Posts Tagged ‘pub’

Hops and Heat 2016

June 3, 2016

Do you like eating food that makes you sweat profusely and turn red? Do you like crying during your meal? Do you enjoy washing fuck your face spicy dishes down with freshly made IPA’s brewed by some of the most talented brewers in the world? If you answered “fuck yeah!” to any or all of those questions, then you are in luck. Hops and Heat 2016 is here and as a result your life is now complete.

Saturday June 11 at Churchill’s Pub and Grille is the third installment of Hops and Heat one of our three annual craft beer and craft food events. Chef AG Warfield and his staff of lunatics created this event after a day of binge drinking, chicken fighting and chili cooking. One of Chef Warfield’s flunkies made a chili with a shit ton of ghost peppers in it rendering it nearly inedible.

After a few too many pints by all, the young cook challenged Chef Warfield to eat a certain amount of his melt your flesh chili. Money was wagered and beers were poured. Chef Warfield crushed the chili in between sips from a fresh batch of Team Freeman Brewing’s latest IPA. The pain of the chili was excruciating to palate, but the deliciousness of the IPA made it briefly blissful. This bliss was immediately replaced with horrific pain. Chef Warfield won the money but might have lost the fight.

The next morning while still feeling the awful after effects of what he ate Chef Warfield was inspired. He wanted to bring that moment of bliss to you, the general drunken public. More than that bliss though he wished to inflict the blinding pain he felt on paying customers. Hence Hops and Heat was born. It’s the one day a year we can actually guarantee you will regret coming into the pub.

The beers will be some of the most hoppy IPA’s you have ever tasted, including a few the Churchill’s Pub and Grille staff was fortunate enough to help brew: Artifex “Sober in the Morning”, Mother Earth “Sinister Prime Minister” and Pizza Port Carlsbad “They Gon”. We will also be tapping in oldies but still very goodies like Russian River “Blind Pig” and “Pliny the Elder”.

Two of our full time favorites Societe “The Pupil” and Bear Republic “Churchill’s X” will also be on in addition to 35 of the best IPA’s you can get anywhere, ever all being poured alongside each other. From Bend, Oregon to Kalamazoo, Michigan we challenge breweries participating to produce their best IPAs and they gladly deliver. Several of the brewers will be in attendance on Saturday sharing pints and plates of spicy food.

The food is broken down in three categories: Bitten which is damn that’s hot, infected which is why am I doing this to myself? and the Undead which might kill you but if it does you will rise from the dead to roam the earth.

If you have ever eaten at Churchill’s then you know how tight our Chile Popper game is. Saturday a new height will be reached. How about a jalapeno stuffed with a ghost pepper stuffed with a Carolina Reaper, habanero cheese and bacon that’s then battered and deep fried? It’s the start of shark attack season so to help kick that off we will be serving mako shark seasoned with Caribbean Green spice topped with jalapeno slaw and habanero aioli on a ciabatta bun.

Then there’s The Devil’s Short Ribs. Beef short ribs prepared with Carolina Reapers and Ghost peppers with Tabasco mash and root vegetables topped with a chipotle chocolate sauce. The food isn’t just hot it is delicious. That is where we get you. You want to stop eating; you have to stop eating but you can’t because the flavor is just too good.

Hops and Heat 2016 is Saturday June 11 at Churchill’s Pub and Grille. Get ready for the best IPA’s paired with the tastiest, spiciest food you are going to find anywhere. You aren’t dealing with some over glorified line cooks here. We are professionals and take our heat very seriously. I look forward to watching you, the general drunken public burn and then ask for more. “Yes sir, here is that glass of milk you just offered to suck my dick for. That will be ten dollars.”

 

 

 

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Review Evolution

May 17, 2016

There is a four letter website out there that stands for everything that is wrong with social media. This website allows any asshole with a cell phone to spew hate filled reviews attacking people in the service industry because they are upset that there is no Amber Ale on tap. They seem to have no control over what slanderous rhetoric its users post. Anyone who has ever waited or bussed a table, tended bar, been a floor or general manager or worked the door as a security guard will tell you that 90% of what you read on this website is bullshit usually made up by a user under the influence of alcohol. I understand that speech is free in this country but personally attacking an employee of an establishment you patronize, while drunk and recently ejected, does not equate to freedom of speech in my mind.

I have so many negative reviews about me that it is impossible to count. I have been called both racist and sexist on this site. I have been accused of being a pathetic little man drunk with the power of running a restaurant on this site. I have been referred to as a shameless prick who inexcusably backs his staff on this site. One time some schmuck actually posted a picture of a dog taking a shit and had the nerve to compare me to the pile of dung on this site.

