Wrestlemania.

I'm never one to stereotype, but sometimes its hard to deny demographics.
One Sunday a month we close off one, maybe both, of the big back rooms of the bar, charge a two dollar cover, (for something I'm pretty sure these folks could watch for free at home if they have cable), and show the WWE matches. Without fail, the air is filled with "I'll take a water" or "Aren't the refills free on the chips and salsa?". The air is also filled with what would most politely be called a 'funk'. Mullets. Bleach blonde dye jobs. Kids running around with rat tails trailing down their necks just begging to be tugged every time they squeal, holler, and damn near knock down a waitress.
And for people who idolize the muscle bound wrestling stars, they sure don't care much for the gym themselves.
I think I heard one of the regulars refer to a greasy haired and scantily clad young lady as a 'beached whale' this evening.

The tips are oh so bad.
But the people watching on a WWE Sunday? - Spectacular.

The Muff Diver...

1. Fill a shot glass with Bailey's and Kahlua.
2. Place in the middle of small plate.
3. Go CRAAAAZZZZYYYY with a can of whipped cream.
4. Place plate in front of unsuspecting birthday boy.

5. Instruct him to take the shot using only his mouth. hee hee.

6. Laugh hysterically at how rediculous they look.

Love ya Buck!

(The girl version of this shot is called a "Blow Job". Executed similarly, you only put the whipped cream on top of the shot.)