Trading Hooters for Blazing Balls

Wings Etc.

2815 Gateway South Drive
Goshen, IN 46526
Ph. 574-537- 9464

Ok. SuitOchoCinco was headed to a Goshen treasure to eat.

Upon arriving he was disappointed to learn that it was closed on Mondays.

Well, that didn't stop OchoCinco's stomach from growling.

So he turned his rental around and ventured into the blinding snow set on finding a treasure of his own.

I drove by nothing that tickled my proverbial fancy.  Until I saw it . . . Wings, Etc. Nuff said. 

I flipped a U-turn and slid into their parking lot.

I have to tell you, it was impressive.  It was started by a local and now has three locations. 

The service staff was amazingly polite and absofreakinglutely GORGEOUS. 

I mean breathtaking. Jaw dropping even.

I sat at the bar and was immediately greeted. I noticed the beer selection and was impressed . . . A bunch of rot gut domestics but surrounded with a few specialty beers. 

They claim in their signage to have a ton of bottles of beer available. All in all, it was a decent set up.

I had to have the wings right?

They are named Wings, Etc . . . so I had to have them. The menu boasted Jumbo Wings!!

So I order a round of their hottest and settled in.

Then I noticed a table tent that screamed to me. 

"Got Blazin' Balls?" . . . I said out loud "why yes I DO!"

I immediately summoned the gorgeous bartender and proceeded to order the Blazin' Balls as well.

Outstanding . . . Wings and Blazing Balls! How could I go wrong?

While waiting for my culinary delights to finish being fried to golden perfection, I overheard a couple of good ol' boys in the corner who were clearly electricians.

They were talking back and forth about how they liked Governor Daniels of Indiana, but both lied to their union boss controllers telling him they had voted against him fearing retribution. 

They described Daniels' last opponent as a Douche Bag.

About the same time the feminine hygiene products discussion came to a close my balls and wings came out! 

And let me tell you they were . . . . very disappointing.

The "Blazin' Balls" were your typical breaded frozen fried treat. Nothing special and no real blaze to them at all.

The wings were good. Just good.

They were not by any means jumbo but standard sized and the sauce wasn't finger licking great.

But the passing waitresses smile was enough to keep me smiling, so I dug in and kept quiet.

See there was one thing that made the wings completely bearable . . . they were not breaded.

There is nothing Suit OchoCinco hates more is when restaurants ruin wings by breading them.

The truth is, the breading is a mystical magic trick to forced lesser quality small wings down your gullet.

Restaurants coat inexpensive low-quality drummies and wings in breading so you are fooled into believing your are getting a large wing when you're not. 

Even the Wikipedia page describes wings as unbreaded.

Breading equals more money for the owners and less meat for you. 

Why don't they just fry some batter up and place .01 oz. of chicken meat on top of it as a garnish?  

Its the same thing.

Breaded wing eaters are like this people who get well done steaks. 

I want a JUMBO wing with real hot sauce cooked to perfection -- and not slick or fatty.

Upon finishing my meal, I was tempted by a table tent with "pie" on it. I ordered it. 

It was ridiculously pathetic. Seriously Pathetic. Came directly out of a box  in a three-by-three black Styrofoam container

One thing was for certain. The owners of this joint love their food company rep. because whatever frozen crap that guy comes in peddling, these guys buy it.

But the longer I sat there the more I realized what an amazing concept this place was, beautiful women . . . great beer . . . . . . wings . . . . . . . WAIT ! ! ! . . . . . it is a great idea . . . 

And it hasn't lost its luster since Hooters first came up with it in Clearwater, Florida many years ago.

Yes, Wings, Etc. is a Hooters replica. Basically a complete carbon copy.

But they didn't have breaded wings -- and that says a lot.

All in all, it would be a great place to meet the boys to watch a game.  

In a city without a Hooters it is a real gem. 

And even if there was a Hooters I would still pick this place because the wings are not breaded.

RATING: Would Wear a Free Shirt

Testing the Gag reflex in Goshen

South Side Diner

1122 South Main Street

Goshen, Indiana 46526

Suit OchoCinco is nostalgic.

