There's nothing like winding down and indulging in the fine cockney ales of Portland winter. We were trying to rack our brains as to where we should grab a quick pint. Thoughts of the PDXbars standards Shanghai Tunnel, XV, and Sewickley's came and went, but we wanted to try something different. We run a bar site so maybe we should see what else is out there.

Well after four cups of coffee, kindly offered to us by the coffee caterer for whom I was taking photos for, I really had to squat before the merciful. We were on 33rd and Broadway and remembered a search for the Colosso on our site. So, we decided, why the fuck not? I remember soccer mom frequenting the place. I was there once while quite intoxicated so I didn't remember too much about it. That didn't matter though. All I was thinking was taking a dump, getting a beer, and then moving on to someplace a bit less mise en scene.

By some wind of chance Kyle found a spot right in front of the fucking place. We opened the door and were seriously stared at by everyone behind the bar (or should I say restaurant). Why do you need three bartenders for a bar that seats six? It was pretty rediculous. Perhaps, they were overdressed barbacks. Kyle sat down and I headed straight for the throne. Damn that fucking coffee. I love it, but the side effects really force undesireable loss of time.

I sat in there for a few minutes and then joined Kyle only to find that there was no drinky drink in the palm or the fist. "What the fuck?" I said. Quite out of character I half expected Kyle to be double fisting the Makey Make. There are the eternal words of Fuck It, but that did not come forth from the mouth of, Sir Kyle. No, I believe "Fuck this!" spewed quietly from the clapping lips of the dying seal. I took a quick glance around and without hesitation calmly exited the fucking place. Stuck in the year 2001, Colloso still tries to push the indie envelop almost to the point of becoming the absurd crimson tiger.

So my rude introduction to the place was almost symbolic. We left there without ordering a single drink. We'll have to coin a new term for this. Perhaps, dump-and-dash is appropriate. Or pulling a DADdy. Portland needs less of these places. We must try to avoid places that fall prey to the pooning of the moth.