Not the bar, man.

6 Nov

I am
displeased.

Not because I lost $150 this week, though there is that.  Not because Community sucked this week.  It did.  I’ll harp on the 55-inch digital boob tube later though.  Today I am displeased for a reason that is far more Old World than any of that (do they even have elections back there?  I doubt it, lucky bastards).  I am displeased because the City Council has decided to close my bar.

I have had the misfortune to be geographically stationary (more or less) for the last two years.  In that two years there has been one great shining light in this pastel hell: my bar.  My bar stood as a monument to something greater than over-watered lawns and HOA approved hedges.  My bar has stood as a bulwark against the forces of nine to five button and tie, six to ten dinner and kids, with a pity screw from the wife who doesn’t want to but can’t be arsed to fight you off.  My bar has been a place of freedom.

An assault on my bar is an assault on me.  It doesn’t matter which bar is my bar; an assault on my bar is an assault on your bar (where do you think I’ll be going to drink now?).  An assault on your bar is an assault on you.  We are all in this together.

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