Really nostalgic.

This suit does a lot of business.

And normally it is doused in attorneys, riddled with contracts and a cold sterile experience.

Suit Ochocinco thinks that sucks. Yeah. Sucks.

What happened to a handshake being stronger than a contract?

What happened to your word being your bond?

I’m sure you will agree it’s the simple things that matter.

Having a real true friend.

Hugs from your children.

When your significant other squeezes your hand a lil tighter when you’re holding hers.

Suit OchoCinco prefers simple things, nostalgic things.

That’s why when I saw the South Side Soda Shop and Diner in Goshen, Indiana I had to stop.

Now, up until this point I had to control my gag reflex continually as I drove past union shop after union shop in this otherwise beautiful state.

There was no doubt, Big Labor’s henchmen were sucking these communities dry and had been for many years.

I walked in there with preconceived notions. I wanted it to be . . . actually I needed it to be a step back in time. I was starving, overworked and tired. I needed comfort. Comfort food. Comfortable atmosphere and comfortable people.

I. Was. Not. Disappointed.

I swear opening the door to the place was like a vacuum. I felt the hustle and bustle of the world disappear instantly.

I was greeted with a huge smile and a hello by one of the hustling servers and I immediately belled up to the old style counter. (Which was soon to double as a trough very shortly)

To my left were fresh out of the oven HOMEMADE pies. To my right the owner . . . YES . . . OWNER was sweating on the flat top grill slingin homemade delicacies to his the Goshen locals.

I asked the cheerful server for her recommendations.

She said I needed a “phosphate” (I had no idea what that was -- A soda fountain drink made by blending carbonated water with flavored syrup.) It was so so good.

Moving on . . . I had heard they were famous for their Chili and I being that Suit OchoCinco is famous for eating chili I was quick to partake. And it was pure yummy goodness.

It was time for the main course.

And I had my eyes set on their house classic. Liverwurst sandwich. Yup people actually eat that stuff and it just so happens this place was famous for theirs.

I can tell you that this sandwich is made with heaping chunks of liverwurst, crispy bacon, yummy goodness, grilled onions and I believe a type of mustard all on FRESHmade bread because get this . . . this diner makes all their bread from scratch. (you had me at hello)

Every bite of this culinary masterpiece had me begging for more . . . it was truly a work of sandwich art.

Finally it was time. Time for the fireworks, the grand finale if you will. The freakin pie.

The ooey gooey beautiful pie.

Now different than the other items I had consumed. This pie only had one ingredient.

1. Awesome.

Overall this lil diner encompassed everything I described at the beginning.

It was a slice of a better, quieter, cooler time. It was “nostalgia.” And I loved every minute of it.

RATING: BOUGHT THE SHIRT

Bombastic Burgers and Bombshell Babes

Buckaroo Bills

24 North Canyon Street

West Yellowstone, Montana 59758

406.646.7091

Meat : The Final Frontier

These are the voyages of SuitOchoCinco

His Mission:

To explore strange old restaurants

To seek out yummy dead animals & hoppy beer

To boldly consume like no man has consumed before

Now if you have been following along for the past year or so there is no mistaking SuitOchoCinco's passions.

Travel, Medium Rare Animal Flesh, Beer, baseball, and Alessandra Ambrosio to name a few.

All of those passions have me on a seemingly never ending pursuit of . . . well . . . all of those things.

Now, the likelihood that I am going to be sitting next Alessandra (that's what she prefers I call her) at Fenway Park in the middle of May as the Sox trounce the Yankees while sipping a cold Dogfish 60 Minute and devouring a medium rare cowboy rib-eye is slim to none.

But. The fact that every one of those things will happen individually is certainly no stretch of the imagination.

OK maybe ONE won't.

They don't have cowboy rib-eyes at Fenway.

The point is, anything can happen. I mean, we did elect foreign national to the Presidency didn't we?

And recently anything did happen.

Not long ago, I found myself in one of the most remote places in the United States.

West Yellowstone Montana.

Suit OchoCinco had been on business (as usual) in Kalispell, Helena, and Bozeman and decided that being that being so close to Old Faithful and not seeing it would be a sin.

