One of my favorite partners in party crime, Mr. Van Wylder, thought I needed to be grounded.
"KAC! It's time to stop
FLYing and come back to Earth, where the real people live," he said just a few hours after stepping off the jet.
"Real people? You mean beer drinkers? Ergh!" That did sound like punishment.
I really didn't wanna leave the mile-high protection of Plastic Land, but I got my camo on, pulled on some boots (pedi protection!) and took off on the
D.C. Dive Bar Tour: Destination - Chief Ike's Mambo Room.
As I cleaned off the old, crusty bar stool with one of my emergency Wet-Nap towelettes and ordered a drink, I really did feel as if I'd jumped outta 1st class sans parachute and landed right, smack-dab in a urine-soaked puke pit run by the devil.
Thank God for
Napoleon -- within screaming distance of Chief Ikes. The bartenders there nursed us back to our reality (OK, well, me).
They people are really nice at Napoleon. They clean their basement - and stock it with champagne!
So unless you're big and strong like a
Gold Cup Navy Seal parajumper (they drink beer, I've seen them do it), you might wanna skip that Ike-y icky Adams Morgan hub.
Apparently, it's where the anti-posh have landed.
Chief Ike's Mambo Room: Not for germophobes outta Purell, docs lacking latex, pilots sans O2 masks or plastic girls in Prada. And
nothing like a pow pow!
Labels: adams morgan, dc, dirt, dive bars, fly, fuggin, james, kac on the town, like skank me out, night shift, pissed, ramblings, slavery in the city