Mind you these nasty things have been written about me because I was just trying to do my job. When was the last time something that happened at your job got blasted out on the internet with the express purpose of making you look like a jackass? Think hard. For me it’s much easier to recall because it happens every several months. If you want to pull me aside and say these awful things to my face that’s fine. It most likely won’t end well but one way or another it will end. Don’t be a coward and run to your laptop or tablet and blatantly make shit up that threatens my livelihood. Once it goes up on this site it is there for the public to read and now not just one person thinks I am all these awful things but the entire world is encouraged to make the same rash judgement.

So, you say to me, “It’s just a silly little website. Nobody cares that much about what is written there. Readers are smart enough to decipher the legitimate reviews versus the bullshit ones.”  First of all, the people who use this site are not that smart. Trust me I deal with them on a daily basis. If they were in a spelling bee versus a stack of bricks I’m taking the bricks, big time. Second of all people do care. I have seen people cry after reading a nasty review that was written about them. I’ve met people in this industry who have lost their job because they got too many bad reviews most of which were bullshit. If people didn’t care what was written on this shitbag site then certain restaurants wouldn’t discount customers who write five star reviews about them.

I have been in or around the restaurant business for 20 plus years and have been in the craft beer industry the last ten and what I have found is that people in this industry care about what they do, a lot. This is a career not some summer job motherfucker and every day I go to work I try to be better than I was the day before. When things don’t go well I lose sleep or drink to excess usually both. When my teammates have a bad day I feel it, because I care about them too. We work long hours on our feet trying extremely hard to provide our patrons with stellar product and service.

To do all that and then have some punk ass permanently stoned college hipster or some Quaalude popping soccer mom who have never waited a table in their life tell the internet that I suck at my job is something I am no longer able to just sit here and take. In fact, a very good friend of mine and I are going to open a restaurant for all these expert reviewers of a business they have never been employed in and it’s going to be called “Go Fuck Yourself” (patent pending). That way when they don’t like how things go down in our house they can reference the sign on the front door.

Service industry people unite. They want to write about us then let’s write about them. There is a website called GULPU.com™ coming to you soon. It’s our site to talk about how awful they are. For now, get stress off your chest with us at https://www.facebook.com/GULPU/

That way the next time some redneck with dip spit dribbling down his chin tries to fight you because you wouldn’t serve his pregnant girlfriend alcohol the real story will be heard too. Oh yeah, I almost forgot “Fuck Yelp”.

Holiday Winter Storm

January 16, 2014

Every year a certain local restaurant has their annual holiday party, and every year they end up at the pub, and every year they treat our staff, our customers and the pub itself with zero respect. It is like feeding time at the raptor cage from the moment they stumble up until the moment they get thrown out. This restaurant shall remain nameless due to the fact that I have the utmost respect for seventy-five percent of their staff who are all important members of the craft beer community. It was that fact that made me hesitate even writing this but the level of douchebaggery the other twenty-five percent displayed this year was far too egregious for me to stay silent.

It’s 4 pm on a Monday afternoon. Our happy hour regulars are settling in to their stools discussing the day’s events over a nice frosty pint of ale. The door opens and in walks a guy with a hat representing the restaurant he works at. He walks to the far side of the bar and sits down. The bartender approaches him to offer him a beer. He mentions where he works and says that he is meeting a party in upwards of 50 people here to celebrate their holiday party.

I know what you are thinking, 50 people on a quiet Monday afternoon that will be a great boon for business, and you’re right. However, most people who are part of a party of 50 have enough brain power to call ahead days in advance and I would be happy with even an hour’s heads up. Then you think about this particular group and realize that they work at a restaurant, allegedly. Here’s an idea, pull your fancy diamond bedazzled smart phone out of your ass and apply it to your ear so whatever restaurant you plan on destroying has a chance to make sure the level of ass kicking is a manageable one.

If I’d known that a bunch of drunk restaurant employees were approaching my bar I would have had a dark corner prepared to herd them into so my regular customers wouldn’t have to be bothered with their idiocy. I would have gladly set up a cage on the far side of our patio where they could yell and punch each other in the balls all to their hearts’ desire. When you add in that these people have been at their work drinking free high in alcohol beers all afternoon you understand how potentially damaging this group could be. Who ends a holiday party at 4 in the afternoon on a Monday and releases their shit faced employees like a roving Jager-stinking fifty person zombie apocalypse upon the local community? That doesn’t sound like responsible serving to me.

The regulars were shocked by the sudden influx of younger people. They were intrigued for less than a minute and all motioned to close their tabs out immediately. I would have done the same as I wouldn’t want to get bumped by drunken 22 year olds who are fighting each other to get a drink faster. We went four deep at the bar which is fun but getting string ordered by people who work in the bar industry is frustrating and annoying.

