Pungent Co-worker

I work in an professional office. I make a decent living and generally enjoy and excel at my profession. I share a 16" x 20" room with one other person. The problem is, this individual is undoubtedly the most disgusting troll I have ever come across in my life.

During my initial interview, I sat across the table from my future co-worker and noticed a super sickening smell. This lady was dressed like a cracked out gypsy hobo. Ragged, tattered, unclean attire. Tacky homemade jewelry that looked too cheap for a scarecrow to wear. Brittle hair that resembled a rat's nest. Again, we work in a professional office setting where we meet with customers on a regular basis and occasionally venture outside the workplace on business. Man, I should have known better.

Dude, my co-worker hasn't washed her clothes in over nine years. This is fact. She told me so. Her family doesn't even own a washing machine. (I'm not even going to get into what her dirtbag husband looks like!) They believe that the body's natural oils are exuded for a reason and should not be washed away. That is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard. Humans need to cleanse themselves to get rid of dead skin. Dead skin is just that, human tissue that is extinct. And when human tissue dies, it begins to rot. She seriously emits an odor not unlike that of an unfortunate highway roadkill. Like a dead animal. A rotting corpse.

She has cats. Lots of them. I would tell you how many, but even she doesn't know. "More than 13" she says. And I know she isn't lyng, because her little feline friends often used her clothes as a litterbox. I shit you not. The lady smells like cat piss. Enough so to make your eyes burn when within close proximity. And the only thing worse than cat piss is old cat piss. It's nauseous fumes are almost dizzying. On the plus side, in my tenure at this company, I have learned to exclusively mouth breathe and when she is in my general vicinity, I can easily hold my breath for more than 60 seconds witout even flinching. Maybe this is how Houdini got his start?

My situation is embarrassing. When my parents ask me "How is work going?" I would rather not delve into my rotten reality. I have confronted our boss about this nauseating nuisance on several occasions and I get the speech of how she's been with the company for XX amount of years and how he promises to mention something. The entire office steers clear of our work area, for they all are aware of the offensive odor. of the I would say something myself to the lady, but I also failed to mention that she is the meanest witch I have ever met. An evil, hateful, self-centered, paranoid gutter-bitch.

The lady is not poor. I know how much money she makes. She is just a mean, filthy wench who thinks she is better than everyone else.  Her kids sleep on a freekin' pool raft.  This is fact.  I am trapped in a revolting room with this despicable dirtbag.

Dive Bar Review: Erie, PA - part IV - East Side

Mays Tavern

1118 East Lake Road

review one:  If JFK would have lost the 1960 presidential election, then THIS BAR would be just like the movie The Deer Hunter. We, as a country, could have very well avoided our involvement in Vietnam. Over 58,000 American lives could have been spared and conjointly, maybe the Deer Hunter could have spend more time being about Buck Season! Deer Hunters are cool. I hope my next wife has her deer license so she can go kill dinner for me. That would be so romantic. And she’d give me the pelt so I could curl up in front of the fireplace as a read Napoleon Hill. And Mays Tavern is where I will hang out. I don’t wanna give away TOO MUCH about this gem, (i.e. GO THERE!) but lets just say the sign outside is irrefutable.

review two:  Growing up, there was a kid who, according to his family tradition, was to have sex with the first doe he killed. Yup…dude rod into deer box. And he did. For real. He lives in western New York now, but I think he would like Mays Tavern. He just bought some land up there.

Rating: 4/5

Kramers

820 East Avenue

We sat at the bar. There was a dead fly on the mustard bottle in front of us. We joked about it. Sometimes it’s not what you’re laughing about, it’s who you’re laughing with. This place was weak. I find no reason to revisit. As we got off our stools to leave, the fly moved over to a pepper shaker.  True story.

Rating: 1/5

Swanns

Not sure if you noticed, but I’ve been navigating off-topic lately. Most of these bars are what you’d expect. Shitty, boring and uneventful. Crappy budweiser on draft and a bawdy bitch sitting on her plump asspillow playing Megatouch. But still powerfully better than any bar in downtown Erie (sans Club Power Moves!) The night we visited Swann’s, it was my associates turn to drive. So I got drunk. Real drunk. I don’t remember much. I should probably go there again, if I knew where it was. I slept good that night. As if I was watching my kid in a grade school play.

Rating: ?

