This Week for Happy Hour

This Week for Happy Hour: Three Kings and Two Contests

2012-10-26T14:42:00.004-04:00

Happy Friday and Happy Halloween! Come get the Halloween weekend started promptly at Happy Hour today! Half-price food and drinks from 5-9pm, as usual, then the party goes all night upstairs.

But that's not all! (...nor is it ever, really.) Come in tonight for the first of two special costume contests. The first one is for the bartenders, and they're going all out. We thought it couldn't be done, but it is happening: three Elvis Presleys on one floor! And all of them slinging drinks, throwing up high kicks, and saying, "Thank ya very much," when tipped. Las Vegas, eat your heart out.

Somebody bring me a lei and I will look exactly like this.

Halloween starts today and goes all the way until Wednesday, when it officially culminates with the Rhino Bar Costume Contest, with a grand prize of $500!! With pint-sized red bull vodkas on sale for $5, that's basically red bull vodkas for life. Well, it is for most of you. For the rest, you know who you are, and frankly, you likely won't be in the running anyways. Either way, it's gonna be a party!

See you tonight! Dress to impress!
Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: Bullying, Criticism, and Sexual Intrigue

2012-10-05T15:13:00.000-04:00

It’s October, people! The craziest month of the year at Rhino Bar. We’ve got so much to look forward to: unadulterated weekends, football, Halloween, and so much more! But I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. Let’s not forget that every October begins with a fairly young annual event: Bullying Awareness Day. (Cue the sound of the disappointed trombone: wah-wah.)

Did you hear that story in the news about the overweight Wisconsin news anchor who was “bullied” by a viewer about her weight? The viewer said he didn’t want an overweight person as a TV role model. Her response, which went viral, basically said that she was offended by the viewer’s cruel bullying. She then reached out to other viewers who had been bullied because of their race, sexual preference, or other disability. Really?

First of all, there’s nothing inherently wrong with being a big fat fatty. Let’s not forget there have been some supremely husky, and loved, icons in our recent cultural history. Some of them even advertise it. Some even put it in their name:

Then you’ve got the fat, happy Buddha. Jesus had a six pack, but Buddha smiled.

For me, the bigger issue from the anchor woman story was that the term “bullying” has become twisted in our PC culture. The viewer wasn’t just being mean, he was making a criticism. Perhaps he was a jackass, fine. But a bully, he was not. He wasn’t saying, “Neener neener neener, fatty fatty fat fat.” He was expressing a social opinion about a choice that she had made.

You don't have to agree with the guy. But the bottom line is that being overweight is a choice, to some extent or another. Yeah, there are those people who never gain a pound, and those who fight their weight their whole lives. But it’s not the same as the color of your skin, the size of your boobies or willy, or whatever other condition your genes drop on your head. Some things you can change. Some things you can’t. And besides, some folks like big folks, chase the chubbies and all that.

All of this is of concern only because, as a society, we seem to have reached a place where criticism is nearly tantamount to bullying. People don’t like to be criticized – it makes them uncomfortable, and can feel a lot like bullying. But let’s remember that criticism – and responding to it – is an important part of understanding reality and growth.

I’m saying, shit, maybe they shouldn’t have the Presidential debates this month because they are just going to bully each other. Maybe 2+2 should = 5 sometimes, you know, to prevent bullying.

Jeezy Louizey. Two shots of Jameson plus two shots of Jack = four shots of whiskey (though you only pay for two at Half-Price Happy Hour!). And Obama and Romney should duke it out. I’d rather see them fist fight on stage than this:

Speaking of kissing, however, what is to be done about bully-flirting? What is bully-flirting, you say? Oh, you know. Remember in elementary school when little boys pull the hair of little girls they like? And then we grow up and it becomes that weird thing where girls respond to being semi-ignored or teased. You probably know what I’m talking about, but just in case, guys, try this:

If you really want a girl to like you and she texts you, “how are you?” you respond:

“Great babe how arp you”

Exactly like that. Misspell “are” and no punctuation at all. Like you don’t give a fuck. Didn’t even bother to check the text. I’m not entirely certain, but I’m pretty sure that is dead genius. The lesson is: it’s not bullying if it creates sexual intrigue. Ladies, that one is on you. Own it. And guys, seriously try it and get back to me on the results. My prediction: dead genius.

