When “Their” Bars Have Trivia Night
Oh, fuck, what the hell is going on in here? Who are all these bros and why are they holding slips of paper? Could this be? Has motherfucking trivia managed to invade my inner sanctum: my most favored and glorious watering hole? Maybe I can just ignore it. If I have enough whiskey sodas, then the incessant cheering and corny jokes will merely fade into the white noise that my liquor-soaked brain makes when I’ve had one too many. Oh, shit. Is the category of choice really Irish folktales? Seriously? Look at this slack-jawed, frat-tastic crowd. Like they know anything about Irish folktales. Dude should be asking simple shit, like, questions about motherfucking Friends or something. I hate that show… Ah, man. This shit is not fading into the background. And, oh fuck, does that dude have a microphone? Jesus fucking Christ, stop with the fucking Casey Kasem impression, dude, you sound like a deranged Kermit the Frog. I can’t deal with this. First Bingo, and now this. I swear, if I come back next week and they’re having a freaking spelling bee, I’m just gonna stay home with a case of PBR. The only kind of quiz I wanna take part in when I’m drinking is: “How many fingers am I holding up?”
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seasaltandvinegar reblogged this from stuffhipstershate and added:
hipsters love bar trivia. Truth.
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