We first went to Fuzzy’s Corner. Douchecock racists at the bar mumbled something I couldn’t hear, but Zoo did.

Moved on to dinner at Danny’s Country Diner – a solid, family-run place with home cooking.

And then back to Fuzzy’s to show the arsewipes that their stupidity was not intimidating. Then, on to the fun…

Turns out this place is mostly for vacationing seniors. Outsiders such as us are not very often seen and much less welcome.

Humidity fogged Matt’s lens … Voodoo fountain – fire and water.

Pat O’Brien’s is famous for its Hurricane … a fruity concoction of rum, passion fruit, grenadine, lemon and lime … You’ll never catch me outside of NOLA with one of these, but damn, they’re good.

We ran into Charity and Drew, and I inadvertently smacked Drew in the head while gesticulating wildly … oops. Drew was interviewing to teach Social Studies, but lives in Portland. Charity lives in Baton Rouge and came down special to see Drew … I sensed passion brewing and tried to work the wingman magic …

What you won’t see below is exactly how far Drew got with Charity. You will not of pictures of them making out. You will not see pictures of Charity flashing the bar, and motorboating the shit outta Drew. You will definitely not see a picture of them walking out hand in hand.

Oh, and we got burgers … Matt’s was Peanut Butter and Bacon. Really. Apparently did not suck, cuz it disappeared in about 32 seconds.

Ted the bartender flashing his gang signs … great guy, great drinks, destroyed us in quarters … he’s a shark.

Above, for our last stop, we ran into Carl at Molly’s at the Market .. after 12 shots of rum, 1 shot of jamesons, a shot of tequila and a pimm’s cup, it got a little hazy …

Well, I do say, Dr. Suess + William Shakespeare FTW.

When this is the sign for the bar you’re walking in, you’ve done it right.

When this many fake ID’s have been confiscated, there’s bound to be some jailbait around … thank you gods of the road trip!

We met Caitlynn (above) at the bar, which was well tended by TJ (below) … Caitlynn had some spectacular freckles …

A pretty reasonable cover band (wish we knew their name) gave us some tunes … notably a passable cover of Radiohead’s “Weird Fishes / Arpeggi”.

Laughing + Smoking …

And then, no surprise how the night ended …

.. apparently, I didn’t play nice enough …

… I really don’t get why women take so much pleasure in hurting me, but moving on … we headed downtown with every intention of shooting some pictures of Fremont, when I saw:

… it screamed “road trip classic”, I just knew that this was my bar …

… minus the tila tequila wanna-be, pictured below …

… great locals joint. Sexy women, cheap tequila, midget twins … can you really lose? Well, apparently I can …

… I guess I offended her by wiping off the copious lipstick … we did make up after that …

.. right before her husband, who was there the whole time, made his appearence … oops .. I guess “I’m here with my girlfriends” means something else in Vegas.

While Phaux was having a conversation of actual substance, I was pointing at this girl’s cleavage.

Not sure what this is all about.  I think I thought her nose was cute.  Maybe.

Her friends pick me up … this is going well …

I can’t resist looking at the cleavage some more …

The Carrie Underwood look-alike shows some tongue.

Matt and the cute bartender pose …

Soy el campion del mundo! I’m wearing  her friend’s jacket right now.

The cleavage girl tries to nibble on Phaux’s ear.

At this point, Phaux ditched me (and opportunities to photograph me molesting cleavage girl) because the blondes from the Doug Fir showed up and dragged him off to a lesbian dance party. Kelsey shows off her extremely strong thighs, dancing around the bottle of lotion.   Don’t ask me, I wasn’t there, I don’t understand, either.

Cathleen revives dance moves from 1994:

Kelsey rests … 

Kelsey starts looking at our website on her iPhone.   Phaux suddenly leaves …

This is “The Tallest Man On Earth”.  I saw him open for Two Gallants the day (or was it two days) after Christmas 2008.  He was royally fucked up.  Woo.  Anyway, I am taller than “The Tallest Man On Earth”.

Shortly after arriving, three blondes from Seattle engaged us.  Cathleen and Kelsey are pictured below.

Kelsey wanted to look tough, but I explained to her that the back-of-arm-jiggly stuff was not intimidating.

Of course, hilarity ensues.  But not before I point out her little pea-sized head.

We retreated to the warm fire outside … where we met a musician who was actually rejected from playing at the Hotel Utah.  We will not be mentioning any names here, as she is not worthy.

