Being the brazen adventurer you all know and love, I embarked on a night out last night with my intrepid friend Greg. The night began on a streetcar named, not 'Desire', but 'Flooded' with icky snow and rivers of water in the aisle as it was snowing like nobody's business out. Heroically we braved the streetcar perils and arrived at the posh 'members only' Spoke Club on King Street with brave hearts, hungry minds and thick with thirst. The place was quite gorgeous really, speaks of being the home of the literary and business elite and is pretty nifty. I found it populated by rich people showing off hot arm candy, nice suits and just how wonderful they were by being members of such a nice swank 'members only' affair. And then there was us classy dudes, shown above, who were specially invited to get some free vodka down our parched hearts and burgeoning souls... Err, yeah. Hehehe, sure.
And so a free martini (Ketle One; shaken not stirred) which was damn good to be honest, followed by the official tasting and some history and learning from the lovely Ketle One lady (see below) who taught me that all vodkas ain't the same, that all vodkas ain't made from pertatoes, and coincidentally that Ketle One vodka is the bestest ever booze onza planet.
Admittedly it was really smooth, and not as harsh as the others. Hey, it is Dutch though. And this Dutch boy was sold at that. So, we tested (Kettle One, Grey Goose, and Absolut) and scented and swished vodkas and got a little buzzed and I wanted to smoke, but didn't smoke as I just bloody well quit smoking. Ahhh, memories!
This was pretty fun, then another martini. Being a wine and pints man, I didn't really know about Martinis. So the second one I tried dirty and it was the last time I do that. It was like drinking pickled pickle brine. UGH. Bammo though. Hit me good. Like a good night out with a dominatrix. Mean and dirty and GREAT. Oh, but I've said too much.
Anyways, having survived and having no offers by the many beautiful women wandering the beautiful Spoke establishment(they have specialized micro implants that sense wealth) we opted for the fine and filthy shores of lovely Kensington and a serious Foosball tournament of death at The Last Temptation, one of the great haunts of Toronto, if the right bartender is in playing the right music.
Epic battles. Monumental goals. Horrible own goals. Dexterity and wisdom and finely honed talent. Drama. War. And victory! Praise and adulation, wreaths and glory for the conquering hero. Carson vanquished and paying for the pitchers as a result.
Sweet night.
1 comment:
ha ! sounds like a good time :)
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