Patriotism Starts at the Top and Ends at the Bottom

Independence Day: the day we independed something…uhh…a long time ago, where…fuck it, let’s party.

With July 4th right around the corner, I decided to teach America what it means to me, to be free. You need four basic ingredients – none of which hold more or less weight – to a perfect Independence Day, so don’t skimp!

How would like your sausage?

Barbecue

Nothing screams “America!” like a good-old fashioned barbecue. Naturally, if I knew how to cook I’d give you some tips about setting up your BBQ – maybe a recipe or two – but that’s simply not the case. Instead, I will give you my experience as a rider of barbecue coattails.

For starters, you always want to double check what you want to bring is not an item that someone else is already bringing; if they are doubling you up, who knows who brought what? And further more, you have no complete control over a particular good. Yes, if they tell you to bring beer, and add “if you want” at the end, chances are there ain’t much trust. Good work! Now you can go buy that extra fanny pack (People still buy fanny packs? Probably). If you’re looking to score some points, ask if they need any spare utensils or temporary tattoos. Let me tell you, when you show up with temporary tattoos (preferably ultra feminine ones), you are a god amongst men.

You’re wondering, but why do I care about gaining favor with my hosts? Well, friend, that question leads directly into our next ingredient.

Sometimes you Wish you had More Hands

Boobs

“Fuck, man, I love tits!” Me too, dude…me…too. Which is exactly why your influence in the BBQ as a whole (ingredient one!) is so vital! You see, you get in good with the host, and now your library of potential sweater mittens expands. The hosts generally know everyone, or at least one person in each “party” of people; so you do well with ingredient one, and the chesticles fly at you like they’ve got a fever, and you’re the cowbell.

Boobs come in all kinds of realities, makes and models. There’s nothing quite as American as a set of amazing breasts; especially ones that have been coerced into letting you play with them. Now how much more awesome has the barbecue become, since you’ve found a pair of flapjacks to call your own? Don’t know? A-FUCK-ING-LOT! So you’re sittin’ there, enjoying your delicious barbecue, applying some temporary tattoos (if you’re smart), marveling/drooling over your recently-acquired pair of bazooms, but something feels amiss.

Hmm…what seems off here? Has it hit you, while you’re devouring that strip of carne asada? Are you..? a little thirst all-of-a-sudden…? Enter stage left, ingredient number three…

Penis Beer Bong: Stroke of Genius

Beer

Just saying the word, I can faintly hear the Star-Spangled Banner in the distance. Beer. The best four letter word in our American English (The best kind of English there is! Take that, English!). Remember that feeling of emptiness a few moments ago? How ya feelin’ now, champ, as you wash down that tasty BBQ with an ice-cold beer? Fantastic, I know.

Well, what kind of beer should you get? Generally speaking, I go with the lowest common denominator, or ask the host before you get there. There are lots of Summer Ales available now, and you can’t really go wrong with a lighter beer (Corona, a good hefeweizen, Bud / Coors, Stella, etc). If you brought meat during ingredient number one, then perhaps a beer that goes along well with that type of meat would do well. This guy had some cool tips on mixing BBQ with beer, and since he posted a recipe, I’ll just assume he knows more than me.

Shit, if this ain’t heaven, I don’t know what is. Got my BBQ, got my boobs, and now I’ve got my beer. Does it get any better? Ha…ha…ha. To even ask that question before I mention ingredient number four could be seen as unpatriotic.

Instawood

Fireworks

*Fist pump*. If there’s anything I like more than BBQ, boobs or beer, it’s gotta be fireworks (blow jobs are on their own list, sorry). There’s just something about a shit ton of crazy lights making noise that gets your nipples hard, and your dick throbbing. The beauty of fireworks is how universal they are: fun for kids, adults, dogs, getting headers in the back seat of your 2000 Buick Regal GS, selling drugs to minors, etc etc.

To whoever invented fireworks – I’m sure I could find you in a third of a second, but certainly fuck that – I salute you. You have brought me lots of pleasure in my life, and I can’t wait for more.

Here’s to BBQ, boobs, beer and fireworks!! Amen amen.

Ever had an urge to play drunk skee ball?

If so, did the idea of pre-gaming before the arcade turn you off? (C’mon — this is L.A. and you have to drive everywhere — who the hell pre-games?)

Does getting wasted at a Chuck-E-Cheese’s just seem wrong?

Well, ladies and gentlemen, look no further.

Looking at the crowd outside the door and on the patio on weekend nights, you might think that Busby’s West is a club, and the people that pack into the bar like sardines on Fridays and Saturdays to dance on the world’s smallest roped-off dance floor probably think so as well. Come there on an “off-peak” time, however, and you’ll discover its true nature — an arcade for grown ups (no, not that kind, ya perv).

First, there’s the game room, which features skee ball, pinball and fooseball, among other attractions (including a cabinet of board games: I’ve never utilized it, but if you ever want to pound tequila shots over a game of Risk and get out of the house, this is the place). Then, there are the true gems: a ping pong room (with a beer pong table option, if you don’t mind getting carried out of there) and 2 free pool tables (I know!). TVs are everywhere, in sports bar numbers, so if watching the game is what you seek, you’ll be more than happy (the crowds aren’t that bad during sporting events — I’ve yet to have to wait for a seat).

The beers are cheap ($5 domestic, $5.50 imports) and plentiful, (9 taps) and the full bar should be able to satisfy most of your liquor needs. The food’s a mixed bag: the menu’s on the pricy side, and the ambitiously gourmet-sounding dishes (like the seared ahi sandwich) tend to be disappointing; stick to the bar food however, and you’ll be impressed.

The Facts:

Address: 3110 Santa Monica Blvd., Santa Monica, CA, 90404

Parking: $3.50 valet at night, but usually parking on Santa Monica Blvd. is easy to find.

Happy Hour: M–F, 3:00 – 7:00 pm; $3 beers and house wines, $4-5 appetizers.

Notable Events: Sunday night trivia (8ish or whenever the game’s over) followed by drunken Rock Band.

Monday night karaoke (go at your own risk).