Lakeview Tavern
1400 East Lake Road

 Yeah, same night. I remember there was a giant stuffed gorilla sitting at a table. And some beastly lady with a bag of her soiled jeans. Probably shit stained. Pig… And I tried to get Whiteman to get us some swiss cheese and some pickled sausage. I don’t remember her name? At least I’m a fun drunk…

Rating: 2/5

Ash Street Pub
562 East 12th Street

 Yeah, dawg! Le’ bartender was some classic rock renegade who’ll talk your freekin’ ear off, man. His drunken drivel made about as much sense as licking a raccoon’s paw. I liked this place. More bartenders should drink. Ron Popeil always tries the shit he’s selling!

Rating: 4/5

Clancys
901 East Avenue

This East Ave. stop was nice. Not like “dude, you should buy this place” but a pleasing predilection of sorts. They had live music (some hoary hero with an acousitc geetar playing Paul Simon ‘n shit) and the joint did NOT smell like the inside of a retards thigh. This is the kind of place where you could make out with a chick and NOT worry about her moustache giving you face abrasion. And chances are she probably has enough money left over to take the bus downtown on Monday morning to get that abortion! Next time you go on a date with some broad, maybe stop here on your way to Rapeland Farms!

Rating: 4/5


Gatherings
2902 Reed Street

Collin Marple was my favorite roommate ever. Nothing against any of the other dudes and chicks who had the severe torture to share quarters with me, but Collin woke up early. We’d have coffee every morning outside on the couch of 319. His girlfriend at the time, who had gravity-defying boobs, would crawl to her car and we’d heckle her as she drove away. He would say the funniest shit and refer to every dirtbag, idiot and fool as “your boy.” He had this omnipotence over all things hip hop but was well versed in punk and metal, moreso than 99% of the people I know. Dude had Grim Reapers’ “See You In Hell” on vinyl! Wanting to hear the title track, and more notably, Steve Grimmett’s 18 second falsetto flair at the end of the track, Collin wisened me to a wider world. He dragged the needle to song 3 on side 1, “Liar.”

Southpaw axeman Nick Bowcott crunches thru a killer riff showcase as Grimmett’s vocals soar overhead like a flesh-obsessed vulture. You’re lucky I don’t remember the names of the rhythm section, or I’d talk about them too! This is one of my favorite songs ever, probably because I was introduced to it in such a chivalrous and fun fashion.

Anyway, Gatherings is NOT a dive bar. My associate lied to me…LIAR!

Rating: 1/5 This place is way too nice

Nunzi’s
2330 East 38th Street

Isn’t a Nunzi one of those things that chicks wear? I dunno. I found $10 on the floor. This place would be a good place for a mother rat to lay her eggs.

Rating: 1/5

Jimmy’s Tavern

726 East 26th Street

I think this is the first bar we simply walked out on. As we approached the sidewalk a sign proudly proclaimed MC DJ was spinning all your favorite crappy modern hits. Now I have seen AC/DC live. Critty was there with me. My neck hasn’t been the same since. (Hence the earlier reference to the Red chiropractor) Have you ever seen a show that was SOOOO loud that you could actually see the soundwaves? For real. It looks kinda blurry. Like visual vibration. You feel really exposed, like a wolf could come up behind you and take the sharpie right out of your back pocket. Well, Jimmy’s was loud as piss, blasting some horrible rap sewage. The place was crowded, but there was no bartender. We waited for about 4 minutes, assaulted by the abhorrent sounds of Kid Rock, before we left. Up yours Jimmy…and the bat that you ate off that tree!

Rating: blah!

Skeeters
723 French Street

If Lloyd Dobler was 21, he should have went here after her broke up with Diane Court. Absolutely NO chicks go here. Looking into the future, the following conversation will take place between me and my supermodel viking wife.

Wife: where are you going? You can’t just bang it out and then leave!
Me: Why not, I finished!
Wife: Not so fast mister, I don’t want you staying out all night, coming home, smelling like perfume!
Me: (with arms outstretched) But babes, I’m going to Skeeters!
Wife: (smiling) Ok, have fun. Don’t forget, tomorrow me and a buttload of my hot friends are gonna be re-enacting the battle scene from Braveheart in the backyard…topless.
Me: Ehh…I might be busy (closes door)

Yeah, no chicks go to Skeeters. It’s cool.