Once the initial rush mellowed we were able to start letting this screaming band of bar amateurs know that they needed to chill the fuck out and start treating this place with a sense of respect. They would listen for a few minutes and then start freaking out uncontrollably again. Things really started going downhill when I found a bottle of spiced Jager sitting over by the pool table. First of all if you are going to sneak liquor into a bar make it some real shit not some water downed bitchafied version of Jager.

Second of all, now people are going to start getting kicked out. I found the first one lying on the ground in front of the pub. This was at about 630. I kicked him in his ribs and he shook to life. He claimed he was waiting on a ride. I told him to leave the property. When he argued I asked him if people were allowed to lie on the ground in front of his restaurant. He shook his head no and stumbled his way down towards Denny’s. An hour and a half later a girl showed up with a baby looking for him.

The second one was already on watch for puffing on her e-cigarette inside even after being warned twice not to do so. As she took a seat at the bar she saw a plate of food. After blurting out that while she didn’t know whose food it was she was going to eat it anyway, she  proceeded to eat it anyway. When I pulled her out she was in tears saying how embarrassed she was and rightly so. I asked her to leave and when she argued I asked her if at her restaurant they allowed customers to randomly eat off other customers’ plates. She looked at me and stuttered out a tear and snot soaked yes.

The third one was most likely the oldest member of the staff left and seemed to be in some sort of management role with the restaurant. When I had first discovered the Jager bottle he had assumed the responsibility of gaining control of the crowd and helping us make sure his people didn’t do anything else stupid. That plan was a bust due to the fact that he might have been one of the more intoxicated people there more so than most of the kids who were ten years younger than him.

He had mentioned something about getting everyone to move to the bowling alley since my staff and I made it clear that is was in everyone’s best interest that they move along. An hour later he said they were going to go bowling. When I looked around and saw that was not the case I referenced about how lucky the bowling alley staff would be to get to serve him and his staff. He then told me to “not be an asshole” and that was the end of his evening and any evenings he ever thought he would be welcome back because he is most certainly not welcome.

At the end of this month it will be our Holiday party and the entire staff including myself will be letting loose and having a hot God damn good time. There will be crying, vomiting and spousal abandonment.  Our debauchery will be behind closed doors where the only people getting offended will be ourselves. One word of advice to any bar or restaurant who is planning a holiday party sometime in the near to distant future and that is open bar at your place and make sure there is no way to get out so that any staff- wide insanity does nothing to bother the rest of humanity.

BUY MY BOOK LOVE LIFE BY CLICKING ON THE LOVE LIFE LINK UP AND TO THE RIGHT FROM HERE!

National Buy A Book Day

July 21, 2012

The recent release of LOVE LIFE, my second novel, was a stunning failure. The sales of this tale about main character Hunter Jack and his struggle to find love in his life were more than half what we were expecting. With the timing so close to National Buy A Book day this coming Sunday, the 22nd of July and the fevered anticipation for my next book after my award winning first novel, FIRST LIGHT, we thought for sure that copies of LOVE LIFE would fly off the shelves of Amazon.com faster than a pair of Hyena’s panties at a high school keg party.

As the author of this book I am personally disappointed by the lack of support for local literature. Depression struck me like a fist and sent me down a dark path that nearly led me to dangerous decisions. I stayed glued to my computer closely tracking the sales of my book. After hour three when we had still only sold two books I couldn’t take anymore.

I left GuerillaDeSwine Headquarters and found a dark pub to drown my sorrows with some Buffalo Trace and frosty pints. By my third round my spirits had worsened. What had triggered this is that the twenty-two year old smoking hot bartender was late in refilling my glasses because she was caught up reading some book called Twilight. I wondered what that was. It wasn’t long before I became enraged with jealousy. I left the pub abruptly on a mission to find out what this book that so engaged the kind of people I would want to read my book and stalk me was all about.

Back at GuerillaDeSwine Productions I used our state of the art computer full with internet and Microsoft Word 98 and was able to figure out that this book wasn’t just popular amongst hot female bartenders, but with women of all ages. Apparently it is the story of a transvestite teenage vampire who likes to wear makeup and glitter that has sex with his neighbor’s dog and turns the poor puppy into a werewolf who also likes to wear glitter and makeup. The whole time the transvestite seduces whatever hot teenager, boy or girl that it comes in contact with.

At first I was outraged that such a stupid and superficial concept would be so popular while my well-crafted story rich with drama, comedy and plot twists toiled in anonymity. I was faced with only two options. Quit writing and return to my old job as a ditch digger, or I could become a successful writer the only way that seemed possible, by totally selling out. Just as I finished my letter of resignation to my bosses at GuerillaDeSwine Productions I sobered up from my earlier binge at the bar and it dawned on me that giving up wasn’t going to solve anything. It had been my lifelong dream to be a successful writer who rocked jewelry and smacked strippers in the face with dollar bills. If I had to sell out in order to achieve a lifestyle the likes of such literary lore then so be it.

