Free South Africa, you dumb son of a bitch

Invoked a little Murtaugh there. Weird.

Anyhoo, these sumbitches shut down. I remember going there as a punk ass kid with the rents shortly after the abortive World's Fair. Fun note: I did go there two years ago with Mackey's brother. He won't own a red...nothing!

http://www.knoxnews.com/news/2010/sep/30/butcher-shop-closes-doors/

Tag, the former author/brewer here, can grill a steak on par with anyone. I'll be damned if I grill it myself someplace. Still, I am somewhat saddened since I am a huge fan of the old WFP sites. With both this property and the L&N vacant, I worry that some urban traitor will fuck us and sell them to the Russkies or the Frogs. Fuck that noise. That shit's for the birds.

Great Drunks of the Silver Screen 11.0

Er...or the small screen in this case. Hey, and look here now-it's a woman this time. I give you:



Sue Ellen Ewing, Dallas socialite and dysfunctional alkie. Glug-glug.

Strengths: Vengeful bitch, partial owner of Ewing Oil, powerful liver

Weaknesses: Pisses her pants around JR, repeatedly.

During the late 70's and through the decade of excess known as the 80's many viewing starved Americans gathered round the old teevee and vegged out on some quality primetime soap operas. First among equals, Dallas was the place to be for my parents and their age group that didn't roll into the dungheaps of local bars. I don't remember everything about this program, but my mother would whip my ass if I talked outside a commerical break.

Anyhoo, Sue Ellen (as any viewer could tell you) dealt with her abusive and straying bastard of a husband JR by drinking anything shy of paint thinner. Though purists and fans will tell you she only became an dreaded alkie during the show's run, my much more awesome recollection puts her squarely in the back of iconic Southfork:






Soused 24/7 often rolling about in a nightgown-in the grass, falling in the pool, flipping cowshit, etc. That's the gist. Numerous intriques, business fuckery, petrowarfare, and animal husbandry all seemed secondary to Sue Ellen's emotional minefield of suspicion and abuse. Mark well this exchange in the famous who-shot-Jr arc:

Yes, quite the reasonable response indeed. These two have more horns on their heads than irradiated cattle and it makes for great tension. Continuing in this vein, JR uses his parents(who must have sinned terribly in their previous lives) to kick her ass.


Classic. High fucking drama for 1981. Or 1982. Those days tend to blur. JR goes on to tell our stoic and sauced heroine something along the lines of her being a terrible mother and a drunk. Everything else goes nuclear when he further threatens to send her to the booby hatch. If you look closely, JR does this scene with piece of bacon in his hand.

The fact that Sue Ellen was not in fact JR's assailant is a bona fide miracle. We can only point out that her self-destructive boozing prevented a coherent premeditated murder, which in and of itself is pretty odd on this program. Dallas was sorta confusing.

Grasshopper

In terms of willpower, I'm usually the weakest at happy hour. What I mean is that while yours truly will find a reason to get good and tucked at any time of the day or night these recent years have found me the most likely to buckle to pressure(peer or otherwise) right after work or early afternoon. Curious? Not really.

A wise man once said that the 'why' of any situation is secondary to the situation itself so let's hold off the enabling catalyst for just a second. Sunday afternoon I was roused from my hangover by a simple text indicating brunch(our definition of brunch is tilted more towards the booze side) at the Brewery. Even though I was milling about like some filthy hobo I was tidied, decently clothed, and on the road like a shot. You see I love drinking in the daylight, particularly at the Brew Pub. The authors have often talked about the joy of getting two-three strong beverages in the morning(indeed: drunk breakfast) and my enthusiasm does not wane in the afternoon. Strong IPA and shots followed of course, and the other denizens of downtown received a full bore viewing of the irresponsible cads I call drinking buddies.

But is it irresponsible? I know that some elements of society frown on getting a drink before the evening. Those elements can get fucked. Their views are as flawed as their inbred genetics. I've worked in an office environment since college and during that time I've seen countless studies on productivity, absenteeism, health, and all sorts of idiotic musings on booze and how it affects the American worker. Only in the fucked up days of HR departments do people waste time on this shit.

