Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Bachelor Party Buca di Beppo style

The other day my blog idol Ubermilf mentioned Buca di Beppo, a crazy chain restaurant which serves huge family-style portions of delicious Italian comfort food. The idea is to share, taste a little of everything, and eat like Aretha Franklin with a tapeworm.

A lot of hipsters immediately scoff at the notion of a chain restaurant but there are good chains (Outback Steakhouse, Cheesecake Factory, P.F. Chang's) and bad chains (Applebee's, Olive Garden, Red Lobster). Buca is one of the good ones.

Anyway, when my friend Joe (not his real name; changed to protect the innocent) was getting married, he decided the evening would start with a massive feast at Buca di Beppo, then move on to a strip club for some serious debauchery.

That night I made it my mission to get the debauchery started early. I brought in a bottle of single-barrel bourbon and told the server "Hey, I know bringing your own liquor isn't allowed, but we're going to order big, tip well, and let you have as many shots as you like." In about five seconds, we all had shot glasses in front of us and our waitress was downing a shot. "A few more of these and you guys will be seeing the puppies," she said, shaking her massive jugs at us to emphasize her point.

Luckily for us and any children who happened to be dining out that night, we were in the coveted Pope Room, complete with a majestic Pope lazy susan in the middle of our table, removed from the general populace like a group of prisoners with Hepatitis C. I handed out shots like Charlie Sheen hands out venereal diseases. I gave a few shots to our waitress, then a shot to the woman who comes to every table singing Opera. One of the food runners was extremely hot but very young looking, so after I carded her and found out she was over twenty-one, she did a shot with us. Then, when the chef came over and brought us a free large pizza, you guessed it...shot.

By the end of the evening, our waitress had indeed showed us her huge tits. As did the Opera singer. And a woman we hadn't seen before ran into our room, flashed us for about a second, and ran out screaming. We couldn't get the young girl I carded to come back, but it still was a fairly good evening, tit-tay wise.

Yes, our waitress and the singer really put on a show, even at one point mashing their boobies together in a way that made me want to be the meat in their mammary sandwich. They did all of this in front of four walls full of Pope pictures. Of course the Popes wouldn't have been interested since these were the breasts of full-grown women and not the shriveled, bald wieners of quivering alter boys.

After our floor show, the kitchen manager came out, did a shot of bourbon, and gave us free shots from a bottle of tequila she had just brought back from Mexico. The tequila was so good I forgave her for keeping her top on.

Then we went to the strip club. Yes, we saw boobs, but you're supposed to see boobs at a strip club. It was a lot more fun to see them at Buca di Beppo while chowing on fried calamari and lasagne.


19 Comments:

Blogger AMS said...

boobs-a-plenty then. sounds brilliantly inappropriate - i love it!!

Blogger Nick said...

This was the greatest post ever until you mentioned shriveled penises.

Why, Todd, why?

Blogger Cold Hands said...

weird. i went there for the 1st time on Friday.

there were no breasts shown, but now i have a new mission in life.

Blogger Egan said...

Why are you leaving Vegas again?

Blogger UberDILF said...

talk about different experiences, we were there for my Grandmothers 90th birthday party. Ubie & I sat with all her friends. We were honestly 50 years younger than than anybody else at our table. A "mammary sandwich" there would've been catastrophic

Blogger miss kendra said...

i used to work at buca.

i love the food there, after working there for five years.

i think that says something.


also, i never showed my girls on the job, but i did drink on the job, smoke on the job, and all around have a good time.

i did sometimes show them after work.

yes. yes i did.

I once named a character on Sims 'Tits McJuggies.' But she didn't work at Buca. She was inanimate. Had big knockers, though.

Blogger tlsd said...

boobs, pasta, bourbon, and popes... sounds like a damn good parteee

Blogger Brookelina said...

The pope called. He said you're going to hell.

Blogger Übermilf said...

One: EVERYTHING'S better with calamari and lasagne involved.

Two: Hey, hey, JP II never did that kinda thing!

Three: I TOLD you Buca was pants-popping!

Four: Yeah, we were sitting with the geriatric set. Including my mother. I think Dilf would be forever ruined if my mom ever flashed him.

Blogger Olga said...

I've sat at the Pope table. Nary a bare breast was found. I must be going to the wrong Buca's.

Blogger Kath said...

I too have sat in the Pope room.

Great post, Todd!

Blogger yournamehere said...

ams,
brilliantly inappropriate is the perfect term to describe what happened.

nick,
Why? Because I never know when to let well enough alone; and I have the Midas touch in reverse: Everything I come in contact with turns to shit.

cold hands,
can I be there when you declare "Mission Accomplished"?

egan,
this happened in October 2000 at the Buca di Beppo in Louisville.

dilf,
In the past I've been to many family functions at Buca. Thankfully, those were sans boob flashing.

kendra,
it's food you can't get tired of, unless you're a coked up anorexic whore like Lindsay Lohan.

And there's nothing wrong with a little off-the-clock tit showing.

so i,
on the bright side, you didn't have to tip 'Tits McJuggies'.

tlsd,
it had its moments.

brooke,
which Pope? The one who slaughtered infants in the Middle Ages or the one who bankrolled the rise of Nazi Germany in the late 1930s?

ubie,
the Pope joke was a cheap shot, but some unsavory things took place under JP II's watch. If we're going to blame Bush for the acts of his subordinates...

olga,
it's a plain, unassuming building on the east side of Louisville.

kath,
did your server show her ta-tas?

Blogger Princess LadyBug said...

Sounds like Louisville is a lot more fun than Vegas, dude.

As a Louisville native myself, I think I can safely say that Louisville is definitely NOT as much fun as Vegas. I'm sorry I don't still live there, Todd. We could catch up and have some fun again, like the old days. The really old days, like when we were teens and all the glory and possibility of life lay before us, calling to us: "Todd... John... in 25 years your lives will be pathetic and pointless... eat more Doritos now, stay up all night watching TV, and don't let Mr. Lumpy Pants into your homes!" No one will get that but you and me, but that's their loss. Fuck um.

Blogger Übermilf said...

As a rule, no one with lumpy pants should be allowed into one's home.

Blogger Egan said...

Now it makes sense why you are going home. Thanks Todd for the clarification.

Blogger DogGirl said...

Shriveled bald penises of alter boys. I can't add to this.

Blogger 2012天氣晴朗 said...

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