From this revelation my next writing project was born. It was going to be called The White Knuckle of Justice. It was the story (spoiler alert) of a teenage George Washington, who long before having presidential aspirations was called upon for a much more important job as a licensed zombie hunter. While other kids his age slept with their cousins and wasted their time with arithmetic, teenage George Washington was out slaying the undead with a wooden stake he personally carved out of an apple tree. Before long Mallory, the head of the high school cheerleading squad, falls for the studly future president and their love for each other forms a bond not even a zombie can break. That is, until a zombie breaks this bond by killing Mallory and turning her into the undead. In a tear jerking conclusion George is forced to decide what is more important, killing zombies, or trying to save his undead ex.

When I submitted this manuscript idea to the powers that be at GuerillaDeSwine Productions they locked me in a dungeon where they fed me nothing but Bud Light and peanut shells while forcing me to watch Howard Stern on his new television show so I could truly understand the meaning of selling out. I emerged from this darkness a re-born author: one not concerned with monetary rewards but with the commitment to returning our nation’s eyes to literature.

This Sunday, July 22nd will be the first step towards doing that. National Buy A Book Day is a chance for Americans everywhere to put down their remotes or computer mice and go to their local book store or pub and support the written word. Anyone in the Southern California area is encouraged to celebrate at the LOVE LIFE book signing/release party at Churchill’s Pub and Grille in San Marcos, CA. at 4pm this Sunday. There will be food for you, the general drunken public to consume, and if it all gets eaten never fear for it is happy hour all day which means there are food and drink specials.

If this book signing doesn’t go well I may try my hand at writing screenplays for reality television. It seems to me like as long as your show is about backwood rednecks or snaggle toothed gypsies you have a recipe for success. Unfortunately in order to be able to write reality television shows you need surgery to remove the creative part of your brain, so once you cross that line there is no coming back. That is not the desired outcome, but without the support of you, the general drunken public this Sunday, it could turn out to be my unfortunate reality. Save me from selling out my literary soul by drinking and eating with me at the LOVE LIFE book signing/release party. Bring books, breasts and babies for me to sign and I will gladly oblige.

P.S. BUY MY BOOK LOVE LIFE BY CLICKING THE LOVE LIFE LINK UP AND TO THE RIGHT

The Bad Bartender Chronicles III

May 12, 2012

With modern technology cell phones have come a long way. Devices that used to be dedicated to just phone conversations have evolved into mini computers that allow people to avoid human contact with other people for weeks at a time. These hi-tech phones also allow people to ignore each other in a blatant manner under the guise of being busy on one’s phone. This has especially become rampant in the bar business where it seems bartenders feel like they need to constantly have their cell phone within arm’s reach.

I understand there are special circumstances. People have kids and sick loved ones and gambling problems and in the event of an emergency may need to leave the bar to take a call. However, nowadays people normally want their phone around in case they think of something witty to post on twitter or want to leave a comment on facebook every time they think of a new way to pour a cactus cooler or because they are engrossed in a new app they just downloaded that tells them what kind of panties a girl is wearing as she walks by.

There is nothing more frustrating than walking into a bar with a strong thirst for a pint and upon sitting down seeing a bartender with his back to the bar. Upon further inspection, you see that he is standing in front of the register and briefly you forgive him for breaking this golden rule of bartending. After almost a minute it becomes evident that there is no transaction being processed through the register. You peer down the bar and see that there are five people waiting all with empty glasses. The music is loud but even over it you can hear the bartender give out a chuckle. You move down a few stools for a better view and see that the bartender is too busy on his phone texting to even know that you want a drink. If you ever witness this leave whatever establishment you are at immediately.

The internet in the palm of one’s hand can be very distracting. Some people feel as if armed with this power of information they are able to answer any question or issue thrown their way. Bars have long been a place of great debate. The key to winning most debates are facts and what used to be found in dictionaries, sports almanacs and classic issues of playboy can now be found in modern day cell phones.

Of course there is always the guy who believes his fancy phone can find any piece of information no matter how obscure or asinine the fact faster than anyone else, anywhere. He wears his phone on his hip ready for any software duel. As always there is a regular game for the challenge. They draw their phones and race to find out what 1980’s movie featured the Paul Simon song that just finished playing on the jukebox.  I watch from my side of the bar as the bartender leans both elbows on the bar top as he furiously types his way through countless pages of 1980’s movie trivia. Once my glass of whiskey goes without for five minutes or more my patience wears out and I leave, never return to such a place.

A cell phone’s original purpose, once again, was to be a mobile device people could have phone conversations on. Even that most simple function of a cell phone shouldn’t be used when one is working behind the bar. Only two results can come from this, either people are going to be rudely ignored or receive shitty and absent-minded service.