So filled up my 20 gallon gas tank in my H3 and headed toward West Yellowstone.

Then filled it up again and kept heading to West Yellowstone.

Then filled it up again and kept heading to West Yellowstone. (Darn those 8 mile a gallon SUV's)

Once I got there I was pleasantly surprised by the lack of people and abundance of animals dead and alive.

Before I began my trek into the vast wilderness of the Government Stolen -- I mean owned and maintained forest -- I needed to ingest some cooked flesh.

That's when I spotted Buckaroo Bills. Yes. Buckaroo Bills.

This place screams tacky, gaudy, overpriced tourist trap with crap food.

But it was the off season in West Yellowstone and I had to eat, and it was either that or Mc-gag-Donalds. Obviously, Bill's won.

Upon walking in a very sweet old woman greeted me handed me a menu and I sat down.

Wow.

The menu was great. It was a plethora of formerly breathing quadrupeds waiting for ingestion.

Then I spotted it right below the Wolverine, and the Buffalo, and the Cow, and the Pig . . .

"Big Horn 100% Elk Burger"

B I N G O

I order that Medium Rare of course and perused the surroundings.

Yes it was touristy, yes it was gaudy, and yes it was tacky.

But it was far from over priced. So all I needed was it to be delicious and I was sold.

About 7 minutes later the sweet older woman arrived at the table with a basket lined in wax paper with a medium rare slab of ground elk waiting for my inspection. It looked phenomenal.

Being that I am a condiment addict I slathered said piece of flesh with the appropriate amount of additions and dug in.

. . . Oh my . . .

Fox News Alert: This was the tastiest piece of Burger meat I had ever consumed in my entire 35 years on this planet . . . and that is no exaggeration.

Every bite was better than the last. Every time I chomped down I prayed there was more.

I cannot in words describe how amazing and delicious this meal was.

I finished this culinary master piece and humbly went on my way.

Do not judge a book by its cover.

Because tucked away in a remote portion of the mountains on the border of Montana and Wyoming is a priceless nugget, and I dont mean gold.

Ill have to invite Alessandra next time.

RATING: Bought the Shirt.

Progressives NOT Welcome

Cutty Sark Marina and Grill

4707 Pretty Lake Drive

Oceanview, Norfolk, VA 23518

DEFINITION:

Hole-in-the-wall

hole-in-the-wall: noun

First used in 1856

1. a small often unpretentious out-of-the-way place (as a restaurant)

2. Cutty Sark Marina and Grill

Yes, most definitely when you look in the Encyclopedia Brittanica Merriam Webster Dictionary 2010, the definition of hole in the wall will list the Cutty Sark Marina and Grill, okay, well it should.

This place meets all of the criteria of a hole in the wall: Small, Dumpy, Rude Staff, Odd Decor, Out of the way, Off the beaten path, and did I say Dumpy?

But lemme tell you, if you want a burger some fries and few great insults thrown at you then this is your place.

It is open every day from 830 until ?? and is staffed with the types of salty dogs you would expect in a marina.

There is obviously no dress code for the staff nor the patrons as they all look like they just rolled out of bed. Boat shoes, tattered shirts, and disheveled hair.

Signs litter the wall that are written in black barely legible marker, one showing the price of a pack of liberty sticks (cigarettes) is a whopping $7 but dont complain because as the sign shows its because the big bad government raised the tax "again" and

another "advertising" the $2 jello shots that will be offered as a "special" later in the evening.

The tables are four foot folding plastic ones that are drill into the

wall and supported by random PVC pipes.

The sink for the restrooms is conveniently located IN the dining room and upon opening the door to the restrooms you are greeted with a 3 foot by 11 inch walkway to which you can open the door to go into the 3 foot by 3 foot mens and womans toilets.

In short . . . this place rocks . . .

On any given Friday night it will be standing room only with everyone from the yacht owner to the roughneck elbowing each other out of the way to be told off by the ornery bartender right before she literally slings a frosty beverage your way.

I arrived to review this little nugget at 1146am on a Sunday. I was tossed a breakfast menu sat at a booth.