Speaking of dead, today is the one year anniversary of Apple King Steve Jobs’ death.

Marvelous.

We’ll celebrate all this, as usual, with half-price food and drinks at the white marble from 5-9pm. We will test the line between teasing and flirting, and see if there is any difference after sobriety has been bullied into submission.

See you there!

Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: Pour It Down Your Squash, Monkey!

2012-09-14T14:00:00.001-04:00

Happy Friday, you beautiful babies, you! Come down to Rhino for Half-Price Happy Hour, 5-9pm today, then the party continues all night upstairs. Today we’re celebrating the birthday of one Mr. Daniel James Cortese, who turns the beige age of 45 tomorrow. Happy birthday, you animal!

Remember me? Yeah, probably not.

Some of you will remember Dan Cortese from his years as an MTV video disc jockey and host of MTV Sports, from back when MTV used to play music. Some of you will remember him, as Wikipedia informs me, of his recurring role in Melrose Place (and y’all pricks can choke on some oblong produce). And some of you will remember him from his spectacular cameo as Elaine’s mimbo (male bimbo) boy toy, Tony. Hey dude, ja'better step off:

And then,

Anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their objects than love, Jerry.

Really, I want to thank Dan Cortese for reminding us about this inescapable fact of the human condition: morons are everywhere. We all agree on that, right? I mean, pro wrestling is the number one show on cable television. Okay? They're everywhere. They come in all shapes and sizes, all colors and creeds, ugly and beautiful alike. Problem is, when mediocrity has fortunate bone structure, or when it’s dapperly dressed, us humans get confused. We can’t see the mediocrity for what it is. And friends, that’s a problem.

Why do you think news anchors are all hot chicks now? Why do you think sports commentators wear suits? That silliness isn’t necessary. But our stupid monkey brains get confused. (I’m talking to the guys now; ladies for you, it’s the nesting – oh sweet Jesus, the handbags.) Your monkey brain doesn’t know she (or he, if Anderson Cooper is your thing) is on TV, 500 miles away, and so it sends your gullible frontal lobe these base lower-hominid subliminal signals: Pay attention to her. If you act interested, she might select you as a mate. Lord.

Or, there's that approach.

And Charles Barkley in those polyester three-pieces is just the best. Oh, and John Madden, in a $2,000 suit, cramming his swollen paw into the ass end of a Thanksgiving bird in order to precisely illustrate to the increasingly alarmed TV audience the three layers of a turducken. But we bring that shit on ourselves, people. Because our gut tells us that the guy in the Alpha clothes must know what the hell he’s talking about. And we watch like the mouth-breathing primates that we are. Hey, that’s what we are, at least partly. Nothing against Sir Charles or that giant heap of rotting chicken meat that is currently host to John Madden’s brain. I’m just saying.

So that’s the problem. Good looking and well dressed morons that trick us into paying them any attention. (Seriously, happy birthday Cortese.) Then, what’s the solution? How to resolve this biogenetic predisposition towards the debasement of our species at the hands of pretty dummies? Well, train for it, of course. Blood, sweat and tears. You gotta pump up your bullshit detector. And how do you make a muscle stronger? Challenge it. It’s like how baseball players get in a few cuts with a weighted bat before they approach the plate – that way, their bat speed is quicker when it’s go-time.

Well, in this case, our friend Mr. Booze is the weight, and your bullshit detector is the bat. If you can get yourself rip-roaring drunk, and still see clearly, still execute perfect crane kicks on the wooden pylon when circa-1998 Pamela Anderson runs by to save the guy pretending to drown but really he’s just crouching on a sandbar a foot beneath the surface, then you’ll have the real world in the palm of your hand, grasshopper.

