Pink Monkey Chatter

Breen’s Cafe has a grill right on the end of the bar. There were also no menus, no credit cards, no receipts. My kind of no bullshit establishment. Without a proper kitchen, the place got so smokey that this old guy actually lit up a cigar and nobody noticed. Chris, my BFF, was being lame and kept getting in the way of me taking a picture of the guy, so you will just have to trust me on this one. And regardless of what anyone said, I highly doubt the patron would have really come after me just for taking one little picture. But he did look a bit like Whitey Bulger…Hmmmmmmm.

Michael was the friendly bar tender at the fine Irish establishment we spent the morning at. He was completely mystified that I choose to spend my first day of vacation in Worcester and helpfully suggested that I might spend my second day in some place called Sharon. I have no idea if this was sarcastic or not. Or maybe Sharon is a person, and he thought I was a lesbian. I’ve been getting that a lot since I started wearing glasses. However, I liked Michael because he laughed right in some guy’s face who asked for Grey Goose in his drink.

This sign that was taped to the bar, I found very confusing, and Michael agreed with me. I tried lying on the ground while ordering beer and lounging on top of the bar. However, both were unsatisfactory options.  The drunk guy sitting next to me told me that any moron who could write messages with her fingers on a telephone should be able to figure out the correct meaning. Yet, he failed to inform me exactly what said sign meant. A few minutes later, he put his head down to take a nap and the mystery remained unsolved.

Of course, I spilled something on my pants. This particular stain is burger grease, but my friend, Chris, just shook his head and said, “Why don’t you just dump the beer in your lap and get the inevitable over with.” I didn’t find Chris all that amusing. However, it is a known fact that a pair of emergency pants is a good idea when going out drinking with me.

One extremely interesting feature of this bar was the sheer volume of flat screen televisions packed into one tiny room. And playing on all twenty-four televisions at 11:00 a.m. on Monday morning was this…Giraffe Autopsy.

I took these pictures of the screens, which will explain why my offering to eat the abandoned lump of nondescript meat off the bar was really quite courageous of me. All for the small price of Chris paying for my beer and lunch. He refused, by the way, saying, “Look Fred, I need to find a job before I can resume betting you to eat gross things that I know you will most likely eat regardless.” I hate logic.

Side note: Fred is Chris’s nickname for me. That and Space Shuttle.

Now, I know in my heart that this was probably basic hamburger. Even so, I would of had to wash it down with a full beer. Speaking of things that make me want to vomit, the original plan was to travel to Worcester to hit up the thrift stores. The only thing I found of interest at the SalVal was a sweatshirt that featured a squirrel holding a baseball bat. The text below the picture read, “protect your nuts.” It was very cute; however, on the sweatshirt were more dried white crusty stains than the headboard at a roadside motel in Nevada. Chris described them as the nastiest dried crum stains he had ever seen and managed to talk me out of bringing it home. Still, one has to wonder how the wearer got those stains all the way up around the shoulders..Oh wait..I just realized how!! He must of had some help……

Autopsy and crum aside, it was a great start to my one week vacation. Tomorrow, it is off the Portsmouth for three more days of further shenanigans. Happy St. Patty’s!!!!