Bar Chicks
By Bourbon

Drinking impairs judgment of female beauty… no we’re serious…. beer goggles aren’t just a myth!

I like watching people as I sit in my stool at the end of the bar. And as a red-blooded American male, I prefer looking at the women that come into my usual drinking hole. Not because they’re pretty. The places I go don’t serve pretty girls; mostly because pretty girls don’t go there. No, the women who come to the bars I drink at come in all shapes and sizes…and hair colors and clothing styles and…

So anyway, I‘m at the bar the other night and some broad walks up to me and tells me I have Paul Newman’s eyes. Now, for those of you who have ever seen me (which isn’t too many of you), I do not look anything like Paul Newman. I don’t even look like a young Paul Newman. But this chick with a great ass, an even better rack, but a bad case of summer teeth (some are here…some are there) told me I had Newman’s eyes. That’s not too strange.

What was strange was the tall, stick-like, anorexic, concentration camp, heroin addicted looking, walking swallow of AIDS that was talking to my buddy. She just about made me sick when she looked at him longingly, closed her eyes, and sort of expected a kiss from him because she walked up and kissed him. I felt really bad for the guy. Of course, he’s the guy who plays the numbers at a bar just to make sure he gets a piece….and he ended up leaving with her because everything else either knew his reputation or was too young for him (and to be in a bar) in the first place.

My other buddies spent their time talking to former students while the Paul Newman chick kept reaching for my sack under the bar….and I’m not talking about where I keep my weed (I don’t even smoke the shit). This broad was all over my nuts like a squirrel before winter. I had to excuse myself out the back door before I broke any assumed vows with my fiancé.

When I came back in, she and her friend with the pirate poofy shirt on and the wicked cunt were lesbo-dancing to some Enrique Iglesias song while every dirty hillbilly and ghetto thug wannabe drooled. It was then that I realized……I must absolutely stop drinking before I ended up out there with those ridiculous bastards.

By the end of the night….I was alone at the end of the bar again, contemplating what my buddy was doing with Alice the AIDS patient and where the other guys had wandered off to. I do remember being asked to babysit the girl who thought I had Paul Newman’s eyes….so I walked her to her car. She really did have an amazing ass. And I was drunk.

So….this whole article has no real point to it except this: Don’t drink if you’re looking for women while you’re out. Impaired judgment is a terrible thing. And if you have big tits and a geat ass, at least have the decency to fix your teeth. The filthy feelings I have after that evening are scars that will linger, sweetheart.