For example take the girl who will continue to serve people while chatting away on the phone. You’ve seen her before. She prances around the bar mis-pouring drinks because she is only half listening to orders while the other half of her half a brain is listening to whoever is on the other side of her cell phone. It’s even worse when after fucking up she apologizes, covers the mouthpiece of the phone and mouths the words “my boss” to you. For some reason she thinks this makes it okay. If this statement is actually true then it makes me wonder why the fuck am I spending money at a bar owned by someone dumb enough to condone such behavior in their business.

The other girl will just stare at you while she talks on her phone. It is apparent whatever conversation she is holding is far more important than getting me drunk, making herself and the bar money or most simply doing her fucking job. Whether she is laughing or feigning sadness to whoever is rambling in her ear, her lack of common sense is never lost on me. Then, when I try to engage her in a last ditch effort to get my drink on, she sticks a bony smoke stained finger with a hot pink painted nail in my face signaling for me to hold on. You are supposed to put phones on hold, not people. As soon as that finger finds its way somewhere near my face I fight the urge to snap it and simply just leave.

To all the bartenders out there who are going to read this and say, “Hey bro, what’s the big deal?” I say you are in a business where making a lot of money is directly related to the happiness of the people you are serving. Talking to your boss because he or she believes they are more important than their customers means the bar they own won’t be in business much longer. Texting your friend that you can’t wait to get off work so you can get drunk is not going to put money in your tip bucket. Twittering every five minutes to keep your four followers informed on exactly what you are doing at all times is only going to leave you with an empty bar. Most importantly, to all be warned that the next time I see a bartender using their cell phone behind the bar I am going to snatch it and stuff it in a very dark place. I encourage you, the general drunken public, to do the same.

 

 

Tony D., East Vista, CA. GULPU

April 28, 2012

A husband and wife walk into the bar. He is a fifty year old wearing a Hawaiian shirt half buttoned and she is homely and half his age. She is pushing a stroller with their child inside it. Most bars aren’t kid friendly, but since our establishment is both a restaurant and a pub we encourage families to be comfortable there. In fact a lot of our regulars bring in their sweet, well-mannered and well-behaved children all the time and not only do we as employees embrace them but other customers do as well.

This is why when this man strolled up with his kid and his darts no one really thought much of it. He approaches the bar. After waiting less than a minute he grows impatient and begins waving his cash in the air. I walk over to him.

“Jack and Coke. And whatever she wants,” he says.

He points over his shoulder at the woman he walked in with who is frantically trying to find a safer place than a crowded dart room in a busy pub for her to store her child. As she does she dodges darts until she finally finds a safe corner for her kid and her to sit. She begins to order, but does so in what sounded like German. She spoke as if she expected me to understand her. I stopped her finally and began to respond in English. She held up her finger and waved it in my face before turning and calling for the man in the Hawaiian shirt. He was playing darts so it took a minute to get his attention. She waved him over. He leaned on the bar, annoyed.

“I said a Jack and Coke.”

“Right, what is she having?” I asked pointing at his wife.

He nodded.

“Vodka Tonic. Make it the cheap stuff.”

I made their drinks and by the time I returned he was back to playing darts. I placed the drinks in front of the foreigner and told her it was nine dollars. She stared blankly at me. I motioned money with my fingers and she finally got it pulling out a twenty. I gave her some change which she pocketed.

Then the crying began. It started out quietly and brief, but slowly transformed into the sound of a constant scream. It was the kid. I scanned the bar and received annoyed looks from my happy hour regulars. The screaming stopped but continued to ring in my ears for several seconds longer. The guy returns with an empty glass.

“I don’t think there was any whiskey in that drink so make this one a double,” he says as he waves his money in my face.

I pull out a glass and a shot glass. I measure the drink to exactly two ounces and top it off with coke. He pays without tipping.

“Do you guys have any snacks? She’s hungry,” he says as he nods to his mail order bride.

I slide him a menu. He slides it back.

“No, no, I meant like peanuts or crackers or something.”

“No we do not, sir.”

“What kind of restaurant is this?”

He goes back to playing darts. I serve some other people when out of the corner of my eye I see him standing halfway in the doorway to the kitchen. I rush over and find him harassing the kitchen staff for soup crackers which unfortunately they give to him. I inform the man he is not to be bothering the kitchen and he walks away without acknowledging me.

I return to the bar and see that his wife is dousing the soup crackers in Tabasco sauce and shoving them down her throat. The screaming begins again shortly after that. The mother tries to console the child but to no avail. The father keeps playing darts not even looking over at her or the child. He returns to the bar and orders another double. I inform him that it would be appreciated if he could get the kid to stop screaming. He shrugs me off and returns to the dart board again without leaving a tip.

