Jester, Harley, and I headed up to her family's house in Roanoke, Indiana. You may be saying to yourself, "Roanoke, Indiana? Where the hell is that?" To that, I say, stop interrupting me and don't even worry about it. Anyway, Jessie's family lives on several acres and has a plethora of pets: 3 dogs, 2 birds, at least 6 cats, and 2 goats.
If that gargoyle in the post below is the world's ugliest dog, then Mitzie,
one of the in-laws' dogs, is the most annoying dog in the world. As cruel fate would have it, Mitzie (shown here being forcefully restrained by Ari) hates me for no reason at all. From the moment I step into the house until the moment I leave, this damn dog is barking at me. Jessie and I slept on an inflatable mattress in the basement, and we actually had to shut off all access to the basement because otherwise Mitzie would bark at me while I was sleeping. In addition to its constant nature, her bark is high pitched and angry. If Fran Drescher barked, that's what it would sound like. Plus she's an ankle biter, and that's not stretching the truth in any way--the little fucker actually bit my ankle. It's hard to hate a dog, but I'm pretty sure I hate Mitzie.Anyway, Wednesday night several of us (Jester, Ari, Lizzie, their friend Liz, and I) went on a Huntington/Roanoke bar crawl. You may be saying to yourself, "Huntington, Indiana? Where the hell is that?" To that, I say that it's the county seat of Huntington County and the closest town over 3,000 inhabitants to Roanoke. Jessie told me to wear my argyle sweater for some reason. We started off in Huntington, or H-Town as it's known colloquially. The first place we went (the name is escaping me at the current time) was playing an extremely loud and odd assortment of music, ranging from country to hip hop to classic rock to '80s. Additionally, there was a haze of smoke there thicker than Mama Cass's thighs.
From there, we went to JD's, a much more low-key place where the ladies knew just about
everyone in the bar. Aside from a plethora of IU memorabilia on the walls, an excellent jukebox, games of chance, pleasant and friendly service, and reasonable prices, JDs had something to offer that I have never seen at a bar (or anywhere) before: a 5-foot-tall animatronic, Santa-suit-wearing bear with an attached microphone that allowed it to dance and move its mouth when someone sings along with the jukebox through the mic. Pure genius. Local funny man Brant (pictured) wowed the crowd with heart-rendering incantations followed by timeless gags.After JDs, it was off to Roanoke. First, we went to the Lock, a saucy little bar where patrons who are too drunk are given a glass boot filled with water. The highlight of our time there was when the bartendress almost had last call about an hour and a half early because some pranksters were throwing coasters at each other from across the bar.
From there, it was to Paragraph 96, affectionately known as the Paragraph. It is a glorified double-wide trailer named after a clause in a GM collective bargaining agreement that allowed people from GM's Janesville, Wisconsin plant to have seniority over those from all other GM plants when GM built its Ft. Wayne plant. Like at the other three bars, I was the only one wearing an argyle sweater. As shown by this picture, my disdain for Jessie was palpable. Luckily all was cured when Lizzie used her turbo connections with the bartender (who had previously told me that they were out of pizza) to get us a couple pizzas, which were surprisingly good. 
On another note, anyone with a union card can sign the ceiling, as you can see by Ari's signature from 2001 when she worked at GM and went against her UAW brethren and sistren by organizing the largest non-sanctioned strike in Big Three history. Her hard bargaining and questionable picket-line tactics earned her the nickname Ari "Wildcat" Pope. You should have seen the way people cowered in fear when she walked into the Paragraph.From there, we went home and I had to sleep with one eye open on account of Mitzie's quest to end me.
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