Phaux snaps some shots of the lovely interior …

There I am below on the right.  

These girls were obnoxiously not funny or interesting, although they were cute.

Okay, now that we have all the blondes in the picture below, I’ll explain … Shelly (the way too fake-and-bake on the far left) was on her way up to Vancouver.  At the border, the Canadian Border Patrol / RCMP denied Shelly access to their wonderful country.  She claimed it was because she had been convicted of a DUI a couple years prior.  Her friends told me that it was because she exceeded the Canadian limits on peroxide and bronzer.  Anyway, they decided to go to Portland instead and have a “Fuck Canada” party.  Then walks in this poor soul with a Canada t-shirt, who proceeded to get molested by the girls.  I guess they really did want to fuck Canada.

The hipster shows her ink.  Babe, if you don’t do some toning exercises, in a few years, that guy is going to be tall and fat.  

Notice the ghostly paleness of the crowd here.  Portland gets approximately 4 days of sun each year, and residents are advised to stay indoors. 

We like cleavage.  Everyone in our corner of the bar was staring at this girl’s tata’s …

Why I wore these retardo glasses, I’m not sure. 

Phaux takes a picture of the girl taking a picture … he says he loves the natural light, but I think he was going for an upskirt shot.

We played throw the butt in the ashtray … it took me two tries.   Soy el campion del mundo!!!!!!!

Sisters: 

Me trying to perform ear-o-lingus.  It didn’t work.   But I got thrush in my ear.

Acrylic moose head.  ’Nuff said.

More bar shots to close this out …

The we met Little and Big John, a Scot and an Englishman, respectively, who both live sorta near Birmingham. Shropshire, I think. They kicked our ass in pool. Then we drank some more. Then they kicked our ass some more.

We made it down to the Magpie and Stump (with Little John, Big John went sleepy-bye-byes). Peanut throwing ensued.

John made a new friend.

… who felt compelled to pick me up … and then call me a fat ass.

Phaux drank a caesar. Which is like drinking a cappuccino after noon. Caesar are a gross take on a bloody maria, with Clamato (yes, clam juice) instead of tomato juice.

John notices Noush, who was pretty hot.

Noush’s rejection of me (her boyfriend was the bartender) shamed me into passing out.

Shots with staff …

Dancing with the waitress … first me, followed by John almost pulling her arm off.

Last night brought back those memories … what a night. Where to start …

We tried to go to the St. James Gate, but the line was not moving. While we were in line, this cute blonde was smoking behind us, by herself. More on her later.

Instead of waiting in the not-quite-bitter-but-still-scrotum-tightening cold (which makes me wonder, are scrotums and nipples made of the same stuff?), we headed to the Rose and Crown, a faux English pub.

Yes, it’s St. Patrick’s Day, and we’re celebrating it in an English Pub.  Oh Well. Much, much more after the break…

We played pool for a bit … won our first game, got destroyed the second time around, by Agrologists.  Is that the science of being Agro?

We also talked to the only other non-Asian minorities in Banff.

When the one man show started, we didn’t know what to expect. In the end, this guy was funny, talented, and rockin’.

The crowd swelled and we were now in a very warm, very packed bar.

About that time, I noticed a super cute blonde at the turn by the stage.  She was sitting with a slightly less cute friend, AKA the grenade.   I took Phaux out for a cigarette, and explained to him that his duty as a wingman was to fall on the aforementioned grenade.  At this point, we re-evaluated the grenade, and determined that she was in fact a mortar shell.

Anyway, this is Phaux finishing doing the worm to an Irish Jig, in order to impress our targets.  Take that, River Dance!

Shortly thereafter, I did the superman across the laps of our targets.

The mortar shell did not explode on impact, but started ticking.

The girls kiss … now the question becomes, is this an opportunity for a three-and-a-half-some?

I believe that her arms are thicker than my legs.

This is actually the cute one …

Using the headband as a prophylactic … Am I Macguyver or what?

Some other drunk annoying girl tried to enter the mix and was denied.

I got a little too fresh and Leslie revealed that she had a boyfriend.  Ugh.

After I playfully rubbed a dirty bar rag in her face, she returned the favor …

Followed by straw sillyness … at this point we’ve each had a few beers, a couple shots of Jamesons, and about 4 Jagerbombs.  Yikes.

We show off our Rock Band skills ..

Unfortunately, I am not that flexible.