Rating: 3/5

Scooters Lounge
602 East 24th Street

Remember in Back to the Future II when Marty is in the alternate 1985 and the entire town of Hill Valley is a biker haven rats nest? Yeah! We pulled up to Scooters (in a four wheeled vehicle…our first mistake) and were blinded by about 30 bikes and their respective riders. With more leather than Rob Halford’s closet, these dudes looked quite formidable. The inside of the bar was an entirely different story, maybe 10 people total, most of them saggy-tittied biker bitches. This place was rough, but I kinda looked the part, so we were in. When they make a movie of the life and career of Sam Elliott, THIS is the location in the film where he loses his virginity. They sell do-rags too. I almost bought one. I opted for a another beer instead.  Ehhh..it’s like a homo going to a titty bar.

Rating: 2/5


Chuckles
461 East 25th Street

Individuals fail all the time. The teenage girl that dresses like a hussie for 3 days straight, hoping that one boy will take notice and ask her to the Enchantment Under the Sea dance on Friday. The youngling who wants to build a treehouse super bad in his back yard, but lacks lumber…or any sense of architecture…or friends for that matter. The avid record collector who drives 126 miles to a swap meet, following a lead of first pressing John Coltrane vinyl, only to find a bin full of Steve Lawrence records. Sometimes effort goes unnoticed, sometimes direction just isn’t enough. Chuckles Tavern sits in a shitty location and therein lies the problem. Comparative to size as a hollowed out banana, Chuckle’s is no laughing matter. This place is sad, but has tinges of a family bar. Deadbeat dads come here to rekindle friendships with their fucked up families. Drug addict mothers show up to sing Bette Midler Karaoke. Styleless wiggers bring their underage girlfriends here to drink. Chuckles does have a mobile meal cart that my associate and I spotted at Liberty Park during the Edgar Winter show. Offering corn dogs, potato ribbons and many other fried feasts, this encased snack unit, which I dubbed the “Chuck Wagon” will hopefully be making many more appearances at local Erie events. I was pretty gooned up when we stopped here, so I don’t remember too much else. They had a pinball machine that was older and more beat up than Cher’s labia.

Rating: 4/5

Dive Bar Review: Erie, PA - part III - East Side

Michalski's

I find it fascinating when inanimate objects display human attributes. Not like a freekin’ potato chip with the visage of Abe Lincoln, I mean like a classic car that has more humility than the seafood bitch at Giant Eagle in Yorktown Centre. (you know who I’m talking about, she wears that shitty captains hat…she’s far from nautical but is very familiar with seamen…heh) I don’t know where I’m going with this, which is probably why we went to Michalski’s.

This bar has hit rock bottom. It smells like gerbil piss, the walls are thinner than a fruit roll up and the joint is completely filthy. The other patrons, a grizzled jerk named Irish and his filthy friend Fredo, look like they haven’t seen sunlight since Robert Guillaume took Benson to the top of the prime time TV ratings. The bartender accused Irish of heisting a bar rag, which was clearly sticking out of this coat pocket, but the Dublin drunk retaliated with (in a voice that could only be replicated by Popeye’s grandfather) “If I was gonna take something…it would be the whole fuckin’ bar!” Lucky for us, Irish wasn’t feeling greedy that day and left the joint the way he found it, grimy, shit stained and just plain wonderful!

On his way to the bathroom, Fredo started puking in his mouth and dribbled a bit onto the wooden plank floor. The barkeep had a fresh shot waiting on the bar as Fredo returned from the lavatory. The ceiling tiles were painted my Mrs. Eels’ third period Retard Ed. class. Go there and check it out for yourself. No windows, no women, no shit. If I ever get married, this is where my wife will have her bachelorette party.  I dream about bars like this in my sleep

Rating: 5/5



CZARTORYSKI CAFE
302 Parade Street

This place was a nittle too nice, and it was still crappy as hell. People were holding conversations with each other at a decent level. The jukebox actually worked. One chuggernaut down the bar even had a coaster. I noticed they offered swiss cheese for a dollar. This place was fairly busy despite it being nowhere close to happy hour. Some dirt dick named Lenny came up to me and said he had my back then offered us drugs. I don’t like drugs. I don’t like people who do drugs. If you’re that weak of a person that you resort to poisoning yourself for mental self improvement, than I personally think that you should cease to breathe. No one will miss you. There were two bartenders working, (which I think breaks a dive bar rule) neither of them busy. The men’s room featured a quarter inch slick of urine covering the entire floor.  The bar stools were the most uncomfortable damn things ever and ricketier than an Imperial Walker. I’m pretty sure several bastard children were birthed in this very seat. Ahh bastards (sigh)…a slut’s diarrhea…