I wasnt in the mood for breakfast and asked for a lunch menu. To which I recieved the response . . .

Bartender/server/cook/manger ornery lady:"NO"

Bartender/server/cook/manger ornery lady:"We aint servin lunch till noon"

Suit OchoCinco: "Ah . . . well its only fifteen minutes until then so can I please look at a menu for lunch?"

Bartender/server/cook/manger ornery lady: "NO . . . We aint servin lunch till noon . . . howd you like it if I cook your eggs with a burger next to it? You wouldnt . . . so wait till noon."

Suit OchoCinco: "Yes maam"

Suit OchoCinco: "What kind of beer do you have?"

Bartender/server/cook/manger ornery lady: "Cold ones"

Suit OchoCinco: "Yes maam"

At high noon I was tossed a lunch menu and scanned such delicacies as: peanut butter and jelly sandwich, steak tips, burgers, chicken sandwiches and jalapeño poppers.

I had been here before and had the burger and it was phenomenal so I decided to go with the tried and true and order the bacon cheese burger medium with fried okra as my side (yes fried okra . . . told you this place rocked)

My son Mini OchoCinco ordered the peanut and butter sandwich and much to my surprise she warned us that it was crunchy peanut butter and if we didnt like it then we were out of luck "cause I told you bout it."

Actually I am of the firm belief that the only people that like creamy peanut butter are progressive San Fransisco liberals, toothless 80 year olds and French President Nicolas Sarkozy so I was quite pleased.

Not that long after we ordered, by the way the grill and frier are behind the bar and the bartender is the cook as well as everything else, a piping hot thick burger arrived at the table with a mound of golden fried okra accompanied by a thick and generous portion of Crunchy PB and J.

Just looking at it I knew it was going to be awesome, I dug and was reassured as I tore into the molten beef, fried pig and melted cheese.

The fried okra was outstanding cooked to the perfect texture and was a welcome accompaniment to the burger.

2 words: Nail on the head -- it was great.

Cutty Sark Marina and grill is shoved in to the back of a small marina that is equally as shoved between two larger marinas. It has no markings on the outside and you would never know it is a restaurant.

And it needs to stay that way. One visit from some Gang Green Eco Nazi and the place would be shut down. Its everything I described above which makes it something our typical Obama loving Americans havent been in awhile. REAL.

I wouldnt change a thing. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Zilch.

And I am sure as all heck not showing anyone but my dearest friends and fellow suits where it is.

For fear some red diaper doper baby would try to regulate, fix or otherwise screw it up because it is SO FAR from politically correct.

RATING: Would have bought the shirt . . . "But we dont sell no shirts"

Pissed, Ratted and Wankered at the Pub

The Pub

4200 Kilgore Road -- Hampton, VA 23666

(757) 838-2748

(Pissed Ratted Wankered = DRUNK in Britian)

I’m not gonna lie, there are some things that bring me an exorbitant amount of pleasure to think about. And it just so happens that the thought of some revolutionary patriots determined to fight for liberty dumping over a ton of unfairly taxed tea into Boston harbor in a simultaneous and proverbial middle finger to the King of England is one of them.

I mean, England has been our staunch ally for a long time but it has always seemed to me that its more of a “befriend the bully or suffer his wrath” kind of relationship.

That being said, these blokes can drink.

So I will ignore the fact they still ridiculously pay tribute to a Royal family (if it was me I would defund all those pre-Madonna (prima donna) elitists and make the Queen get a job at the local Wal-Mart as a door greeter with a roll of happy face stickers)

Oh yeah and I will also ignore the fact they believe that Sharia law has some place in their culture…

But I digress.

Back to the beer . . . Oh my, ok listen to this:

On Draft: Bass Ale, Boddingtons Pub Ale, Old Speckled Hen, Newcastle Brown Ale, Fullers Extra Special, Fullers London Porter, Youngs Double Chocolate Stout, Tetleys English Ale, Stella, Hoegaarden, Leffe, “Rotating Cask”, Belhaven Scottish Ale, Belhaven Twisted Thistle, Tennents Lager, Smithwicks, Harp, Guinness, O’Haras Irish Red, Magner Cider, Jefferson Reserve Bourbon Barrel Stout, Monty Python Holy Grail Ale, Dogfish IPA, and Carlsberg Lager

-- In the words of my 15 year old: “OMG”

I was in HEAVEN IN HAMPTON.