I promised penetration .. and here it is .. full on nostril-rape.

Delectable!

Apparently, the nostril-rape was a big hit …

That was the last we saw of those two (well, almost …) … but after a quick smoke, we ran into the blonde, Haley, who was in line (at the beginning of the post, keep up!).  Her friend with the faux-plastic-barbie look was less memorable.

Phaux found a new object of his affection, Holly, with an H.

Haley goes for the nuzzle.

Then Holly looked like she was going to collapse, so we high tailed it back to our hotel before we got accused of dropping roofies.

When I got back to the hotel, I realized I still had Leslie’s ring … oops.

Awesome night … thank you gods of the road trip, you came through again.

Anyhoo, I met up with Zoo at Juju in Belltown. Thank heavens for the mapping feature on the iPhone.

Here are the photos, photos, photos… And Zoo will provide commentary below.

So we’re talking, heads are getting closer, this is after we’ve already hit the photo booth …

Heads getting closer, staring awkwardly.  Why the hell not.  I kiss her.  Her: “I have a girlfriend”.  I am unflappable.  I start chewing on her neck. Her: “Don’t be an asshole.”  Me: “Does that mean stop or continue?”  Hijinks ensue.  

Photo booths + alcohol + candlelight = why nobody trusts their partner.

This one’s for you D Lam.

The Tap Room: 160 beers on tap, heavily skewed towards North America. This is not a place to go to pick up women, but an okay place to catch a game. Had some popcorn shrimp, eh, not bad, not great.

Whiskey Bar: Wanna-be hipster dive (it’s hard to be a real dive if you’ve only been open for 5 years). Awesome Whiskey selection — they had the Yamazaki. Bartender Christie (or maybe Chrissy?) was cool and friendly. Patrons discussing their baby-momma, scoffing at homeless people, Spanish speaking people, and other relatively retarded conversation.

Casablanca: How can a bar in a city be totally dead on a Thursday night. Lame.

Shorty’s: Now we’re getting there. Hipster bar that Melissa B took me to in after our “meeting” in January ‘06. Pinball, Hamm’s, cute patrons. Good place to throw back a few.

Juju: I stepped outside of Shorty’s and ran into Mantero, a psuedo-homeless guy who pointed me at Uma and Amanda (pictures of the latter to follow). I actually left my beer at Shorty’s to join the rubicund Uma and sort of contrarian Amanda. The drinks were top notch, muddled lime gimlet was just about perfect. Sort of felt like Elixir North.

Also check out the Electric Cowboy.  It might be the best bar in Arkansas.   Just be wardrobe conscious: or you get comments like: “That’s an awful fancy shirt yer wearing.”

Oh, and if some guy tells you that he’d like to take ‘nekkid pictures’ of ‘yer lady’ — but that he ‘does it all classy style-like, ya know, like on a motorcycle or something’, I say go for it.

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Well, today, I hit 500 pushups for our trip.

I feel a little better about myself, but one of my heroin-skinny shirts won’t button over my chest anymore. Here’s me remembering to do pushups in the Albany bar in Cheyenne. That’s brown lightning, baby.

It was only fitting since I’ve already covered LODO, it was more important to meet some of the people that work and party here.

TONS – I mean LOTS of nightlife photos after the break.

First off, meet Danielle. She likes mining.

And when not mining, is a stunning woman. (OK, she’s still sexy when mining.)

She invited Zoo to mine.

And it was like a magical elixir:
 

So he started other prospecting:

Which was taken so favorably that he was rewarded with some dances on the bar:

Meet Beth – her husband works here (he’s on the left, and a damn cool guy). It took about two hours, but the gal with the best hair in Denver, a self-proclaimed pacifist, finally let one loose on him.

And it wasn’t the last.

During a smoke break, we met two incredibly intelligent and sexy women:

And Zoo just doesn’t know when to accept only a kiss…

Again demonstrated here:

All in all, this bar is downright fun.

Just watch out when they bring you the check…

The Blake Street Vault is one of those places that just got it right.  The owners, who have owned 14 bars previously, overlooked no details in putting this place together.   After finishing dinner across the street, we spotted the beautiful lighting and just walked into what was to become a fantastic evening.

More pictures and commentary after the break …

These are the owners, Carol and Jim.  Wonderful people with a great story and a great bar.