Rating: 2/5

 JT’S BAR
East 12th Street

Dear Iran,

If you’re going to bomb U.S. soil, I’d like to recommend the following establishment. Located on the corner of 12th Street and some shit road is the worst bar ever. The sign outside clearly states no sports jerseys, baseball hats must be worn forward and pants must be around your waist. Well much like your wife’s face, rules are meant to be broken. The teenage wigger kid bartender chose to defy his employers etiquitte and I must say, looked freekin’ ridiculous while doing so. His gear was about as fresh as the block of swiss cheese sitting out at room temperature on the counter. Bottles of Molsen Canadian were $1.75 but Mr. Gay-Z behind the bar couldn’t find them in the cooler.

The place reeked of Nascar. I HATE Nascar. Posters, schedules, shitty blowup cars hanging from the ceiling and I shit you not, a song on the jukebox called “I Love Nascar.” Unfortunately, this is an accurate slice of Americana and I’d be more than willing to sacrifice these slack-jawed shitheads for ‘the cause.’ The place was very roomy but much like a chick with a big pussy, it doesn’t mean that you like being inside of it.

Rating: 0/5



PETE’S PUB
613 Parade Street

I never knew how delicious pumpkin pie was until Mama Carson served it up on Thanksgiving 1997. For the longest time, I refused to see the Lord of the Rings movies because I didn’t want to put someone else’s visual representation to my favorite books. I didn’t know what the Descendents looked like until the re-release of the Enjoy album on SST Records. On the same token is Parade Street’s best kept secret, Pete’s Pub. Located catty corner from the Gear Cave, Pete’s is a quaint little stop with a handicapped accessible entrance (or as Whiteman observed, so the paramedics can wheel the stretchers down the ramp.) The lady bartender had real crusty eyes but was cordial and efficient. They offer Sloppy Joes anytime (swiss cheese is a dollar extra) and delicious Pabst Blue Ribbon on draft! Splendid!  It’s like the Rocky Balboa of bars.

Like cannonballing into a pool of breastmilk on a hot summer day, Pete’s Pub just makes you feel comfortable. The clientele was sparse and kinda rough looking, but we were on their turf and respect was given. Everyone who comes here cuts their own grass. I like that in a bar. This is the perfect place to take a date, if you date girls who like to get shitfaced at 2 pm on a Saturday afternoon.

Rating: 4/5



 PARADE STREET CAFE

Two cops were waiting outside as we approached…this place was gonna be rough. I hate cops. Two words to describe this place…Party Central. Man, everyone there was having a blast. Great, fun music like Kool & the Gang, Billy Ocean and Earth Wind and Fire. At any given moment, erupting sounds of laughter could be heard from all corners of the bar. Some gimp guy got kicked out, but in the nicest way imaginable. Behind the bar was a rotisserie of plump smoked sausage and swiss cheese for a buck. They also offer off-street parking for bicycles, inside the bar. I don’t like the things you like and you don’t like the things I like.

Rating: 3/5


MARTYS
1003 Parade Street

Marty likes tigers. Tigers are everywhere in this joint. Tigers…and a confederate flag. PBR was again on tap and chilled to perfection. And I hope you brought your appetite (we unfortunately lost ours as soon as we walked in the door) because Marty’s offers a delicious selection of bar nibblin’s including pig hocks, pickled eggs, pickled beets and non-refrigerated swiss cheese. I think Whiteman tried to take his prom date here. Still, it was a shady saloon with reasonable prices and uhh…oh yeah, the bartender. Remember the main bad guy from the movie “Dune?” The one with all the warts on his face? Yeah, his twin sister slings suds at Martys… and she drinks on the job.  The bathroom featured a condom machine from a time long ago. I’m talking pre-cold war. Reputably, Marty’s caters to an “over 30″ clientele, because only people under age 30 use condoms.

Rating: 3/5

JESTERS POUR HOUSE
1101 Parade Street

Man, this shit was closed due to a king drug bust three days prior. FAACK!


COUNTRY TAVERN
8107 Perry Highway

Wow…this place was essentially someone’s garage. One light bulb hung from the middle of the ceiling as faded pictures of ducks adorned the water damaged walls. A rotten 6 point buck hung in the corner. I like shitty bars, but this hole had less character than Nicholas Cage. The place was pretty busy on a Friday evening and drink prices weren’t cheap so they really should DO something to improve this dismal dead end. Maybe an electronic love tester would do the trick…or a moat of gravy around the perimeter of the bar…with pieces of white bread as coasters?