Incidentally, I’d never suggest there’s anything wrong with being beautiful. Just recognize it for what it is, and what it isn’t. Try covering your eyes next time you suspect you might be talking to a bimbo/mimbo and see what happens. Our monkey brains are good for something.

See you at the white marble!

Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: Go in Head-First!

2012-08-24T15:03:00.000-04:00

Remember Pete Rose? Me too. Charlie Hustle. Most hits in baseball. A real stand-up guy unless he was rounding the bases.

He famously said, “Sliding headfirst is the safest way to get to the next base, I think, and the fastest. You don't lose your momentum, and there's one more important reason I slide headfirst, it gets my picture in the paper.”

On August 24th, 1989, twenty three years ago today, he was banned from baseball for gambling by Commissioner Giamatti, who, by the way, died one week later of a heart attack. That’s right, he literally died of a broken heart after he placed Pete Rose on the ineligible list. Pete was the manager of the Reds at the time, and even though there was no evidence to show that he bet against his own team, MLB rules explicitly prohibited gambling, particularly when in a position to influence the game.

My question is: what kind of rule is that? Obviously you don’t want to have players throwing games to win money. That’s what happened in the 1919 World Series when the Black Sox conspired with gamblers to lose. That’s what seems to have become of American boxing, at least with respect to the judges. And that’s no fun – money determining the outcome. Integrity of the sport and all.

But what’s wrong with betting on yourself? Why should that be prohibited? Isn’t that basically what we are all doing all the time, in most of our major decisions every day? When we consciously invest time and resources into developing ourselves through any number of mechanisms, from education to exercise to socializing, isn’t that choice to spend time and resources really just a bet – a bet that certain actions are better than their alternatives? I think it really boils down to a question of semantics, and that’s the point. We bet on/invest in ourselves all the time.

Intentionally causing failure from inside a network for financial gain is another animal altogether, however. Often, that’s called being a traitor and is despised. Sometimes, that’s called investment banking, and is rewarded with wealth and political office. Break it down like that, and I’m on Pete’s side.

Put Charley Hustle in the Hall of Fame, and, if moral character is your thing, focus a little less on sports and a little more on the guys who actually run the world and where they place their bets, yeah? Meanwhile, let’s not punish people for betting on themselves and sliding in face-first, as long as they’re not punching babies or something on the way to home base.

This week’s Friday Happy Hour is the 1^st Annual Pete Rose Memorial (not dead, but post-MLB) Rhino Friday Happy Hour. Half-price drinks and food, 5-9pm. Order a cocktail, add a splash of Rose’s Lime Juice, and drink it with a grin: you might know something most don’t.

See you there!

Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: The Wine and Spirits of the Olympics

2012-07-27T11:14:00.000-04:00

Kick off the 2012 Olympics at Rhino Happy Hour, 5-9pm today! Half-price food and drinks!

Okay, gotta get this off my chest first. A few weeks ago the dynamic and preeminent Joey Chestnut won the Nathan’s hot dog eating contest for the 6^th consecutive time, tying Kobayashi for the most consecutive wins.

Chestnut is the one on the left.

USA takes the gold for the men. Japan took gold for the women’s division (the infamous “Black Widow” stikes again). And that’s all fine and dandy. But here’s the thing. These people are talented, but, you ask me, they’re nothing but a bunch of Lance Armstrongs. Not testicular cancer survivors. I mean they’re cheaters. That’s right, I said it. Know why? Because after each competition they go backstage and orally unload into a half dozen 55-gallon trash cans. Yech. I’m not saying they’re not great competitors. What I’m saying, if that’s not unethical performance enhancement, I don’t know what is.

Imagine somebody claimed they could drink the most beer, and then after each beer they yacked it into the circular file cabinet. C’mon. Have you seen Beerfest? Did those pros keep their business down and grind it out like adults or what? Of course they did. They’re not children.

Not children.

So, if you ask me, the real champion of competitive eating is the guy who can keep it down, this man: Manuel Uribe.

Above, Manuel doing his morning pull ups in Monterrey, Mexico. He can do 100.

