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Part 2: The Bloody Tampon
Our first experience was like tasting from the crotch of Satan. But our second bar, the Home Den, would top it by a long shot.
The Home Den
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Do you know where you are? YOU'RE IN THE JUNGLE, BAAAAABY!
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Let me first give you a little background on this bar. It's a dive. An awesome, amazingly awesome, awesome awesome. See that? The bar is so awesome that I actually lost the ability to type anything other than the word "awesome." Imagine if your sketchiest, most drinkinest buddy invited you to write all over the walls of his basement. Then imagine if he installed a kegerator, a karaoke DJ, and a GUNS N ROSES PINBALL MACHINE, filled the place with smoke and mullets and told you to get shitfaced. That, my friends, is the Home Den.
The local drunks were friendly, strange looking, missing many teeth, and willing to share a laugh and the possibility of lung-cancer with you. One of the customers had even parked their pimped-out Rascal scooter right outside the front door, to make the stumble from door-to-scooter nothing more than a few steps. That's American ingenuity.
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This be-mulleted fellow was singing "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" by Poison. Mark had to be treated for severe exposure to awesome by the Shriners.
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O beautiful!
For spacious skies!
For amber waves of grain!
Before you could say "rad," Brian was on the mic, singing karaoke. Mark was shooting some pool, and I approached the bartender.
"Hi, I'm Seth and I'm doing an article for a website about the worst possible drink a bartender can make."
Ryan the bartendress immediately rattled off several bizzare sounding drinks, following each by saying, "But I don't have the ham bone/olive pits/eye of newt to make that one." She began to think, and think hard. Now, I don't have any verification of this, but I'm pretty sure she made up a drink right then and there. At least, I'm hoping that's the case because there is no way someone ever thought this drink up without first being asked, "Could you make me the worst drink ever?"
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Ryan and three glasses of menstruation.
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"How about a Bloody Tampon?" she asked. *shudder*
"Wh... what's in it?"
"Tomato juice and vodka with a rolled-up napkin soaking in it. You have to suck on the napkin and then take the shot."
Oh God. Oh God, no. Sweet merciful Jesus. I asked her to make the shots and I turned my back so as not to prematurely ruin my life forever. When the shots were poured and the napkins soaked, I paid her and took the drinks to Mark and Brian. Guess how excited they were to try a drink called a Bloody Tampon? If you guess, "VERY!" then you're a fucking idiot. Truth be told, I don't even like writing the words "bloody tampon."
As with the first bar, Mark went first. He fished out the "tampon," watched it drip tomato juice everywhere and said, "Dude. I'm not fucking with this napkin." He tossed it aside and knocked back the shot. It was at this point that I realized Mark is an android, searching the universe for a microchip that will allow him, after all these years, to finally posess the human ability to taste. He shrugged and "meh'd" it off. "Wasn't that bad," he said.
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Mark is either not a human, or a super-human. I'm not sure.
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Brian went next. He put down the karaoke mic for just long enough to have his shot. "This napkin thing has to go," he said. He threw it away and took the shot. His entire body shuddered and spasmed. He clawed at the air, desperately trying to regain a hold on his rapidly collapsing reality. He thought he had seen pain before, but after the Bloody Tampon, he realized he finally knew pain.
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"WHY HAS MY GOD FORSAKEN ME?"
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Finally, it was my turn. Horray for me! Seeing as how neither Mark nor Brian was willing to try the napkin, I figured I'd go ahead and do it, purely for research purposes. The napkin had reached the consistency of a garden slug and somehow 90% of the alcohol was clinging to its fibers. But the shot itself was worse. Now, I'm not much of a fan of tomato juice, nor am I a fan of vodka, but put them together and dump them down my throat and suddenly I'm not a fan of anything, except perhaps the sweet embrace of death. The drink tasted like horse vomit, which is doubly disgusting when you realize horses are incapable of vomitting.
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You see that squid I'm about to put in my mouth? That's not a squid, it's concentrated ass!
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Even though we had finished our horrible drinks, we still hung around for a while, ordering mojitos for the sheer randomness of ordering mojitos, and singing even more karaoke. When the awesome became almost too much to bear, we bid the Home Den adieu and made our way to the next bar.
Let me tell you something about the next bar: there are some people on Earth even Jesus isn't very fond of.
Next: A Brush With Death! >>
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