Rating: 0/5

SOLOS CANTINA

923 Hess Avenue

A rumored Star Wars themed bar located on Hess Avenue, this bar was more disappointing than Episode One. The Cantina seemed to host many rogues, bounty hunters and scoundrels from all over Eries Outer Rim territory. The female bartender looked like a freshly shaved Ewok and the jukebox shared functionality with the Hyperdrive Motivator of the Millennium Falcon. The decor included a lighted sign of Darth Vader reaching for an OE 40oz. and a framed picture of that dude from Pimp My Ride (who could possibly be the grandson of Lando) on the wall. There was some crazy dart-throwing denimed dude with a midget arm too. We did find a seedy round table which we all sat around and discussed our plans to blast our way out of there. Much like Jabbas Palace, this bar could be filed under At least now we can say that weve been there.

Beer selection: Hmmm…(as I despairingly scoped out the beer cooler) gimmie a bottle of Busch! I would have given my right arm for a glass of blue milk but… ohh wait…

Jukebox: There was a markered sign on the wall telling patrons to bring in their own Cds. While there, we were treated to the wretched rhythms of Bone, Nelly (the band-aid cheek guy, not that sexy slut who cant sing either) and Will Smith.

Observation: You will never find a more wretched hive of scum & villany.

Overall ranking: 1/5


HERMANS CAFE
2802 Old French Road

A surprisingly spacious saloon, Hermans advertises Pabst Blue Ribbon drafts for 75 cents. This proof threw me for a loop since they did NOT have PBR on tap. The bartender was the older brother of that super annoying waiter from Office Space (the faggy little prick who worked at Chachkis) When he wasnt closing one eye, pointing at you and making little clicking noises, the barhand had severe trouble with simple math. (i.e. $2.25 plus 0.85 is not $1.80.) The clientell were dirtbags & rednecks for the most part, but Hermans did have the hottest chicks (3 of them!) that we have seen so far on the bar tour. Some dude shooting pool had a TAZ tattoo (the lovable cartoon madman, NOT the shitty 80s cover band) on his leg and like any true dive bar, there was the blonde bimbo strutting her stuff with a faded tattoo on her boob (not that I checked her out, but I think it was a baby seal sitting on a piece of ice.) Some local greaseball got dragged outside and bitched up by a couple junkied jocks which amplified the already tumultuous feeling of the joint. This place could be cool, but living in a town with more bars per square mile that anywhere else in America, I can be choosy where I chug.  The beer selection was average, except for the misleading Bait & Switch tactic involving Pabst while the jukebox blated a three-pronged attack of Dio...

Observation: Hey Earnhart, if you need to bring one of those shittyass beer-bottle coozies with you to a bar and use it, then you dont know how to drink…and you look like a total idiot. Go back to your couch and watch Nascar…I reckon der racin n Talladega this weeken

Overall ranking: 2/5



CHIPPERS

4608 Wattsburg Road

You’ve seen the Deer Hunter, right? Yeah, everyone has seen it… and a favorable percentage (myself included) believe it is a good movie. But realistically, it is a very boring, fairly colorless, drawn-out story. There is no dialogue in the first 23 minutes of said film. Parts are very unrealistic. I HATE that one guy’s hair! Well, remember the bar that “the boys” go to after a tough day at the foundry? Well, the original Welch’s Bar was torn down in the 80′s but an eidetic exists in my hometown. Chippers is as blue collar as the asshole of a dog who ate a whole bunch of blueberries. We went here during the height of cold season, as the subsisting servant behind the bar didn’t mind sharing his phlem with every drink he poured. The place offers 62 flavors of wings, which makes about as much sense as a guy who never gets laid to purchase silk sheets. I didn’t like the sports stuff on the wall. But after a tough day of working with molten metal, sometimes a man needs to unwind…

Rating: 2/5


UPTOWN BROWNS

264 East 30th Street

So the other day I was drinking. It was cool. Some chick was telling me about her experience at Uptown Browns. I really didn’t pay attention to what she was saying, but I noticed that if I cracked my neck and peered straight down while my head was at a 19 degree angle, I could totally see down her shirt. Nice! This is a pretty nice place, featuring real wood decor, although I am partial to fauz wood paneling.  Gives my alcohol a basmental quality...

Rating: 3/5