They actually have a beer that is fermenting as we sit there… it is served at room temperature and if you drink it today it will be different than two weeks from now… umm heck yeah.

Can’t decide?? How about the offering that rivals communion at Sunday mass . . . A BEER FLIGHT . . . 4 – 5 oz. Samples so you can take your time deciding how best and most appropriate to get your buzz on. Genius.

Wait did I mention the Bartender Chris was a absolutely awesome . . . (Minus he was wearing a dress.. ok . . . kilt . . . but in the good ole US it’s still a dress) Knowledgeable, cool, dedicated and a fellow beer lover . . .

Well we order some food (no idea why with all those beers… but I was told it was good) and again The Pub did not disappoint. Amazing.

The Sheppard’s pie was perfect, the Dip Sampler: Piping hot and delicious, the fried pickles: need I say more?

Had the curry fries as well, and that red curry has got to be an active in ingredient in Meth.

Look . . . all in all . . . this place was great . . . (the cleanest I have ever seen in my life) not over priced in anyway, awesome food, the female staff dresses in mini kilts, the beer selection was second to none, the female staff dresses in mini kilts, ambiance was spot on, selction to be rivaled by none in any department, décor on point, and did I mention, the female staff dresses in mini kilts.

Few more stats to close with: 46 Bottle Beers, 18 Single Malt Scotches (served the right way… always neat and if you want to destroy your scotch they will provide a water back… with water from SCOTLAND yes… so at least kill it the right way) 14 Small Batch Bourbons (THEY HAVE A FREAKIN BOURBON SAMPLER TOO!) – Wine, Mixed drinks, etc etc etc… they have it all.

Oh yeah, they have a throne for men with more than 7 in their

party to sit in.

Need I say more?

Rating: Im still there . . . haven’t left . . . but if I do . . . I am buying the shirt . . . for everyone I know as Christmas presents

Birkenstocks and Burgers

Al's French Fries

1251 Williston Road
South Burlington, VT 05403-5719

After months of meetings on the Left Coast I was excited to head back to the Right coast and escape the bastion of Liberalism.

Alas, it turns out that my next trip was to . . . Vermont.

Burlington, Vermont is 2492 miles away from Los Angeles, California.

But, you cant tell. It might as well be a county in Cali.

It's just colder and doesn't have as many Mexicans.

From the “Convert to Socialism” booths located on Church Street to their self avowed socialist Senator Bernie “Crazy hair” Sanders, Burlington seems to be a cross section of Socialists, Marxists, Communists, and Progressives.

Thank God they love to eat.

In this instance I had walked by enough tofu taco and smoothie houses in Cali to keep me in a perpetual state of hunger.

So I needed an influx of heart stopping, carb-filled junk and quickly.

South Burlington, Vermont was more than happy to oblige.

Al's French Fries was started in 1940 and was originally a trailer in Mallets Bay.

Later, it became a full-blown shack until -- slowly but surely -- its nationwide reputation for “the best fries on the planet” allowed them to take permanent residence on Williston Road in South Burlington.

Before I go on, I will say one epic "fail" is the lack of beer on the menu.

But keeping the original feel and ambiance of the Original Al's is first and foremost, so Suit OchoCinco felt he could let it go this time.

I stepped up to the counter, and it was old school.

Clerks yelling orders to short order cooks who were yelling orders to fry cooks.

Food flying out as quick as it was ordered.

You can stand and watch your food being prepared, and it was comforting to see the piles of sliced pig, beef, tuna, and various other animals sizzling to golden perfection.

One of the best parts about eating this type of food in Vermont is the hot dog bun.

Yes. The hot dog bun.

It’s not your typical hot dog bun which is basically all crust.

Its better.

Its like a thick piece of Wonderbread folded in half then toasted on both sides.

I was starving as always, so I ordered a quart of their famous fries, double cheeseburger, a hot dog and a tuna boat (I said I was hungry)

It came out in under four minutes, cooked to order.

