Can I have a tweeker burger and a cum shot please?
During spring break, Cindy and I stayed in Concord, Calif. I don’t know what it is with small towns and my attraction to them, remember Perris? ( Stuck in Perris for the weekend ). We had decided to go to San Francisco, but we were in an extreme low budget, so we stayed with my brother and his family in this town with a population of 129,200 residents. Now the area is so small, that when we went out, we drove to Time Out, a bar which was less than two minutes away. The bar was a story of its own. The security guard thought he could hover around me during the night and look over my shoulder just because he was the “security guard” and the bartender came out with sexual drink names every minute. Such examples were Fruity Pussy, Cum Shot, and the not so sexual Stop Light, three shots with vodka and the three traffic light colors.
After that we decided to go to Vinnie’s Bar & Grill, it was salsa night. As I headed toward the car my sister-in-law yelled out that we were going to walk to the place. It was practically next-door. That didn’t seem too strange, that is until I started walking and passed by two ducks quacking around an outdoor walkway.
The place was like a sauna, so we decided to cool down at the pool table area, until this 50-plus-year-old lady started throwing kisses at Cindy. To top it off, a guy presumably from El Salvador, (he didn’t have a Salvadoran accent, so Cindy and I thought he was kidding), started talking to us with the most annoying girly squeaky voice imaginable. (Cindy later admitted she had smiled at him and most likely is the reason he came over). He had an older male friend who he said spoke English, but every word that came out of that guys mouth, was “gaarr ya garr gurr.” So we thought either he was really drunk or didn’t know English either.
It might have just been one crazy weird night, but it didn’t end there. At 2 a.m., where if I were home I would grab street tacos or bacon hotdogs in downtown L.A., after a night out in Concord, you go to One Quarter Pounder or as the locals call it “Tweeker Burger,” a 24-hour joint that serves breakfast all day, (can you say yuck and puke afterwards?). The crowd in the place was two truckers, seven of us, and a drunken ‘hook up that same night’ couple, one waitress and one cook. And I admit it, I ate the burger, everyone did, even the drunk vegetarian, and that’s how my party night at Concord ended.
