Days Rated: 54
Average Day: 3.17
This weekend there was a beer fest in Anchorage. I wanted to go pretty bad, and made plans to. For thirty bucks you could get thirty 2 ounce beer sample tickets. However, supposedly the tickets were everywhere lying around. Tiede went snowboarding, so I went with Miller and Sgt Harris. By the time we got there, the line wrapped around the arena twice, and there was only 3 hours left, so we went to Rumrunners, where Harris works as a bouncer, instead. While we were there, I dominated at trivia, easily defeating the supragenius Miller (“I don’t know anything about sports or entertainment, this isn’t fair), Harris vomited blood and returned to drinking, and a terrible band started playing. Hippies then started entering en masse. Apparently they paid 15 bucks to get in and didn’t like me loudly saying how much the music sucked. Harris was happier than a pig in sh1t hanging out with all his bar pals, so me and Miller left. We wandered around, freezing to death and trying to hail a taxi. Fortunately, I never go out in Alaska without hat, warm coat and gloves. Eventually we entered into a bar called either 505 or 515. This was one of these places that they warn you about in safety briefs. It had all the charm of a Wild West bar where when you enter, all eyes turn towards you suspiciously. I drank a beer while Miller looked around nervously. “Drink faster.” “Dude, we’re going to die, hurry up.” Finally, we left and got a taxi to take us to Last Frontier, the home of fat wenches, MILFs and dirty divorcees (and almost-divorcees). We ended up at some scandalous ghetto house party, and had to call a friend with a van to extricate ourselves.