The hand cut institution they call fries steamed from every corner of the carton and literally screamed for me to ingest their yummy goodness.

Now, at Al's they do it a little different.

Every table has a clear squirt bottle on it filled with Vinegar, and the locals tell me that it is imperative that you soak your fries in it.

I was game.

I soaked my fries and started in. Whoa!

These fries were second to no other I have ever had ever in my short but traveled life.

They are comfortable, home-cooked deliciousness.

Needless to say the Burger, Dog, and Tuna boat were phenomenal.

But man. Those Fries. Wow.

I walked up to the counter and ordered another quart for the ride and went on my merry way.

The land of the Birkenstocks may make me want to gag repeatedly with there incessant liberalism.

But man, they know how to make French Fries.

RATING: Bought the shirt

In the Dawg House. And fine with it

Montana Dawg House

1014 W. Park StLivingston, MT 59047(406) 222-2914 ‎ 

Traveling around the country Suit Ocho Cinco is

has learned to take pleasure in the

"small of things."

After all, crowded airports, screaming babies, and always being sat next to the 386 pound 3 seatbelt extension needing passenger on every flight gets old really really quick.

Flying into Montana the view was breathtaking.

Inspiring actually.

Either that or it was the game of "accidentally-got-put-in-first-class-so-let's-see-how-many-beers-I-can-drink-on a-one-hour-and-twenty-minute-flight" that I played.

Either way, the drive from Bozeman to Livingston was equally gorgeous. The 14,000 foot moutains seemed to crawl out of the earth and the snowy peaks were a perfect exclamation point.

As I pulled off I-90 into Livingston I drove past the Montana Dawg House.

And it had the look.

See, there is an instinct you develop when you travel all the time, an instinct that more times than not points you in the direction of amazing food

And the Dawg House had the look.

Several days later I was nursing a um . . . well, I was a little dehydrated if you get my drift.

And I needed a grease IV with the quickness.

The Montana Dawg House was the first place I thought of.   I jumped in my rental Hummer H3 and sped off.

Walking in the front door, time seemed to pause.

I was immediately shuttled back 50 years -- to a slower time, a time

where nothing was open on Sunday, and a hand shake was as good

as a contract.

The place was packed for lunch but it wasn't loud or obnoxious.

All of the patrons were in cowboy boots and denim and the conversation was a pleasant hum in the background.

One Dawg House employee was gracefully scooting around, and you could tell she had everything under control.

I took as seat in the corner and perused the menu.

It was simple but perfect. They offered breakfast all day (Hours 7:00 am to 2:30 PM), and one item in particular, the Haystack, caught my eye.

Haystack: A heaping portion of of eggs, bacon, biscuits and hasbrowns slathered in a generous ladle of thick sausage gravy that goes all over the plate.

Though the Haystack was tempting, I need a larger dose of grease to cure my . . . um . . . not so good feeling.

I didn't have to go far. I identified it immediately. The Wagon Burger was calling my name.

After making my decision, the lone Dawg House employee, Cindy, pleasantly came to the table and asked me what I would like.

I ordered the Wagon Burger and asked about sides. Cindy informed me they had fresh cut and homemade fries and chips.

I opted for the fries and Cindy rushed off to get to work.

It turns out Cindy was the owner of the Montana Dawg House and had been open for five years.

The Dawg House had quickly become a Livingston staple and was recommended by everyone I stumbled across.

The food came out very quickly and it looked amazing.

Thick slices of ham and cheese atop a thick burger with fresh lettuce, tomato and onion on a deliciously soft bun.

The fries glistened from just being pulled out of the frier and were clearly piping hot as steam rose like a cloud.

I dug in immediately and it was a taste explosion.

The burger was moist and cooked to perfection and the flavors burst as if meant specifically to be married to each other.  Awesome.

I made short work of the burger and moved onto the fries.

Wow. They were great.

As delicious as they were hot, it wasnt hard to to figure out why the Montana Dawg House came so highly recommended.

I finished my greasy delight, thanked Cindy for her hospitality jumped in my H3 and headed off.

