Craig Hlavaty

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Why can't we ever stand up straight at this bar on Thursday nights? We usually hit it up to watch an improv group perform and drink dollar cups of Lone Star out of red cups. Hello, frat house.

The cups get warm too quick, making you just want to double-fist all night.

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Craig Hlavaty

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The night Rocks Off stumbled (yes, stumbled) into this bar, we got to sit on a couch by ourselves while four nerds in front of us were playing an RPG together on four laptops, and what looked like two foreign-exchange students made out by candlelight while sitting across from each other.

Life doesn't get much more FML than those 20 minutes we shared with two glasses of red wine and one and half cigarettes. We accidentally flicked the cherry out of our second cig and left the bar in disgust, but not before we got to christen the men's room.

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Photos by Craig Hlavaty

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WAWP has no regard for his health or well-being. We have no children, nor do we have a ball and chain cooking for us or telling us when to say when. The only creed we live by is "How much this will cost us? and "Will it hinder us making it to work on time the next day?" The rest we can handle with the pack of Cottonelle wipes and can of Axe in our back seat.

But we have never been so obliterated that we kicked a hole in a bathroom wall like we saw at this week's bar. Its one thing to bust a beer bottle in the toilet (guilty), bust a beer can on your head (very guilty), or puked until you pass out (sorry, Lisa), but it's another karate kick into a wall. One that looks to be load-bearing at that.

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Craig Hlavaty

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This two-story Montrose bar is ground zero on Friday nights to sing your heart out, for better or worse. The club's weekly karaoke shindig is one of the most drunk and lively in the city.

Astute Houston drinkers should have already guessed where we are this week, but even so, the story that unfolded the night we visited still bears reading. No doubt you have all been the party to shenanigans such as these.

"Dude, why are you peeing in the sink?" we ask our friend as we line up to the toilet in the men's room at this week's bar.

"I hafta go!" our friend says as he befouls the hand-washing basin with his kidney-filtered liquid.

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Craig Hlavaty

​So Tuesday night, we found ourselves all by our lonesome at this small bar, coming down off our birthday weekend. It's a cozy little spot with an ample jukebox, plenty of character, and way too much Lone Star.

We sat next to the bar's video poker machine, mainly to rest our head. Prop up the old braincasing for a few minutes before heading home. Sitting next to us was a kindly older Hispanic lady and another man just a few seats down, who were discussing music. In our profession, it's hard to not chime in when someone around you is talking about the recorded music.

"That Gaga is like Barbra Streisand. Those Jews like to make money," said the man at the end of the bar. WAWP and the Mexican Grandma both looked at each other, puzzled.

"I dunno man; she seems more like Madonna than anything else. I didn't even remember she was Jewish," we countered, laughing.

"Yeah man, she's like a new Madonna but she plays with blood and stuff, "says the MXGMA, after a sip of Lone Star.

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Craig Hlavaty

​Haggard Gentleman: "You ever saw that movie Righteous Kill with Robert De Niro?"

Where Are We Peeing: "Yeah, I guess so. Why?"

 

HG: "You wanna buy it?"

WAWP: "Nah, I'm cool. Thanks though."

HG: "You wanna get fucked up? I have Vicodin and some sherm. You wanna smoke? You want a tape deck?"

 

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Photos by Craig Hlavaty

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Do you get laid much if you call yourself the "Grease Monkey"? We're not asking to be flippant or funny; we really want to know for real. Does that work even if you are married? Is there a Mrs. Grease Monkey, who washes your greasy clothes and sleeps in the same bed with you every night, falling out onto the floor because the sheets are so slippery? Do you have baby Grease Monkeys? What nationality is Grease Monkey?

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Craig Hlavaty

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Oh, look at us with our fancy old-timey bicycles on the wall! You would think a bar that looks like a 19th-century funeral home would at least make the restrooms look all old-school as well. We wouldn't mind pissing in an outhouse out back, or using a page from a vintage Sears & Roebuck catalog to tidy up our business. It's hard to imagine that hoop skirts used to cost as much as a cheeseburger at TGI Fridays. Inflation sucks, bro.

Anyhow, this picture is from one of the newest bars in town.

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Photo by Craig Hlavaty

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Jesus, this bathroom looks grim. Suspect swatches of toilet paper on the ground. Huge white footprints next to the throne. A copy of 77007 Magazine lying on around like a copy of Yuppie Hustler. How depraved is it to read about Washington Avenue real estate that while you are building your own log cabins? In a bar bathroom, no less.

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Craig Hlavaty

The fortunate, and unfortunate, thing about this bar is that it is dangerously close to our house. It's always on the way home from wherever we have been earlier in the night, be it a late night at work or hanging out at our favorite Westheimer boozeterias. Too many nights we find ourselves walking to the taco stand down the street, mumbling something to the person inside, and waking up with like ten containers of green sauce in our car.

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