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…that the bartender at Foxwoods, at 12:15AM on a Sunday night, would not serve me a drink for my birthday?
Oh, it’s your birthday? I’m so sorry… I can’t serve you. The law states that you are not legally allowed to drink until we’ve reopened on the day of your birthday. We’ll be reopening at 10 o’clock.
Like I’m really going to need a rum and coke to get myself out of bed in the morning. Actually, it might’ve helped, although the drive back would’ve been nauseating.
But we had fun. I put $60 into the blackjack tables and walked out with $120, though at one point I’d gone as high as $160. Oh well; chalk it up to the white man’s greed. At least I didn’t give anyone smallpox.
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I must say I’m disappointed. Not only in the lack of booze servage, but also in the lack of dirty, dirty whores. Where does a young man, recently 21 get off not getting off on his birthday? Especially with a dirty tramp! And if we’re living in a society where a man can’t get a cocktail and…. tail… on his birthday, then I’m off to Eastern Europe, because remember people - even if you can’t rent love, you can still buy it.
It should be pointed out that Pat ( http://patrldc.blogs.com ) is not only an alcoholic buffoon, but also neglected to come to my birthday party. His excuse? A broken car. Really, who needs a car to travel from Washington, DC to upstate Connecticut? We all know Pat’s loaded to the gills; he could’ve taken a private jet.