If Joey Chestnut wins the 100 meter dash, Manuel Uribe wins the marathon. The endurance competition. And he’s all natural, weighing in at over 1200 pounds. No performance enhancing trash cans, mind you.

Anyway, the point I’m scarcely getting to is this: what makes the Olympics so great is the values and ideals of the Olympic movement. Fair play and competition with integrity. Great stories about athletes with real lives who don’t whine about how many millions they will make for moving an air-filled ball from Point A to Point B. It’s too bad we’ll probably have to see the silly Queen of England (seriously, you Brits still actually have “royalty,” really?) and her stupid little dogs every day, but hey, I’ll take what I can get. I’m excited. Woo!

Heading into the opening ceremonies this afternoon, the Gold medal count looks like this:

USA: 1 (Chestnut, Men’s Sprint)

Japan: 1 (The Black Widow, Women’s Sprint)

Mexico: 1 (Uribe, Men’s Endurance)

Let’s have a great 2012 Olympic Games! Rhino will be showing as many events as the networks will allow, so come in and have a pint and soak it in. We’ll be open all afternoon on Saturday and Sunday too.

See you there!

Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: Apparently Lips are More than a Shot Glass Cushion

2012-07-06T14:57:00.000-04:00

Sometimes we kiss. Sometimes the mood strikes us and we touch the tips of our feeding tubes together, and if it’s a good one, we get tingles. Europeans do that double-tap kiss hello thing. So do Americans who recently traveled to Europe and think it’s just okay to still do. Puppies open-mouth kiss everyone, even minors, and it’s perfectly legal. Hey, sometimes we kiss.

But today, my friends, is not sometimes. Today, July 6^th, is International Kissing Day!! Let the kissing begin!

Come to Half-Price Happy Hour at Rhino, from 5-9pm today, and celebrate all kinds of kissing. Wet kisses, dry kisses, French kisses, single-lip kisses, Eskimo kisses (are we supposed to call those Inuit kisses now?), and even blown kisses. Just no butterfly kisses – with the eyelashes, that thing – because those little bitches are fraudulent and lame and they spread pink eye and gross. Let’s stay classy, Rhino kissers.


Facebook is for kids and old people. Follow Murphy on Twitter: @murphyabides

We’ll have “Rock and Roll All Night” by KISS playing on repeat for four hours while booze is cheap as sin. Everyone will make out like bandits. Figuratively. Meaning they will save a lot of money from all the cheap, cheap drinks. And if you want, make out like bandits literally, which I guess would be where you kiss your kissing partner with pantyhose over your heads. I don’t know, you’re the kissers. Kiss!

Kissing party continues upstairs from 9 until close, and resumes Saturday afternoon. Free shot for the longest kiss, the most passionate kiss, and the best Gene Simmons costume.

See you there!

Cheers!

Smoochies!

This Week for Happy Hour: The Rhino Maneuver

2012-06-01T14:59:00.002-04:00

Let’s get serious for a moment: everyone wants a maneuver named after them. Yet, so few achieve this goal. Literally, more people have a Nobel Prize than their own maneuver.

That’s why Henry Heimlich and his maneuver are so impressive. Today, June 1^st, is Heimlich Maneuver Day! I know, it’s very exciting. But try to stay calm and regulate your breathing or you’ll choke on your macaroni salad.

Rhino Bar is celebrating Heimlich Maneuver Day with half-priced drinks and food today 5-9pm for Happy Hour! Come on down, eat, drink, approach potential choking victims from the rear. And while you’re regaling at the white marble, here is your assignment: develop a Rhino Maneuver. Give your favorite bar something more valuable than a Nobel Prize. Its very own Maneuver!

Here are some inspirational ideas:

-Incorporate taking a shot into a series of awkward physical movements, during which you say, “Teach me how to Rhino, teach me teach me how to Rhino.”

-Pantomime a rhino horn with your hand and charge the abdomen of possible choking victims. Have a friend narrate the event, explaining that it is a territorial dispute.

-Perform a regular Heimlich Maneuver, but only to the beat of the music. If some 80’s monster ballad is on or if Peter Frampton is talk-boxing to the crowd, then too bad for the choking victim. The Rhino Maneuver is a fickle bitch.

