, chest in my face, Jim the Anvil Neidhart facial hair, I could actually see the fear in this guy's eyes.
Not of me.
He was just repeating, "I'm not cool enough to work at Bubba Ray's. I'm not tough enough. I'm not getting enough protein. I'm not cool enough to work at Bubba Ray's..." in his head so loudly that I could plainly hear it with my ears.
Some skipper behind me was finishing up his cigarette and tried to walk back in.
This is what almond seed does:
Hand out, he stops him, "Ah, you have to get behind this guy (me). That's how lines work."
I wanted to say, "This isn't how a line works.
Generally, lines don't have an asshole berating you at the end of it."
But I didn't say that. Not that I was fearful of his reaction; he was more gutless than myself.
I just never say what I want to. That's my own folly.
I wheel about to see if Kyle is nearby (for protection), and notice a small TV above the exit.
Thinking, "That's weird," I turn to see the rest of them.
There were over 30 screens in there. I refuse to believe there were less than that.
This is how they were laid out.
Giant screen flanked by four small screens.
So:
screen screen
GIANT SCREEN
screen screen
This layout was repeated around the bar's perimeter at least...five times? Seven?
Sports bars are supposed to have a lot of screens, but let's stay within reason.
We're watching a fucking football game, we're not managing the security of a casino.
God knows how this is possible, but the UFC has let itself go.
I watched some fuck bleed out his head for a full 15 minutes.
Like, open wounds on his skull, blood pouring from them.
Actually pouring.
The referees wouldn't stop the fight, and so I had to watch this shit for the entire match.
I tried to look away, but I couldn't because there were fucking screens everywhere.
It was repulsive. The fight was repulsive - and I've had to sit through UFC fights before.
Bear in mind that this is coming from someone who has been playing Mortal Kombat since its inception.
They showed interview footage of one of the UFC mules before his fight.
He was on so many screens all around me that I thought, "This is what it would be like if this guy created a doomsday device and took over the world."
I went to the bathroom.
I hated that, too.
Burger (Thomson) was inside when I got there...peeing.
And he commented later to the other guys on how "Warford just stood in the bathroom and didn't do anything."
This is because...well, I didn't want to stand next to the guy at the urinal.
Only once have I not used a urinal before. Following Nine Inch Nails at the Saddledome.
This was different.
I think I just wasn't in a rush.
Besides, while I was in there - this is true - Almond busted into the pisser, slapped open the stall door, saw no one was being stabbed or raped, and left again.
Some guy was in the stall at the time.
He turned (while urinating) with a muted, "What the fuck?"
Almond did this very purposefully, as though he had been doing it every half hour or so that night.
I just felt compelled to have as much privacy as possible while I was in there.
I'll never set foot in this place again (the bar itself, not just the bathroom).
If I was being inducted by ZZ Top into the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame at Bubba Ray's, I'd tell them to mail the prize.
Guess I should have known better; the place has 'Bubba' in the title.
For follow-up on the Miller/Lauzon match.
Up for Fight of the Year (what do I know?).
1 comment:
Skeezy.
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