There is no doubt I have ended up in the dog house countless times with my beautiful girlfriend, and it usually take a dozen roses and a massage to get me out.

I never thought that there would be a Dawg House I would crave to crawl into and in Livingston Montana of all places.

That burger and those fries were exactly what the doctor ordered. I felt exponentially better and equally satisfied.

The Montana Dawg House is one of those "small things". . . without a doubt.

RATING: Seriously considered buying the shirt

Raiding the Mint

The Mint

Livingston,

Montana

Salt of the Earth.  Good ole boys.  Traditional American Values.

These are just a few of the descriptions you could use when speaking of Livingston, Montana.

Here the locals put on steel toes in the morning, not loafers.  

In fact I would venture to guess the only loafers they are aware of are the Unionized Railroad workers at the Burlington Northern Rail Yard.

Yeah, this place is pretty much . . . Perfect.

 

Rocky Mountains surround this picturesque piece of Americana and even when the weather is poor, it still has some the most beautiful panoramic views you have ever seen.

But I digress.  

It was Friday at 5 PM, and I needed a beer.

See this was a rare occasion, a “perfect storm” if you will.  It is not very often two “Suits” paths cross.

Because when they do, debauchery ensues.

Well, this was such an occasion.   

Suit OchoCinco and Suit 69 just happened to be in Livingston at the same time.  

You could literally hear the locals locking their daughters in their rooms, the beer vendors stocking extra heavy and the liberals heading for a “retreat.”

As we swayed confidently down the street looking for a place to quench our thirst, we happened upon a thousand light bulb sign buzzed incessantly and flashed annoyingly.

Bingo.  It was on.

We loosened the top button of our shirts and pulled our ties down an inch or so.  

After all, it was still light out so it was going to be a long night.

We walked in the front door and Tasha, the bartender, cordially

introduced herself handed Suit OchoCinco a $10 bill and asked me to load the jukebox.  

I happily obliged, saying, “Hope you like Hank, Coe, Sinatra, Jones, and Nelson."

She just smiled.  I think she was smitten.

I ordered a Moose Drool and a shot of Makers Mark and Suit 69 ordered a Glacier Ale and a shot of Jim Beam.  

Go big or go home, after all.

With a clink of the shot glasses and a tilt of the head, we were off to the races.

We watched with great pleasure as the Yankees got trounced by the Rangers to win a bid to the World Series, and I promise you that sentiment wasn’t wasted on the locals.

The entire bar seemed in agreeance as A-Rod finally came through on his promise to help the Rangers get to the World Series.  

Just not how he originally planned.

This bar doesn’t waste its time with “coasters” the have carved a trench into their bar that they fill with ice so that your beer N E V E R gets cold.

The sheer brilliance left me speechless.

After my fourth beer and second shot, I finally needed to make room and headed to the bathroom.

There was no sign on the door that said the traditional “men” or “women” so I had to guess.

I pushed on the first door and the bathroom was wallpapered in classic Playboy covers.

Yup, this was mine.

I went to the bar and asked the bartender about them, she said the owner found the covers in they were real.

Yes I know.  He ripped the covers off of over 50 classic Playboys to use as wallpaper in his bathroom.

No worries. 

We already notified the Dos Equis Guy (most interesting guy in the world) and the owners man card is currently under review.

From the guns, steer skulls, and neons hanging on the wall to the classic phone booth, dogs allowed policy and the pizza delivered to the patrons after 11 PM this place was your quintessential “hole in the wall.” 

And it was P E R F E C T.

The entire night the bar was filled with beer drinking locals dressed in camo.

Iit was, after all, “The opening of Hunting Season EVE” so they were all pre gaming in anticipation of their conquests yet to come.

Finally.

Seven hours, eight beers, three shots and a full ton of Outlaw country later, Suit Ocho Cinco and Suit 69 walked out the front door with barely a stumble.  

We had branded this small town.

There was no doubt, as apparent by the slouched over locals at the bar that they hadn’t fared as well.

P.S.  Just a day later a few of those boys showed up with the first trophy of the year.

Rating: I’d buy the shirt if I hadn’t spent all of my money on alcoho,l