Fun in the Oregon District

Yesterday the Viking and I went to gorgeous (NOT) downtown Dayton to watch the Steelers game (the Viking is a crazed fucking fan--fucker was running his skinny ass around the bar, giving the other Steelers fans high-fives and yelling and shit).

After the game, I suggested we drive over a few streets to our old drunken stomping ground, The Oregon District. Don't ask why it's fucking called THAT, because I don't know. Maybe some dumb Daytonian thought The Oregon District sounded glamorous or metropolitan or some damn shit. Don't try to figure Ohioans (and especially Daytonians) out. Fuckers are provinicial and dumb (George W. Bush won this state twice). And don't you damn dumb Buckeyes be sending me hateful comments, because they will NOT be published.

Anyhoo, the bar we aimed for, The Trolley Stop (again, don't ask), was closed. Fuck that shit! I wanted to sit in the damn courtyard behind the bar and have a damn beer, so we kept on walking, and the next bar was a biker bar. It is sort of a rougher place, but with a balcony overlooking the brick street that runs down the middle of the District. The clientele was rough but friendly (I told The Viking if we didn't work out, I figured I could pick up beaucoup dateage at said establishment), and the fucking music was great. We sat there and listened to everything from country to Mike Jackson to Coltrane. Good shit, man.

Across the street, next to the 25 cent peep show (I shit you not--what kind of shit would a motherfucker be peeping at for only a damn quarter??? The Viking and I agreed we would NOT want to see pussy that was only worth a damn quarter), sat this homeless looking dude, who the Viking and I started calling "The Dude," and Dude was pretty damn drunk, just sitting at a cafe table all alone in the sun, with his burned-out clothes and his pitcher of draft. Dude was jamming out to the outdoor music coming from the bar we were at. If Dude liked a song, motherfucker would go fucking crazy, and the Viking would fist pump and egg his ass on. SB is easily entertained and that shit was FUN! The Dude seemed to appreciate Mike Jackson and Coltrane, but the fucker would not budge for the cracker-ass country shit emanating from the speakers. I had to laugh.

At one point, a pretty good-looking lady of the evening (herewith described as ho for the sake of brevity), walked past The Dude, and motherfucker nearly broke his neck trying to check a ho out. Cracked me up. The ho was oblivious to The Dude. Bitch was looking fine and probably used to that sort of attention anyway, especially in a neighborhood with a quarter peep show.