Monday, July 1, 2013

The Dirty Muddler: I'm Gonna Own A Bar Someday

If ya think Mondays are the equivalent of a swift kick in the nuts, I just added a double tittie twister to the pain by having a gawdam dentist appointment first thing this morning.  Is there a worse sound than that fukkin stainless steel instrument of toture scraping up your lower front teeth??   Jeezus!!!

So anyhooz... back to Monday.  We were out with some friends on Saturday for dinner and a few slurpees at a couple of places around the Hamp.  Dinner was at an old farmhouse decorated with old wooden marionette puppets hanging on the wall... these bedeviled Pinocchios creeped the fuck out of me with their hard wooden eyes, staring at me like they were gonna follow me home and terrorize my dreams.  But dinner was awesome.  They had vishy swah (the real spelling eludes me today, but you get the picture) on the menu.  Being a Stooges fan from way back, but having no friggin idea what it was, I ordered it because I always wanted to say "vishy swah" in a wikkid sophisticated tone.  PS... I don't recommend it unless you like a cold bowl of ass.  After dinnah, we headed into Nashua and bellied up to the bar at the big Mexican place on the river.  They had some pretty tolerant bartenders...who mistakenly left their menu chalk within my reach and also let me play with an 18 inch spoon.  They also introduced me to "the muddler"...  All I can tell you in this family centered blog is that a muddler looks an awful lot like something a lonely woman could enjoy without having to buy batteries.  But bartenders use a muddler to grind mint leaves, herbs or fruit when making fancy drinks for ladies and foofoo fellas.  Of course, being the immature douche that I can be, I found the muddler to be quite the form of entertainment, making obscene jokes while handling it like a prisoner in solitary.  Bahtendah Katie ripped the muddler out of my hands and went directly to making a drink with it.  Never even THOUGHT about washing it.  Again, this is why ya just cannot beat a longneck - no worries about what goes in your drink or who cleaned your glass.

Later the next day, while expecting to win millions playing Keno, my wife and I started our usual fantasy talk of owning our own bar.  The name came to me like a Wile E. Coyote lightbulb - The Dirty Muddler!!!!  Now that we have the name, we need the beans and motivation to open the fukkin place.  So to all of you bank presidents who read Shitz n Giggles every day and twice on Twosdays, please feel free to open up a $1,000,000 line of credit and your dream bar will come true.

Let me tell you a little bit about what this bar will be like...  and I've given this a lot of thought.

I have already located the ideal property for The Muddler.  It has enough land to build cabins and teepees (and doghouses for the bad husbands) who are too drunk to drive home.  I ain't getting fukkin sued - this place cost me a million bucks.  Yep, I said teepees - go ahead and protest Injun Joe.  The outside of the Dirty Muddler will have a stage, beer tubs, old couches, cornhole boards and a mechanical bull.  There will also be a 200 square foot swimming pool belly button deep with a pool bar and endless Marco Polo tournaments.

The inside is gonna have a big ass 40 stool bar on one side with a real honky tonk decor, complete with highway signs and PBR tins blanketing the back wall.  The bar top will be constructed out of old Ford and Chevy tail gates strapped down to stacks of mud tires.  Our beer coolers will be located under the bar top so that our bartenders will have to reach way down to get a cold one (ifyaknowwhatimean).  And all glassware (i.e. mason jars and red solo cups) will be situated high above the bar so they will have to reach up to get 'em. (ifyaknowhatimean).  There will be a big ol' dance floor in the middle with sawdust and stripper poles to encourage, you know, stripping!  No friggin' stage - the bands will play against the back wall.  In order to play here, you must have one or more of the following instruments:  A banjo, a slide steel guitar, a stand up bass, an empty jug, a washboard or tittie clappers.  And everyone must sit... we encourage lazy fucks in this place.

The Dirty Muddler Sound Stage....

Our Ladies Only Bull.  Who says tits on a bull are useless??
Our tables are a combination of wooden cable spools and picnic tables.  We will also have luxury sofa and Lazy Boy seating set up in front of the big flat screen for all sporting events and Tosh.0 marathons.

And when you are ready to return all the beer you drank, we will have outhouses and shrubbery outside as well as the standard crappers inside.  The mens room will have 6 or 7 porcelain pissers on the wall, painted with portraits of Obie, Biden, Hillary and Pelosi for targets.  The toilets seats in the stalls will be locked in the upright position.  Each crapper will have a side table for your beer and the sports page on the door.  Ladies, we have installed grab bars on the stall walls so your precious little asses will not have to touch the toilet.  And we have glued the seats down so you will have nothing to bitch about.

Our dress code is as follows:  Wear whatever the fuck you want.  We don't believe in high style at all.  But any dude who shows up in designer jeans will be forced to wear a Pansy Pants dunce cap.  One dress code caveat... women going commando in a wife beater drink for free all night!

The menu is pretty set and not necessarily open to changes.  Everything on the menu will cost two dollars, no exceptions.  Our motto is "Aw fukkit.  Just gimme two bucks."  The food menu will consist of signature entrees:  Pulled Porkapalooza, the Steak and Slaw dinner, Hamburger Helper Pot Pie, Chef Boyardee Beef Ravioli.  We will also offer hush puppies and deviled eggs as appetizers.  The sammitch menu will consist of Primanti Brothers and Sloppy Joes.  Along with barrels of boiled peanuts, other bar snacks will be Hot n Spicy Cheezits, Ring Dings and Thin Mints.

We will offer a very limited drink menu.  No fukkin' blenders here, bitches.  Beer will be served in cans or on tap.  Budweiser, Bud Light, PBR for most of us.  Guinness for my Irish friends.  And Coors Light for those fukkin morons who need blue mountains to know if their beer is cold.  NO MILLER LITE!  Any beer that needs to design their bottles and cans to promote easier drinking (see vortex bottle and punch top can) obviously sucks bad.

For the harder spirits, it will be your run of the mill homemade 'shine in mason jars.  You will also find Jack, Jim, Johnny and Jose in plenty of supply.  Our wine selection is vast, with all kinds of boxes represented.  But if you are looking for gin, rum or vodka, not at this bar!  Martinis, cosmos and mudslides can be found at those places.  And Petron??   Fuck that shit!  Go to the city if you wanna brag about the cost of your drink.  

And lastly, yet most importantly is my staff... call me sexist, but the only dudes who will be hired here will be working in the kitchen deep frying shit.  The bar will be managed by the First Lady of Podunk, the one and only Kimberly.  She will kick your ass, sip from your beer and call you Spanky.  Cross her and she will go all Lowell on your ass.  Our bar and wait staff will have a uniform that consists of, you guessed it, cutoff shorts and cowboy boots.  Let me introduce you to our girls.....  see you on opening night!

Our friendly servers... stacked in the front, packed in the back!
This is SOMEHOW going to be incorporated into our logo.