The screaming stops and everyone sitting at the bar and those sitting in the section of tables to the left of the dartboard release a collective sigh of relief to be free from the piercing sound of an angry child. He orders another double without tipping. Five minutes later the screaming starts right back up. The mother has since given up and stares blankly off into space while the father never acknowledges either one of them.

This happened every Friday for a month straight. It was to the point that customers were complaining about the noise. Both parents had been warned every week, but finally it became too much to bare. I was forced to walk out from behind the bar, pull the man to the side and inform him that his five year old child was 86ed from the establishment. He looked shocked. He glanced over at his screaming child briefly before turning back to me.

“If they wait out front can I stay?”

After fighting off the urge to call Child Protective Services I sent the whole fucked up family packing and thankfully have not seen them since.

GULPU.com Launch Update

April 7, 2012

As CEO of GuerillaDeSwine Productions the parent company of GULPU.com I would like to personally thank everyone out there for being so patient in regards to the release of the GULPU website. I am pleased to say that we have finally found a web designer crazy enough to work with us. He nailed the swimsuit competition and completed the aquatic obstacle course in record time. Now that he has signed the contract he is under my control. He will be working twenty three hour days with a shit, shower, sleep and smoke break all rolled into his one hour of down time. This may sound extreme but our scientists here have found that people work harder when they are miserable.

What this means to you, the general public, is that GULPU.com will be up in no time so start getting your reviews ready. I recommend you organize your reviews from worst to best. That way the really big douchebags will be exposed as putrid individuals immediately. For example, if you come across a skankified college student who thinks it’s okay for twenty-two year olds to dump ranch and ketchup into a pint glass just so a busboy has to clean it up definitely post her review immediately in an effort to save a future busboy from extra work when he happens upon this frosty bitch.

That’s what GULPU.com is all about. We are here to help you help your fellow man. By calling out a customer who clearly has no clue what it means to be a respectful and contributing member of society they may read it and say, “you know what I am a raging bitch.” Sometimes this will work and sometimes it won’t but if it stops one fucktard from whistling at a bartender think what a great contribution you have just made to society.

The more people who read or leave reviews on GULPU.com the stronger we as working folk will become. Banding together against the evil tyranny that makes up seventy percent of the consumer public will form a bond no frat boy’s self-entitled attitude will ever be able to break. In order to strengthen our GULPU community as soon as possible it would be wise to begin to spread the word about GULPU.com to your family, friends, fuckmates, co-workers, as well as any random employee of all restaurants, bars, taverns, pubs, retail stores, video stores, call centers, any customer support or really any job or industry that has the word customer in its title that you may come in contact with.

We here at GuerillaDeSwine Productions appreciate your support and would like to reward our most loyal customers. In an effort to do so we will be offering a prize for the first twenty people to leave reviews on GULPU.com once the website is up and fully functional. That’s right; the first twenty people to post their precious words on our site will receive a rare gift package!

This gift package includes a GULPU LAUNCH tee-shirt signed by Mr. GuerillaDeSwine himself. (The signature is optional). There will only be twenty of these release tee-shirts and they will be cooler than the GULPU.com tee-shirts we will have available for purchase to the general public. In addition to these one-time only specialty tee-shirts GULPU.com’s first twenty participants will receive an invitation to the GULPU Website Release Pool Party where the invitees will get to meet and swim with the lead singer of The Paragraphs, the band that insanely popular local magazine Happy Endings called, “The most kick-ass band in North County.” In addition to getting to meet a local celebrity there will be good beer, stiff cocktails, tasty BBQ and all the cornhole you can handle.

So start documenting all the evil shit the people you serve have ever done to you and be a part of the GULPU community. Alert as many other people as possible about our future existence so that the inaugural release becomes a successful one. Our success helps you and anyone who has ever ended a double by sucking vomit out of a sink with a shopvac. Be one of the first twenty GULPU reviewers and receive the prize package of a lifetime. Most importantly remember that the next time a scumbag squeezes your ass then stiffs you because you asked him to leave GULPU is here to help you fight back.

St. Patty’s Day 2012

March 16, 2012

St. Patrick’s Day is a celebration of Irish culture. To Americans that means let’s get wasted. Apparently in this country we believe getting shitfaced while being all decked out in green is a great way to celebrate Irish tradition. I am not saying that all Irish people are a bunch of drunks, but I believe that is what most Americans think. My theory is that Americans use Irish culture as an excuse to get wasted because we as a people are a bunch of drunks.

Amongst bar employees and regulars St. Patty’s Day is also known as Amateur Night. Everyone who never goes out drinking at a bar decides to come out that day. It is New Year’s Eve on crack and instead of people starting to get wasted at 8pm most people begin lining their livers with liquor around noon. It is Mardi Gras except the beads are replaced with funny green hats, shirts with dirty limericks and green skinny jeans. Guinness is consumed at an alarming rate and the shot of the day is the shillelagh which is normally dropped into a half pint of Guinness. The name of this is an Irish Car Bomb and it is yet another example of misguided Americans thinking that they are honoring the Irish.

