There Is No Lollipop Guild

It's Monday, so that means getting my nose back to the grindstone, or in this case fingers back to the keyboard.

Friday night was quite an adventure. It was supposed to be a pretty simple night of networking at a few of the comedy clubs in the area. I just moved back to Chicago and I was touching base with some of the people I used to work for. I was joined on my big night out by a friend of mine. In the interest of privacy discussed here earlier, I'll call him "Load". I like to consider Load part of my entourage, crew or posse if you will. He takes offense to that and wants our time together to be called "time spent with friends." What a chick.

Anyhoo...Load and I drove by a bar and he told me that this place was well known because it had a midget bar inside. You heard me right, a special short bar staffed by midgets, complete with tiny chairs and wee waitresses. Now you can't tell me something like this and not expect that to be the next stop on our party train.

We ventured in and were greeted by a burley security guard who quickly demanded our IDs. I always love getting carded, especially by guys who aren't really that good at math. It took the incredible Bulk about three minutes to do his cypherin' and let me in. There it was, back in the corner, a real live midget bar. On paper, this sounds like a great idea. In reality, not so much. I was expecting happy little people like in the Wizard of Oz. Maybe some festive costumes. What I got was a woman who was so tiny, she could barely reach her little cooler and then couldn't get the tops off the beers. It wasn't joyful at all. It made me kind of sad and I felt a tad dirty. I did dance in a cage with Load for a minute, but that's a story for another time. I'm hoping to find an Amazon bar next week. Real big chicks don't make me feel so bad. Later...Brian