Not since freshman year has I have a normal (read: sober and sane) super bowl experience. The one time I thought I was having a casual evening watching the game at a friend's house it turned out my house was being broken into and set on fire.
For this year's cluster-fuck of a disappointing game, we took to the streets of New York and proceeded to continue to tradition of weird.
We had picked up one of LJ's friends at his bar for the start of the Super Bowl and walked to our next destination taking belts from a half-full Hendricks bottle.
About a quarter of the way down the block we noticed this bar. Game on TV. Drinks half-drunk at the bar. No customer or even a bartender.
"It's a Russian bar, man. Just walk away."
And we did.
We ended up downing far more whiskey than most humans can hold along with a several pounds of sliders and wings as we watched Kurt Warner disappoint Jesus one more time.
We headed to one more cocktail bar but not without stopping by with these fine officers for a snack.
I think they knew these photos would end up on the internet.