-Pay with cash.

-Snort aggressively like a Rhino at anyone who orders a mojito or endorses illegal poaching.

-Do anything, after which you say with a stuffy British accent, “Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.”

Can’t wait to see what you brilliant, beautiful babies come up with!

See you there!

Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: Twitter Transmitter

2012-04-27T14:08:00.000-04:00

Thanks to everyone who sent in pictures for the “Choose Matt Murphy’s Twitter Icon” Contest. It was a big hit and a really fun, albeit horrifying, selection process.

This week for Happy Hour, Rhino is doing the usual half-price 5-9pm happy hour. But this week’s bhlog is dedicated to some of the best submissions that the contest received – and will reveal the winner of the contest and Murph’s new Twitter Icon!

But first, make sure to follow Matt Murphy on Twitter at: @murphyabides

You'll get informed on Rhino specials, and will be graced with the man's skewed and peculiar wit for free!

We've performed you a frickin' service (disservice?) and have removed all of the images with hardcore nudity and/or Rhino customers' faces, so breathe easy. And now, with no further ado, here’s the countdown to the winner:

10.

Nerds!

Fail?

Fight Club's bar sign?

Double middle finger salute from the world's most respectful nationality. Wonderful.

This explains a lot, but I'm guessing it's not the Dupont Circle stop.

Really? Even Jack the Bulldog looks put off.

I like that the onlooker is applauding.

I've heard there's a bladder inside boxed wine, but that's ridiculous.

Points for concision.

Winner: Hogan Knee, Brother!

The winning "Hogan Knee" image was submitted by none other than Powerful Doug Laux, who may redeem his as-promised free beer or cocktail anytime in the next fortnight. Look at the Hulk, look how casual his face is despite his dynamism. Amazing.

Thanks again to everyone who submitted a pic!

Don’t forget to follow Matt Murphy on Twitter at: @murphyabides And if you're already on Twitter, send Hulk Hogan a Tweet and let him know that he's being honored, Brother!

See you at the white marble!

Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: Back to the Brewski

2012-04-20T15:02:00.002-04:00

I know, I know. It’s April 20, 4/20, National Weed Smoker’s Day. But that commonplace commemoration is silly, and frankly, Rhino bar don’t sell no wacky tobacky. Clinking glasses to herb is like singing the Canadian National Anthem at a baseball game, and I won’t have it. Good day, sir.

So, this week all drinks are half price at Rhino happy hour, 5-9pm, to honor prodigious actor and super weirdo Crispin Hellion Glover, who turns 48 years old today.

Supercuts victim.

You probably remember Crispin best from his unforgettable performance as George McFly in Back to the Future. Gotta love when he finally grows a pair and stands up to Biff, that big dumb galoot:

After he knocks Biff on his Tanner and lays the heat down on Loraine he gets a little cock-strong and goes around town ordering chocolate milks left and right like he's the Mayor or something. Would have been funnier, I think, if he’d started drinking peach schnapps on the reg with ol’ Loraine in that sweet Buick, but hey, 1955 and all. Either way, Georgie did the right thing and got the lady, while Biff got covered in doodie.

Anyway, it got me thinking about how that movie came out in 1985 and was about going back in time 30 years, and how in only 3 years 1985 will be 30 years ago. Which didn’t seem all that long ago until I realized that this thing I’m writing on and this thing you’re reading on and the middleman that makes it possible hadn’t been invented yet. And now, all of a sudden, Crispin seems kind of old. His hair style aside.

Hell, he's 48, and BTF is 28. So let's show some appreciation, and raise a glass to time traveling at Rhino tonight. You’re downstairs, you do some shots, boom: it’s an hour later and you’re upstairs with a beer in your hand, talking to a stranger. You down your beer, boom: you wake up the next morning in the big green chair on the lawn of the Duke Ellington School and for some reason you’re wearing two different shoes.

Well, that’s time travel, my friends, and it don’t require no DeLorean. It’s for sale – half price, in fact.

See you at the White Marble!

Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: Driving While Batman

2012-03-30T14:34:00.000-04:00

When you stop, do you then prefer to a) collaborate and listen, or b) Hammer time?

I suppose there’s a time and a place for each. And each is a wholly viable option at Rhino Bar half-price happy hour, 5-9pm each and every Friday. Hey, it’s America, do what you want after stopping.

But today, March 30^th, the correct answer is b) Hammer time. That’s because MC Hammer, known to his mother as Stanley Kirk Burrell, turns 50(!) today.

He lost $30 million and his eyebrows.

Come down to Rhino today and enjoy cheap drinks, profoundly skillful bar tending, and resounding Happy Birthday cheers in honor of the Hammer.

Very strange, Hammer getting older. But his legacy lives on across suburbia.

Which brings me to an otherwise unrelated but hilarious bit of local news. Apparently Batman – yep, the superhero – was pulled over just miles from DC in Montgomery County, MD this week by the local 5-0. Didn't even run a stop sign. He was just minding his business. Check it:

Chalk it up to another case of driving while Batman. But the cops actually had a sense of humor about it, God love 'em. And the best part is that the caped crusader’s name is Lenny. Who knew?

See you at the white marble!

Cheers!

P.S. Stop:

This Week for Happy Hour: The Puppy Aphrodisiac

2012-03-23T15:02:00.001-04:00

March 23^rd is National Puppy Day! Half price drinks at Rhino for Happy Hour, 5-9pm to celebrate the majesty of cute puppies. Oh that's right - I'm not afraid to say when a puppy is adorable. Observe:

Adorable

Probably a little annoying, but adorable.

Guilty of something. But still just adorable.

Not sure everything is okay here, but adorable, regardless.

His seeds blow away and make dandelions. Adorable.

Adorable. Stud.

I’m sure you’ve heard stories and jokes about puppies being “chick magnets.” And I’m sure you’ve heard the adage that there’s a little truth in every joke.

Well let me tell you a secret: the joke about puppies and girls is solid gold truth.

For whatever reason, girls love puppies. They melt for the little fur balls. You know that “Awww,” sound girls make when they see an adorable little doggy-woggy. Some of you may have made that sound in the last 30 seconds.

But why does that happen? I think it’s some kind of psychological loophole in the female brain that shortcuts right to the maternal/reproductive instinct. And so somehow the presence of puppies subconsciously disarms girls’ sense of logic and skepticism when it comes to selecting a mate.

Consider this: everyone knows that dogs were bred from wolves. But the kicker is that the ancestors of most domesticated dogs were selected for breeding because of the likeness of their characteristics to babies or little kids. In that light, the Freudian puppy-sex subconscious loophole thing actually kind of makes sense.

Wrinkle-off, go! You win again, you always do.

So now we’ve established that puppies make girls horny. (You are a mysterious, intriguing species, female humans.) And Rhino is having a puppy-themed happy hour, where drinks are half price?! Oh lord. The booze will only lower their inhibitions. I can only imagine that the place will be filled with a bunch of puppy-crazed super horny girls trying not to slip on the stairs.

Today, 5-9pm. Party continues upstairs all night. Bring your cleats.

See you there!

Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: The Zen Shamrock Abides

2012-03-16T12:50:00.000-04:00

Oh, St. Paddy’s Day. Welcome back, old friend. Our favorite Irish high holy day of leprechaun worship and daytime drinking is upon us again.

First thing that comes to mind when you think St. Paddy’s Day – what is it? Beer and whiskey, there you go. You got it. There are some other great components of the special day and culture as well, of course. Smiley old guys with cloth hats and mustache-less beards, happy music, and silly dancing that inevitably involves, at some point, hopping on one leg (which gets pretty tough after a few pints, you’ll admit).

But nobody thinks, “Oh, I just love a nice plain baked potato,” or, “What would I do without my itchy wool sweater.” Those are the Irish elements we can all merrily forget. But their simple existence adds something to the equation, no doubt.

