Monday, September 27, 2010
"Waiter, there's a whorehouse in my Highlands Fest."
My birthday occurred this weekend, and it coincided with the beginning of Louisville Craft Beer Week, so there was drinking involved. I'll spare you the tasty, delicious details of Thursday's and Friday's beer consumption and get right to the whores. Yes, I said whores.

I met several friends and coworkers at the annual Highlands Fest, a fine early Fall excuse to listen to live music and drink in the street. As it got late, we decided to take our bloated livers to a local bar's outdoor patio. 

But where to go, where to go? We picked a place that, despite the high volume of drinkers concentrated in the area, is practically empty every weekend. This place is surrounded by bars that charge a cover on weekends, with people waiting in line to get in. This joint, however, charges no cover and is usually deserted. How do they stay in business? I don't have proof, but I think management is going "the extra mile".

As we sat at their back patio, people started showing up. Cars with out of state license plates pulled up, filled with young women dressed in Catholic School Girl outfits. Two large men with guns visible in the waistbands of their designer impostor sweatpants seemed to be "in charge". 

Ok, here is what I know:

-There were several young girls wearing white button down shirts (tied off at the waist) and short plaid skirts.

-There was a makeshift photo booth assembled near the front bar. For privacy, perhaps?

-There were a bunch of young guys in there, which is of course normal, but there weren't any young women other than the skirt-clad group who arrived together. 

-Most puzzling of all, the front doors were all locked. On a Saturday night, on a very high-traffic street, on a night when said street was busier than usual, you could only get into this bar from a back entrance. And you had to walk past a couple of gun-totting leviathans as well.

What was happening? I'm thinking there was some serious flesh peddling going on there. Maybe not. Maybe it was a private party where you could get your picture taken with a hot young lady. Yeah, and maybe if you got drunk a flying unicorn would take you safely home.

Whether we were drinking on the patio of a sketchy bar or a full-fledged whorehouse, we decided not to press our luck any further. We got the hell out of there before we saw something someone didn't want us to see.

Well, now I have a strong idea of how this bar pays the rent.

Thursday, September 16, 2010
Troy the Annoying Coke Dealer
This past weekend my friend had a birthday party. It was sort of epic, what with the keg of Stone Levitation Ale and a half gallon of 12-year-old Weller bourbon. I like 12-year-old bourbon the way R. Kelly likes 12-year-old girls, so I got fairly intoxicated. Not intoxicated enough that I don't remember one of the uninvited guests, Troy the Annoying Coke Dealer, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. 

Troy is the result of what happens when a stupid, entitled little shit squanders his trust fund before he hits 30. He walked into a room where some of us were trying to watch a DVD and within minutes cleared the fucking place. 

"Hey, I'm not gonna be here long," he began, immediately getting our hopes up. "I'm going to go out later and make some money."

I held my tongue regarding the ways I thought this twerp could make money. Snatching purses from the handicapped? Selling his ass and/or mouth at the Greyhound station? Dealing drugs?

It was drugs.

"I got something for sale if any of you are interested."

No, asshole. We're alcoholics here, maybe a couple of potheads. None of us want your "cocaine" that's probably cut with rat poison.

He continued: "Man, this stuff is...(long pause while he thought of a way to describe his contraband) God was fucking someone, then he pulls out and you snort what comes off his dick."

Yeah, THAT'S WHAT HE CAME UP WITH! I'm sorry if anyone is disgusted or offended, but that's what the fucker said. I'm only the reporter. And he was very proud of his descriptive prowess. He repeated it over and over until the room was empty. The last thing I heard him say before I walked out was "That's how I'm going to sell this shit at the bar." 

Yeah, good luck with that.
But that wasn't the last we heard of him. A girl came by to pick him up, and she looked like Billy Idol with tits. In keeping with the eighties theme, she had war paint on her face like the lead singer of Scandal in the "Warrior" video. 

Troy the Annoying Coke Dealer was clearly smitten. "She used to be a stripper," he told a group of us who obviously didn't care. "She'll probably take her clothes off if you ask her."

For the record, none of us wanted to see her naked. I shudder to think of the establishment that employed her as a nude dancer.

Other than that, I had a great time.