welcome to drink & walk

The old phrase, "you are what you eat," is never applied properly. How about you are -- psychologically -- what you eat? Take squirrels. Who eat nuts. Have you ever seen a sane member of the squirrel family? Changing directions like there's no tomorrow, going up and down trees at the same time. Running out into the road just when a car is coming, in order to just get out of the way. And then what? No cars coming and not interested in crossing the street. That's what a steady diet of acorns'll get you. True, we're *all* a bit crazy, because we all eat some nuts. Those who eat many nuts are really screwed up, versus those who eat fewer nuts, who can, in the end, tie their shoes without a lot of commentary. If you indulge regularly in tossed salad -- well, then, you may become a little bitteen of a crouton flighty lettuce head vinegar between the ears. If all you eat are sides of beef, you become a meathead, Meathead. If you eat rocks, someone will shake you, and hear them rattling around up there. However, eating marbles can be good for you, so's you have some upstairs, at least, when the time comes for you to start losing them. Marbles but not rocks. Eh? If you drink beer and drinkdrinks, well, you become the drink, psychologically. Am I right?

To find out, join me in welcoming back my co-hosts for another round of Drink & Walk. Depending on what you drink, you could become Marlon Brando screaming "Stella!" You could become Alec Guiness. Captain Morgan, himself, with a ginger ale effervescing in his Buccaneer noggin. If you ate an apple and drank the proper brand of tequila, you could have a worm digging through the apple of your mind. You dig? Drink some vodka and become Mr. Potato Head. I, personally, prefer that brand of scotch, "Suave Son of a Biatch." Drink & Walk, folks: The happy hours where you become, psychologically, what you drink.

welcome to drink & walk

10 reasons (+2) to hold your birthday celebration at Drink & Walk:

1. After the third or fourth drink, it's everybody's birthday.
2. Complimentary tittie twisters -- one for each year you've been on this planet.
3. Real, genuine regulars will genuinely regulate their stools on your birthday.
4. Real, genuine irregulars will, at irregular intervals, pontificate on the regularity of their needs.
5. If it is lonely in its glass, someone will be designated to make out with -- i.e., French kiss -- your beer.
6. We won't have any candles to light, but we will light as many cigarettes as years you are old.
7. In the process of blowing out your birthday cigarettes, you may, uh, shoot the "cherries" of said cigarettes out the window, into Everywhere Man's hair, onto Everywhere Moped, into a leetle patch of dirt, where it will root and grow a cigarette tree: Pallmallis Hightarris Youva-Come-A-Longawayis-Babychiliensis.
8. Oh yes there *is* such a thing as Everywhere Moped, though it is *not* captained by Everywhere Man, who is, first and foremost, a biped in his endeavors.
9. You will get so "high" in the classical sense of the word that you will be required to say "I taught I taw a twitty bird" as many times as years you are old.
10. We can sing birthday songs, we can pour the traditional birthday beverage over your head, and we can change into our birthday suits!
11. Note: There will be no, I repeat *no* massive spreading of peanut butter; sure, there can be isolated spreadings of peanut butter, but the only thing we can spread on a massive scale is nutella.
12. There is no 12.

For some serious birthday antics, please join us for Drink & Walk. After a few drinks it'll be your birthday, too. Drink & Walk: Where It's Your Birthday Every Week. Indeed, some of us Drink & Walk stalwarts are entering our seventies and eighties, already, proving, once again, that mankind is returning to biblical lifespans. Don't let it be five score and fifty ought millennia before you join us.

welcome to drink & walk

After an accidental bit of research, it has been determined that Hurricane Bob has struck the U.S. mainland three times: Louisiana, 1979; South Carolina, 1985; and the Connecticut/ /Rhode Island border in 1991--leading many experts to speculate that Bob is still out there. There is some conjecture that last night's precipitation was, in fact, Thunderstorm Bob. Given that major storms are predicted to only increase in ferocity and frequency over the next several years, the National Weather Service has begun to identify these storms earlier on in their lifecycles. There will now be, for instance, Light Breeze Bob, Spotty Drizzle Bob, Mostly Cloudy Bob, Warm Front Bob, and 3-H Bob: Hot, Hazy, Humid Bob. Someone in the tropics was recently hit by a mucous traveling at a good rate of speed, and clearly that was due to Tropical Lugey Bob. There is no truth to the fact that the U.S. military is holding Hurricane Bob at the famous Area 51, in Roswell, N.M. Previous sightings include a brief shower in Kazakhstan, a sudden cloud in the Gobi, and a short lived squall in the Sea of Kamchatka, where a squad of Hessians was discovered preparing to attack a U.S. Man o' War with Revolutionary War era muskets, stockings, epaulets, and blunderbusses.

Recount your latest experiences with Hurricane Bob by joining us for another round of Drink & Walk, the happy hours with the highest barometric pressure. I, for instance, shouted out loud this morning when I thought that I was be-pounced-upon by Bob, but then realized, heh heh, that I was just in the shower. Or maybe it was Bob. Religions -- mainly founded by "low" "vulgar" people, but people nevertheless, ha -- are springing up, claiming 1979 as Year Zero, with everything either A.B. (anno Bobby) or B.B. (beforo Bobby). For some, Hurricane Bob is their Lord.

welcome to drink & walk

Did anyone leave behind a Can of Whoopass at last week's gathering? We waited a long time -- at least 5 minutes -- before opening it up. It was like 8th grade again, you know, passing that Can of Whoopass back and forth out behind the jr. high school, right before the bell for homeroom. The sensation at first was not unlike a real ass-whooping; in fact, I relived a few ass-whoopings of my own, but then began to fore-see the ass-whoopings of others. I heard someone shouting "Nein! Nein! Nein!" again and again as Lewis I. "Scooter" Libby blindly fumbled for the soap on the floor of the prison shower. That Can of Whoopass did not wear off so quickly. We were still under the influence late Saturday night as we prevailed in the Ohio vs. Ireland Northern Virginia Foosball Championship. All I remember after that were copious amounts of chocolate cake, skrimps and coctail sauce, (yes, skrimps), and some serious mashed potatoes, with cheese. Thank you to our hosts.

Not enough Whoopass in your life? Then us for another round of Drink & Walk, the happy hours that Whoops Ass. We will meet you, greet you, and toast all your best qualities. In return, we would ask that you set down and stay a while, and open up your own Can of Whoopass. Don't forget to shake it, though. It ain't no fun to get all the Whoop. And though it's a helluva time if you get all the Ass, we don't want anybody's ghost leaving its body, on our watch.