Booze Pig’s off on a jaunt to Tallyho! Cocktail Lounge

I'm driving to work. It's not my usual pound-as-much-coffee-as-you-can-while-not-hitting-anything-and-still-drunk-from-last-night commutes. It's a caffeine-free jaunt, filled with itching of uncontrollable proportions. If this itching is comparable to rehab — my skin coming off, the kind of itching you read about — then I'm never going to quit drinking.

Let me start again. I'm driving to work scratching my freaking arms off when I decide to call my buddy the Marmot Herder, up in Seattle. I figure if I have to hold the phone, then that's one less hand I can scratch with. I get his voicemail.

My message goes something like this: "I'm late to work and I've been in bed off and on itching for the last 48 hours because I have a rash on my arms and genitals from some polymer compound used in fiberglass. I'm now on steroids. Gaarrrrahhhhh! I also had a dream we were in a bar with myriad pills, all different sizes and colors, and we were splitting them up and eating them like candy (was it a dream or was that Bisbee?). And then we left the bar and were pulled over — a moment of fear — but we ended up hanging out with the cops at the station, where they unveiled their new Vidal Sassoon M-16 hairspray gun. My balls itch. Call me back."

P.M. Stork
P.M. Stork

Details

Pig Points: Cash only, ATM on premises; no windows; giant oval bar; Sharon's awesome cocktails; dark and candlelit; tuxedo uniforms; ginger ale on tap (also, I asked for a dictionary, and they had one). Lots of tiny hooks under the bar to hang your purse or groceries.
Pig Shit: O.J. on the gun; bathrooms are way too bright (1,000-watt bulbs?); no condom machines.
480-991-7538
Think Booze Pig blows? Want to tip him? E-mail »e-mail link.
Tallyho! Cocktail Lounge, 8479 East McDonald Drive, Scottsdale

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I could get used to these steroid dreams.

The doctor prescribed me some sort of corticosteroid, which he says will make me gain weight. Awesome! He also said I'd get bursts of energy or depression; I love how precise doctors are. I couldn't care less if all my hair falls out. Just stop the goddamn itching. Take the arm if you have to. He assured me it would stop. I then asked if I could drink with the medication (I ask this about anything I'm prescribed). I said, "Can I have a glass or two of wine with the medication?" He smugly responded, "I'd never have more than one or two, anyway, but you should be all right."

Hey. Fuck you, doc. I didn't ask you to look down on me for drinking, you bastard old dried-up piece of shit. I have my own theory. I have finally broken my liver! I'm no longer able to process the toxins and poisons out of my blood, and, as a result, I'm itching little cocktail boils; the bourbon press, the gin, and the Scotch are all coming to the surface to haunt me! A genuine Dante hell personally designed just for me. I'd better put it to the test and start drinking hard.

Tallyho!!! (urbandictionary.com defines this British term as the equivalent of "charge!!!")

So I'm off to the Tallyho!, one of the few great dives in upscale Scottsdale, tucked in a small strip mall behind a Walgreens.

I pull up and see that the red "T" in Tallyho! has been knocked out. So at night, I imagine, it lights up as "allyho!" I'm sure this was done on purpose. Maybe I'll meet this "Ally" inside (hey, let a pig have his fantasy).

I walk into the place, and it's nice and dark. To the left is a huge, super-long, beautiful oval bar, and to the right are three cool, old, comfy high-back retro leather booths. Restrooms are stuffed in the back by the pool table. The walls are covered by faux wood and they have Old English coats of arms hanging over the booths, with ancient, low-light sconces and rotting chandeliers. I grab a seat at the backside of the bar, so I can see the front door and soak the place in. I notice over the front door there's a sign that says "occupancy 87." I feel it's more like 8.7, but hey, it's 5 p.m. on a Tuesday, so I don't expect much.

I'm immediately at home. There may be only eight (and change) of us up in the joint, but most everyone is hunkered over a shot and a beer or a short thick cocktail. Speaking of hard drinkers, my eyes almost deceive me as my dear friend Lace and her buddy Napes show up, totally unexpectedly. Last time I saw Lace was a year ago, and it was here at the Tallyho! If memory serves, they cut us off and kicked our drunk asses out, not easy to do in this place. Being in the presence of Lace is a spiritual event, and I'm excited and scared she is here; my liver is in my throat.

Napes takes the lead and jumps first: double Jäger with water back. Lace follows with a shot of Jameson, shot of 100-proof Rumpleminze, water back. Ah, my people. I go with a shot of Jameson and a martini and water back. Lace says I taught her about the "three drinks" — one for the mind, one for the body, and one for the soul. Because most places don't allow more than two drinks in front of a patron at any given time, the body is usually the water, the harder one for the mind, and whatever else is good for the soul.

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Laptop bags
Laptop bags

I'm driving to work. It's not my usual pound-as-much-coffee-as-you-can-while-not-hitting-anything-and-still-drunk-from-last-night commutes. It's a caffeine-free jaunt, filled with itching of uncontrollable proportions.

Laptop bags
Laptop bags

I'm driving to work. It's not my usual pound-as-much-coffee-as-you-can-while-not-hitting-anything-and-still-drunk-from-last-night commutes.Bath room lighting system for yours home given a well bathroom lighting and given a Lighting Sconces also

Laptop bags
Laptop bags

Bath room lighting system for yours home given a well bathroom lighting and given a Lighting Sconces also

 
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