The combination of amateurs chugging pints of Guinness topped with Jameson and Bailey’s means anything can happen. There will be vomit, and a lot of it. Beware and get ready to duck and cover the second you see a curdled shillelagh floating in the beard of a man who has just shot his fourth car bomb all the while that cottage pie he just scarfed down is quickly working its way to returning itself to this world. Our bar backs will be wearing rain slickers that day so any unwanted fluids flying at them will rinse off with a quick hosing.

When faced with a bar full of people who go out so little that they don’t understand the rules of the bar, as employees we have no rules. That means there is zero tolerance on everything. Since it is impossible to properly enforce a zero tolerance policy upon 500 drunken people I will be personally monitoring the crowd myself. I will be dressed as a leprechaun and in my hand I will hold a real shillelagh which is a wooden walking stick with a large knob at the top. My shillelagh will be encrusted in gold. If I observe anyone getting out of line I will be tapping them on the shoulder with my golden cane to inform them that they have to leave. That means anyone puking, fighting, calling me bro, string ordering, groping other guy’s girlfriends, pissing on the side of the porta potty,  and honestly anyone who rubs me or my staff the wrong way will be getting shoulder tapped by my golden shillelagh.

There is a repeated crime against humanity found on every St. Patty’s day. That is the ordering of a green beer. Beer isn’t green. It’s not supposed to be green. To make beer green you have to put green food coloring or some other liquid in there. There’s no better way to ruin a tasty beer other than sticking random green liquids into it. Not only is it nasty, it’s messy. Any bartender degraded and disrespected enough to be forced to do such a thing suffers both the public humiliation of such an asinine act, but will also be forced to scrub their hands, as well as other body parts depending on individual personal practices clean of the green for days to come.

My advice to bartenders all across the nation on this upcoming St. Patty’s Day is as follows: when that thirty-two year old man wearing a fake afro wig sprouting out from underneath a green top hat with his cheeks painted green, wearing hippie glasses, a green tee-shirt that says “Kiss me I’m Irish”, finished off with green skinny jeans and green converse, approaches your bar and orders a green beer slam a Heineken down, double charge him and as soon as he pays point him out to the leprechaun with the golden shillelagh and trust that swift bar justice will served.

Churchill’s Renaissance III Revisited

March 10, 2012

We survived Renaissance, barely, and once again Churchill’s Pub and Grille proved to have the best selection of craft beer and food served by the finest restaurant/bar staff in the world. That’s right, I said THE WORLD. Feel free to further expand our egos at the pub by showering us with over exaggerated compliments in regards to our exceptional skills. That being said I reiterate that some of us barely survived and that’s not even in regards to the staff. Sure we worked our asses off but you, the general drunken public, drank and ate your asses off and for that we love you.

The line to enter the pub allegedly started at 3:30 Saturday morning. We have since confirmed this to be true by consulting one of the many secret cameras we have hidden in and around the pub. By 6:30 it was already leaking out of our parking lot. When I walked up at ten it had grown to a thousand according to the crack head at the halfway house who repeatedly cursed at me to stay off his porch.

At 10:55 the staff shared one last moment of meditation followed up by a group hug. Then, the doors flung open and the madness began. People bum rushed the bar in a frenzied attempt at being the first to order Churchill’s Finest Hour. Waves and waves of customers slowly marched in and filled the entire bar, restaurant and patio. Ninety-Nine percent of the crowd was polite and patient as they realized that amongst the insanity the entire staff was doing everything in their power to keep people drunk, fat and happy. Those who were rude or impatient usually only got served once.

The vomit level was low much to the relief of our bar backs who were forced to bring their own puke buckets from home. The one glaring upheaval did unfortunately happen in the fire pit which was thankfully not on. Anyone who has ever caught a whiff of a flaming pool of vomit knows how horrible it can be and that it often leads to a ferocious cycle of group puking.

While most customers ordered efficiently so we could help them as quickly as possible there were those who decided that they were more important than all the other customers waiting for food and drink. That’s right string order boy, I am talking to you. At a quiet bar where it’s just you and your buddies making the bartender or server make multiple back to back trips for you is accepted, although still frowned upon. At a bar filled to max capacity with rabid beer aficionados foaming at the mouth to be served a drink this sort of behavior is unacceptable. If you can’t order all your drinks at once you are making others suffer. Even at my most busy and scatter brained I can handle up to eighty-one drinks in my mind at once, so please don ‘t be scared to try to overwhelm me. The quicker I move on from you the quicker I can help the cute girl in the corner, who if I keep serving in a speedy fashion may get drunk enough for you to get lucky.