After a few massive chalice-sized beers, Carol invited us to taste whiskey.  The owners went down to the Jack Daniel’s Distillery and selected a barrel of “Single Barrel”, a super-fine whiskey, individually crafted, signed, which produces 240 bottles, which are labeled with the owner’s name and bar.  Carol allowed us to taste the Single Barrel along side the standard #7 and Gentleman Jack.  I think it speaks to our palattes that Spammer and myself both preferred the standard #7 … but it was a great experience. Carol gave us the whole history of the Single Barrel and even more.  We love people who are enthusiastic about their trade.

This is a shot of the bar from above.  It’s only been open for 5 weeks, so there was still room to move.  Expect that to change.

We did miss a clear picture of the custom-installed and absoutely gorgeous tin ceiling.    You can just make it out above, but it’s one of the many touches that the Blake Street Vault employs to make it one of the most beautiful bars that I’ve seen.

We didn’t get to taste the food, but if the passion and attention to detail that we saw in other aspects of this place are put into dining as well, I have a feeling we will be eating a lot of meals here in the future.

Our new favorite beer: 90 Shilling (and some Blue Moon in the Broncos glass):

More photos and grab-ass after the break.

Brandi shows us her Thursday tattoo. Apparently, it’s an obscure band from New Jersey. I believe Zoo is pointing to where the wedding ring goes…

Danielle didn’t know what was coming…

but certainly knew how to handle it. She’s 21 – we checked – so it’s legal for her to hit Zoo.

Zoo said he liked it and wanted one more…

Anyhoo, this is a fantastic billiards bar. Come play when you are here, but avoid table 16, it has a massive westward drift.

We knew things were going to be awesome when we ordered 2 beers and 2 anejo tequila shots and the total was 12 dollars.

read more to see the rest of the action…

Shortly after, we met Tyler (in white) and Tesla-man.  I think his name was Mike. Or Mark.   Tyler was totally cool, and within 5 minutes of meeting us felt comfortable enough to break out our first “Harold and Kumar” comment.  Tyler, if you read this, remember to go to the Green Street bar in Salt Lake City.

Spammer is having his ass grabbed in this picture.

And then I tried one of my famous pick-up lines again, this time with the lovely Chutney.  I may have said “I want some chutney on my shish kebab”.

I think it speaks to my skill with the ladies that I only got punched once.  Spammer tried this with the following result:

We moved on to another bar at Tyler’s invitation, and wouldnt-ya-know, another right hook.

Shortly after, we met Steve Stinger, who we warned to not continue with the crazy hair after the age of 29.

Inside the bar, we met the other brown man in cheyenne: Valentino.  He was pimp.

Then I lost at pool and got angry:

And that was that.

Beer is good.   We’ve had a lot of beer this trip, some excellent, so our standards are a little high right now.

We went to Squatter’s Brewpub first, and although some of the beers were pretty average, none were offensive, and two, the Porter and Stout, were excellent. chocolate-ty, barley-laden, thick as mensies.

More beers and hot chicks after the break!

I woke up this morning and said, “I think it’s time for the brown lightning.” I wasn’t talking about the t-shirt.

More beer, less sobriety.

We met Mike and his girlfriend, who may or may not be his baby’s mama.  He has a 5 year-old who plays soccer.  He recommended that we move on to a bar called Green Street if we expected to have our own 5 year old soccer players.

Our first attempt at making soccer babies went poorly.  Note to self: Never, ever, get a tattoo in SLC.

Malcolm is from Togo.  That may be the only place that you have an excuse to come to Salt Lake City from.  He was not a Mormon to the best of our knowledge.

Pool skill gets chicks.  This is a fact.  You hit the white ball, right?

Not long after starting to play pool, we were joined by Jacqueline and Mandy.  Jacqueline had sexy stripper legs, which you may or may not be able to see here.  She was my teammate and distracted Spammer enough so we could win.  Apparently, women think winning is sexy.

Mandy didn’t really look like a monkey, I’m just not a very good photographer, and she was sad to lose so badly.  Spammer’s face seem’s sad, but I think that’s a pool cue in his pocket!

After wearing out our welcome with the pool girls, we looked for greener pastures.  That led us to Jamie and her friend whose name we forgot.  We’ll call her “Rack”.

She seemed more excited to be out of focus in this picture … not suprisingly.

That was enough fun for one night … we have a long day ahead of us … this nice taxi driver from Iraq took us home.  He was divorced from a “Mexican woman” and called himself a “player”.  Sure.

Time for bed, enjoy the shots!