so long, and thanks for all the fish

Apologies to A's friend L are in order. We had no idea that Ghetto-Weedman was going to come on so strong. It took me a moment to realize he was pushing a bag a of weed up against your forehead. Granted, it was a mistake on our part not telling you to change out of the fancy dress before coming down to El Chapparal. The last time we brought a girl there, she ended up hiding behind a vending machine, waiting for a chance to escape. Again, our bad. Your friend didn't seem too amused either, just staring straight ahead as not to make eye contact with anyone. I kind of felt bad. El Chapparal is an experience, one that requires interaction with the regulars to appreciate it. As one of the longtime regulars put it, "how ahh... Do I say this to not offense you? This bar been here since you were swimming in your dad’s balls! We're all like family at Chapparal." One fucked up, hilariously dysfunctional family.

I guess A and I are just getting used to this kind of stuff. Not much fazes us at this point, even being invited to some chick's crackhead orgy, or being repeated accosted by a horny late 50s-something Puerto Rican woman. In any event, you should have stuck around for Duly's. You missed a great Mayo Special.



That's a plate of fries, two kinds of chili, loose meat, onion, mustard, and half a bottle of Frank's Red hot. Heartburn heaven.