Other than string orders the only other glaring ordering offense was found in those people not ready to be waited upon. As I pour beers I scan the bar and have a pecking order in mind of who I am going to serve first. It goes regulars first and then it switches to first come first serve. I generally plan out the next five people I am going to help even before I have approached any of them. If I ask you what you want and you look away to consult a friend or beer list then by the time you face the bar again all you will see is the back of my head. I will return, eventually, but that pecking order I just talked about, you’re now at the bottom.

The ultimate asshole award for the day goes to that idiot I personally had kicked out myself. While I doubt he lacks the ability to read I hope he gets a hold of this because I have a message for him.

“No, bro, I didn’t think you were drunk enough to be cut off, I just plain didn’t like you. Your constant groping and sexual harassment of every woman who walked up to bar coupled with your loud and obnoxious voice/laugh/personality/presence/face/existence was what did you in. Had I not been stuck behind the bar I would have grabbed that cell phone you were shit talking me on and shoved it so far up your ass your tongue would be text messaging every time you spoke.”

Despite these minor complaints Churchill’s Renaissance III, The Revenge of Ivan, proved to be the greatest day in the history of beer just as some brilliant writer predicted a week ago. What made it so great was the food, the beer and most importantly the people, both staff and clientele. For that I thank and applaud everyone involved in such a wonderful event. The next big pub event will be St. Patrick’s Day, which compared to the distinguished esteem of Churchill’s Renaissance will be a bro-infested slop fest filled with strewn jello shots and people’s wives being left for dead on bathroom floors. Can’t wait!

Churchill’s Renaissance

March 2, 2012

On the eve of the third Churchill’s Renaissance I encourage all to take a deep breath in preparation of what promises to be the greatest day in the history of beer in America. Believe me; I know what I’m talking about. I just finished reading a book that reported the history of beer in our fine country and besides the day when my beloved Yuengling expanded their operations down into Tampa I can’t recall a more important day in beer’s history. Our beer lineup is something sculpted from the bust of an ancient Roman warrior with many kills notched on his belt. The food will be irresistible and mouths will hungrily salivate so much people will have to spit before drinking their delicious beer so as not to water them down. There will be spittoons located in various places around the pub so please spit respectfully.

When I leave the pub tonight around 3:00 in the morning there will be overanxious campers setting up in the parking lot eager to gain the first spot in line. While I sleep this line will grow and grow and grow until it reaches down to Denny’s and back. People will be scarfing down breakfast burritos while they game plan the best way to get as many glasses of Churchill’s Finest Hour as possible. Others will work off a makeshift draft list secretly handed to them by a rogue employee and try to decide which ten tasters they should begin with. What they don’t know is that I am the rogue employee who handed them this list they are carefully studying and what they won’t realize until they make it through the pub’s doors is that it is a decoy. No, there will be no cask of Michelob Celebrate, there will be no nitro Bud Light Lime and unfortunately we just ran out of our last keg of 08 Labatt’s Blue.

Renaissance is a celebration of craft beer and food, but it is also a day where we get to celebrate the San Diego beer community. Churchill’s knows what you the general public wants and we strive to pour it down your throats. We plan to offer the best service available and know that our customers will treat us with respect and patience on such a special day. What that means is the following words will be banned from the pub that day: Bro. People using the forbidden word will be forced to drink warm PBR out of a dog bowl we plan on placing on the floor of the porta potty out front. We will allow one slip up per person but the moment your bro count exceeds one prepare for swift and harsh repercussions. We have made this rule not just for us, but for you as well since no one wants to see a forty year old man yelling bro and waving dollar bills in the air in an attempt to order a glass of white zinfandel.

The beers at Renaissance will be strong so be prepared to be drunk. The key will be to continually eat our phenomenal food throughout the day. There will be some over intoxicated people no matter how much food they consume. Please don’t judge them. This is a beer festival featuring many rare beers so to blame someone for indulging a little too much would be unfair. That is until they vomit. As soon as liquids stop entering their mouths and begin exiting them judgment is encouraged. Now this won’t happen often, but it will happen at least once. The key is to stay out of the line of fire. If you witness someone who is sweating, red in the face or shaking uncontrollably notify you nearest Churchill’s employee and we will escort this person out the door and down the street so they may vomit in a safe and isolated place. Failure to notify us may result in a lunch in your lap that wasn’t yours.

All and all Renaissance will be the most fun you’ve had since losing your virginity and I encourage all of you to join us at some point that day. While you may miss Younger or Finest hour there are 5o other incredible beers right behind them. To the dopes I passed the decoy menu off too do not expect an apology and prepare to be ridiculed when you attempt to order a taster of the bourbon barrel aged Stone Light Bro.


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