In the postwar era, particularly early on, there was a healthy number of Americans that boozed at work...and I don't mean the elegant functional bar the boss would have for entertaining. No, I mean said boss and his lieutenants would wink at the common drone with a fifth in his/her desk. The atmosphere was relaxed and productive because during those days people weren't nearly as nuts(conjecture, possible bullshit) and could handle both work and a slight buzz. As with all good things this awesome practice was buried during more recent decades(see uptight HR) and instead employees were encouraged to get shit-housed right after work at happy hour. This was the dominant trend in the 70's and 80's. Don't believe me? Go dig up any old beer commercial and you'll see at least half of them placed in such a setting.

(how awesome was this show...fuck you CBS)

Now these days every pussy and twat would prefer you not drink or smoke and indeed seek help...going so far in some extreme cases as to make weekend-only drinking a condition of employment.

Happy hour also has strong roots in basic productivity. For those in sales or a related field, a casual drink after hours might prove essential in landing an account or client. It would calm down a weary police officer or emergency worker. It would break the ice for a relationship and so on.

The south in general and Knoxville in particular is only now easing the outdated laws that have prevented such outings. Sunday mornings are no longer quite as restricted from a beer-buying perspective and in the past decade many local pubs and eateries are catering to a early morning brunch crowd.

It probably would be a poor decision if most of us just decided to take multiple days off and jeopardize our livelihoods(and thus the wherewithal to drink more) by rolling into a bar in the morning. That's not to say you're a shitty person if you decided to do so a once or twice on a jobsick/barwell kinda day. Indeed, in this age with many people working third shift or living in a large city that runs 24/7 you probably will fit right in with a new crowd of people all wanting to get tore up with you. Might make some friends.

1947-2009

Although I was just a bit young for it, I'm told that this particular poster adorned every teenage boy's room and dorm in America. Iconic.

On the heels of Dom Deluise passing some months ago, I feel compelled to pay respects to another participant in my beloved Cannonball Run hall o' fame. Seeing her on Burt's arm was just as familiar as seeing her with Lee Majors or Ryan O'Neal. This guy...Mr...er...ah...um...Foyt, not so much.

RIP Captain Chaos

While more of a bon vivant than strict lush, we here at DK mourn the passing of Dom Deluise...the fat jolly tub of fun that certainly encouraged OUR drinking when he was on-screen. His role of Captain Chaos, his participation in Mel Brooks' movies were all gems.

Speaking for yours truly, it was his pairing with Burt Reynolds that truly inspired a reckless desire to haul drunken ass (it was the 80's when it wasn't gauche) from Connecticut to California and back again in a tricked-out ambulance.

What do you say Captain Chaos? Are you ready to come back from the afterlife to join us?

UPDATE: Priceless. The outtakes from the Needham films encapsulates his genius better than the actual finished film.

Great Drunks of the Silver Screen 7.0

Ladies and gents, I give you this fading gem:

Bad ass. There are many pictures and images for this iconic late 70's early 80's genre, but few also encompass the soundtrack consisting of Rabbitt, Rich, and Tillis. Are you shitting me?

For every trained orangutan there had to be a hundred angry brawling shit-tossers. Yet Clyde drinks with his human friend Philo Beddoe. A lot. In fact we noticed during this movie they were drinking on the road(acceptable during this period) brawling in meat processing plants, staying in shitty hotels, etc. All the while plowed on the relevant beers of the day...during one scene Philo and Clyde hit about a dozen bars and dives, each painstakingly shot in vivid drunken style.

Olympia for Chrissakes. Cachet.

During one scene following the pub crawl, Philo and primate return to the shady hotel and wake up their companions in the middle of the night...rationally explaining how Clyde needs some sex and needs his stroke immediately. Of course, a willing female of genus Pongo is recruited. Seriously, Clyde gets laid instantly. Baffling, but rational somehow at 3:00 in the morning.

This film's primary antagonists also fit the bill. The nefarious and utterly inept Black Widows end up losing, and badly at that, every contest they face in pursuit of Philo.

Relentless in chase, fools in execution...the Black Widows are thwarted by the elderly, some armed with shotguns, but on SSI in any case. Despite this Cholla maintains a lax attitude toward the gang's boozing...encouraging the use of sidecars as coolers, filled with delicious Coors.

The film is filled with drunken brawling, errant tractor trailers, a dwindling supply of choppers, and a wan Sandra Locke milking her time with Clint. Let's not kid ourselves, this film is about boozing and the kickass relationship between trained primate and slightly better trained primate. Who among us can forget "Right turn, Clyde?"

Or simple wonder of an animal telling us all to FO.

Drink on, fiend. You're still more civilized than half the bastards I know.