Booze

Nallen’s Irish Pub

It's horrifying to admit, but the signs are all there: We are growing up. On my birthday, I'd denied the usual urge to overindulge in food and booze simply because it didn't fit with my diet. JP just put down "earnest money" on a house, meaning that he earnestly wants to go into debt from which he'll never recover. He's also embroiled in a major relationship with a young woman we've never met -- and he assures us this is no coincidence.

Still, we recognize the need to keep ourselves young by occasionally going out and assaulting our livers and the sensibilities of other Denveradoans -- and so headed for Nallen's Irish Pub (1429 Market Street) on St. Patrick's Day. This evening got off to a rousing start with a belated birthday cake featuring a very nice set of boobs, which instantly earned us a lot of friends in the bar. Even the gay potential candidate for the Institute of Drinking Studies couldn't keep his hands off them. And the cake went perfectly with Guinness; it was so good that JP even ended his two-hour-long hunger strike. Unfortunately, after I blew out the candles, our corner was covered in a smoke screen so dense that waitresses did not come by for almost twenty minutes.

Nallen's is a great Irish pub on any given day, but on St. Paddy's, it's like the annual hajj for us drunken Irishmen. Unfortunately, it also attracts quite a few amateurs who made the mistake of requesting green beer. As any real beer drinker or Irishperson can tell you, green beer is only for amateurs and cleaning the grease off your engine block. In a bar as small as Nallen's, real estate is too valuable to waste on someone who doesn't know what the hell he is doing.

And there were lots of authentic drinkers packing the place. Luckily, the bar takes up about half the space, so with only a few high elbows we could quickly reload our Guinness orders, taking them to the small table and our dozen-plus old and new friends who were discussing how the Oriental Representative's bosom seems to be rounding out nicely to resemble the birthday-cake boobs. We swore that she must be taking some sort of herbal supplement. For a brief moment we considered that she might be supplementing in a more active way, but then the gay candidate debunked this theory scientifically. Watching this, we wondered if it's not worth dressing a little more metrosexually until our orientation is just fuzzy enough that we can fondle passersby with impunity. He's certainly onto something, because a review of the game films showed that he also felt up one of our co-workers, whom we'll call "Jaci" to disguise her real name, Jaci.

As is often the case on these nights, things besides breasts got out of hand, and not only did the Redneck Liaison sexually harass JP's bosom, but I'm pretty sure that JP and Dr. Etiquette earned green beads the hard way. After six hours, though, the fun came crashing down when I caught a near-terminal case of hiccups so intense that they almost knocked me off my feet with each seizure. (By the way, drinking beer strained through a napkin does not cure hiccups.) Despite this sad end to the debauchery, the Institute grants Most Favored Bar Status to Nallen's. Next St. Patrick's Day, on your birthday, or really on any day when you want to get back to basics with good drinks and a collegial crowd, head to Nallen's. And if you don't have any friends, bringing a boob cake will get you some fast.

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Patrick Osborn