Issue #23/104, Nov 23 - Dec 7, 2000 
b a r r e v i e w  |
 |
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
HUNG LIKE A HORSE
I hate taking out chicks. Sometimes I forget that. You see, I figure my chances to fuck them decrease every time we meet. Optimally, we meet when we are already a bit fucked up in a dark place, so that they can’t tell if my double chin is actually double. They might be thinking that they just had one too many.
Beer makes everything more democratic. That’s why it took Americans to make beer right. I mean, take me, for example. Shit, I won’t answer for every hole I’ve drilled. I’ve been places that are best left unexplored, all thanks to beer goggles. And that’s why I don’t call chicks back. It’s just better not to know. Shit, they probably don’t want to remember what poses I had them in, either.
But, I forgot my golden rule last week. Maybe every so often I need to get my memory jogged. This chick Ira that I don’t even remember meeting called me up wanting a date. I was recovering from a night of boozing and still not thinking at all straight. So I agreed. I gotta admit, I think it’s pretty fucking cool when a bitch calls me, even if she just wants a green card. I mean, if I got the number of a bitch as fat as me, she wouldn’t be hearing from me any time soon. But that doesn’t mean that I usually meet with them.
I hadn’t even fucked this Ira yet - another reason why I made a date with her - and thought it might be worth the trouble. Besides, one of my bros canceled his plans with me that day, so I figured it would be a pretty boring Saturday otherwise.
So I told her to meet me at Bega, this new club at Moscow’s central hippodrome. I had no idea what to expect, but I should have known meeting a chick at a horse track is a bad idea. Granted this bitch wasn’t that ugly, but she had the personality of road kill. Usually I don’t give a fuck about personality, but that’s cause I meet chicks when I’m fucked up. When I met this chick almost sober, I couldn’t believe how fucking boring she was. At least she had hooters that could handle a gangbang, even if the rest of her wasn’t worth the space I’m giving it.
What the fuck was I thinking? Besides, this Bega place wasn’t meant for couples. Even if there were plenty of couples there, it is made for the boys. The worst thing about having this cunt with me was that I would have loved to down a few beers there with a couple Phi Delts.
I mean, it combines the three things I love most in life: live music, cheap beer and strippers, not necessarily in that order. They’ve got shows every night and when I was there this kicking Russian Bruce Hornsby was tearing it up. Even the salad shooter I came with was into the music.
Inside, they’ve got big old wooden furniture - solid hunting lodge shit. Not the kind of shit usually in strip clubs, but pretty cool anyways.
The menu got me psyched because it was cheap and had all the right things. I mean, spare rips and Buffalo wings should be cheaper than dirt. The thing that sucked is that they tasted like dirt too. The Russian shit on the menu was alright, though, or at least the zharkoe I tried. Their plates and glasses are all this weird pottery shit, and even beer comes in fucked up ceramic mugs.
But, I couldn’t enjoy any of this because of the fucking bitch. Shit, I had nothing to say to her. I was practically shotgunning beers, just to liven up the night a bit, but it didn’t help. Finally, just to get the fuck away from her fat ass, I left early. I didn’t even get to see the strippers that come on at midnight. The menu said that you don’t just get to know them, but become friends with ‘em. Who the fuck knows what that means, but I am definitely going to check that out with a couple bros some time soon. I love a place where the strippers double as whores.
I sat the bitch in a car home and hoped to salvage the night. So I went on to Cruise, where they just opened a new disco on the third floor. You’ve been there before, even if it wasn’t at Cruise. A small cramped dance floor filled with sluts, strippers and bad music. It’s a cheap, middle of the road disco. I was there for the opening, but the bitch had already killed my mojo. I grabbed a couple free shit at the forshet - brewskys and some jelly meat - but just couldn’t get into it. Fucking bitch was a downer even after I told the bitch to fuck off. At least I now remember why I don’t date bitches.
Oh, and by the way, I guess I should apologize to Portfolio. Fuck, I’ll admit it, even I can be wrong. They invited me back to show me around and now I actually can remember something about the place. Shit, I don’t even remember how I got there last time. It turns out it is just another dorkadent place, and not even that bad, either. But you all can read about that in the blurbs.
Bega
Begovaya 22 (Central Hippodrome)
M: Begovaya
Tel: 946-1026
Cover: usually R100
 |
 |
 Cards |
 Links |
 The Vault |
 Gallery |
 Who? |