Shots For Charlie Murphy

Shots For Charlie Murphy

I don’t go out much. I put my body through so much misery from the ages of 18-22 that it can’t handle much more than a beer or two with my wings from time to time. However, yesterday one of my high school buddies just moved back home from Carolina and hit the group chat searching for some Wednesday moves. There’s a bar in town that has dollar beers and some dollar shots on Wednesdays until 9, and I thought fuck it why not?

The Nats were on, playoff hockey was starting, and they have some bomb ass cheese fries. I love cheese fries. We headed on over and soon I had two ice cold longnecks sitting in front of me. The taste was so refreshing that I went ahead and threw the first one down like water. I felt alive. I was catching up with my boys, drinking beer, and pounding some cheese fries. What a lovely Wednesday evening.

Soon we were reminiscing and before you know it, I was cornered and getting roasted. They kept telling me that I’m no fun anymore and that I don’t do the dumb shit I used to do. The old me used to have no fear. The old me had no problem doing something for the story. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I left the table and headed to the bar.

Okay yeah let’s do shots for the whole bar. The dollar ones. Haha yeah, tequila. Sweet thanks.

As I’ve told y’all before, I live in a somewhat rural area way outside of D.C., because I am not a city boy. Therefore, the bar scene is not your typical bar scene. There are some people I went to high school with, some older couples grabbing happy hour drinks, and then lots of sketchy random strangers that have formed a giant friend group as the bar regulars. The crowd on a dollar beer Wednesday is probably in the neighborhood of 50-75 people, and since it’s a large bar, it’s not a bad time. I turned around and looked this motley crew head on.


Everyone looked really confused. Who is this giant ass loud motherfucker trying to buy everyone shots on a fucking Wednesday? I hadn’t felt stares like this since I ripped ass in a lecture hall my freshman year. I paused. Then it clicked.


The bar erupted. That was a cause we could all get behind. What better way to unite the people than through comedy? Soon we had True Hollywood Stories playing up on the big screen. It was beautiful. It all came together. People started talking about their favorite skits from the Chappelle show and their favorite stand-up bits. I had somehow united an entire bar without dragging anyone down.

I triumphantly waltzed back to my table, but my friends were still calling me a dumbass. I didn’t care, I had just done some good work. Sometimes you have to step across the line. At least I wasn’t a habitual line stepper like Rick James.

“Things escalated to the point where, you know, my man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.”

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Just a big dude from Virginia who loves Dale Earnhardt, guns, and eating red meat.

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