So Paul and I had Date Night last night. (That’s the special night we designate each week to spend hours together arguing and seeing who will crack first…just kidding, honey.) We decided to go to La Tasca in Clarendon to take advantage of DC’s restaurant week, which is the annual event when DC’s finest establishments try catering to the bourgeoisie in hopes of draining them of all future income. La Tasca does tapas, paella, and sangria – the latter was fabulous, the two former quite frankly stank. After a number of drinks, we decided to leave the upper echelons of society and hit Bungalow Billiards to procure more alcohol. We joined 1,000,000 disgruntled Redskins fans in the bar area, and upon seeing the crowds, decided to expedite our inebriation process to get out of the mayhem as soon as possible. It appeared every single drunk frat boy and biker in the Northern Virginia area had found the most unattractive female possible to accompany him to the bar (Caitlin, it was great to see you!). However, the biggest winner had to be this particular specimen:
This man, who I’ll call Captain Neanderthal, was literally hunched over like an ape as he staggered around the bar, searching for his opposable thumbs. He lurched into tables, shouted drunkenly, and wore a shirt that, as you can see, said “keep on strokin'” (it should have read “keep on evolvin'”) The highlight of the evening was when he swung his arms wildly (presumably searching for branches to convey his massive bulk to the next living, breathing female) and accidentally knocked a glass of beer onto the floor where it shattered. Captain Neanderthal took no notice and kept loudly slurring to the girl seated in front of him in the picture, who was saintly enough to listen to his stupidity without trying to strangle him. At that point, I photographed him for all posterity, and went home for the night.