As proprieters of a site that religiously details the redundant details of our drunken adventures, it makes sense that we need to visit every type of bar on a regular basis in a non discrimanatory fashion.

Friday night's adventure gave new meaning to BBN. After a few beers at XV and the Shanghai Tunnel, the suggestion was made that we visit the Portland City Grill. I was immediately apprehensive, thinking to myself "Spendy with a large fake tit to real tit ratio".

This ended up being the case, but with a twist. Women are quite ready to fuck there. Whether it's because they think you have dough, or you are interesting when paired next to standard metrosexual shirt guys or standard Europeans in fancy suits, doesn't matter.

Aside from the simply amazing view, what stood out was the proper application of wraparound. The wrap was nice, a simple rectangle island. Service was a bit lacking, but the place was packed, and I'm sure some people are better tippers than me.

As the night progressed and my breathe started becoming fouler and fouler as a result of many a Makey Make, I found myself arguing with some guy about proper website optimization. That was really stupid of him. In the ensuing battle of cerebral reasoning that followed, I kicked his ass.

We ended up being buddies and started talking to two ultra sluts with big fake boobies. What thoroughly impressed me was the way they had absolutely nothing to offer except for fake boobies, and I bet their beavers stank. They made small talk about school and their sororities and stuff...and then the conversation turned up some of these these gems:

"My boyfriend beats me, but that's okay because he's got money."

"We met these mafia guys who wanted buy us Lexuses."

What made it so interesting in, these chicks were sitting here telling us this stuff without batting an eyelash.

Soon thereafter, we ended up at Greek Cusina to meet some Russian womens. They really like the Cusina for some reason, and make the journey from Salem to Portland for the sheer purpose of hanging out at the Cusina.

They came back to the best after hours bar in Portland: My house. Which gave me ample opportunity to drink more. Russian #1 insisted that I drink Vodka with Pepper, to which I obliged her request. Then she wanted coffee, and tea, and milk, and juice - None of which lived up to her beverage standards I guess.

Actually, I came to believe two things about Russian women: They didn't like beverages, and only wanted to fuck Martin. I don't know Martin, but I'm wondering it is MLK, or maybe Junior? Martin Sheen? Who is named Martin anyway. Fuck it, I'm tired of typing.

Tomorrow shall chronicle the Icy Adventures of Golf Shoes Georgio, his lazy eye, and the most boring dog sled racers in the world.