I have a theory that, in Ireland, drinking heavily has always been integral because, let’s face it, it’s no tropical paradise, the food’s a little underwhelming, and until very recently, somebody else’s army was always marching in and causing trouble. So where’d the attention of the hive mind turn? The bottle, of course, if only peripherally.

The one guy brought galoshes. What a professional.

Have a pint and calm down, lad. Everything's gonna be fine. And pretty soon, that baked potato and the stew are looking all right. Now we’re getting somewhere. And next thing you know, you’re dancing your fanny off to the fun-timey fiddle music with a surprisingly good-looking lassie. Presto change-o.

States-side, things are a little different. We have good food, central heat and AC, most of us. The music’s a good bit different too, and so is the dancing. But everybody’s still got their problems. We just do. The inevitability of human drama, somebody called it.

St. Paddy’s Day reminds us to exercise the Irish way from time to time: to admire the Guinness bubbles and abide your troubles. On St. Paddy’s, we to toast to what we love, enjoy the simple things, and put our problems in the trunk for the day. Have a pint and calm down, lad. Everything’s gonna be fine. Smile, cheers, bottoms up. It’s oddly Zen in its own way.

So come have a merry old time at Rhino this St. Paddy’s day weekend. Toast with some friends and raise a glass to the Irish. We’ve got no baked potatoes, though, sorry. But remember? Those things kind of suck. Guinness and Jameson, on the other hand, overfloweth.

See you there!
Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: Webster's Mid-Life (Height) Crisis

2012-03-09T15:12:00.000-05:00

Hey sunset drinkers!

Happy Happy-Hour again - it's Friday! This week for Happy Hour we are celebrating another marvelous D-list celebrity birthday. Somewhere, right now, a surprisingly attractive (and unsurprisingly trashy) girl with a birthday cake is bending down so that Emmanuel Lewis - that's right, the little guy who played Webster in the as-titled 1980's sitcom - can blow out his 40 birthday candles. The little guy is 40. Can you believe it?! He's just adorable.

Los Angeles is so, so weird.

What do you think he'll wish for? You have to believe that he's stopped wishing he was taller. That sort of wish only comes true when you put a quarter in the spooky genie's mouth at the bayside carnival, anyway. Just ask Tom Hanks. In reality, turning 40 probably has wee Emmanuel realizing that, pretty soon, he'll start shrinking. From 4'3". Something tells me he'll age gracefully.

So come down to Rhino for Happy Hour, 5-9pm. We'll sing happy birthday and make short-joke puns involving the terms "half" (priced) and "pint-sized" until they're funny, not funny, and then funny again. Party goes on all night upstairs too. The undergrads are all out of town this week for Spring Break, so there should be room at the bar, too. If you find you're in desperate need of a high five, I got your back.

See you there!
Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: Ryan's Ashes and Lenten Lentils

2012-02-24T12:38:00.000-05:00

Hey er’body! Wow, what a week – so much going on right now. Ryan’s leaving; Lent begins; Black History Month draws to a close. Let’s take this one step at a time, conspicuously trying to make each occasion a reason to raise a glass at the white marble. Shall we?

First, tonight is Ryan’s last happy hour (shift!) at the Rhino. (I’ll give you a moment… Wipe your tear. Yeah, your left cheek. It’s gonna be okay. You okay? Okay…) He’s off to be a super brave fire fighter and the department won’t let him bring his hose to the bar, for some reason. Something about only spraying down buildings that are actually on fire. So make sure to stop by tonight before 9pm to send him off proper. Did somebody suggest lighting Wild Turkey 101 on fire? If you do, you better bring your poncho, ’cause Ryan will soak the first row with his spray gun like it’s Gallagher’s fruit-smashing mallet circa 1993. You’ve been warned.

Moving on… This week is also the beginning of Lent, a time when many Catholics give up something they should probably give up anyway in order to commemorate Jesus’ 40 days of fasting and being tempted by Satan in the desert after his baptism and prior to his teachings, as it goes. I have a few comments on this ritual. First, will somebody please give up lentils for lent? Please? It’s just funny and I can’t do it myself; Satan tempts too strong with the lentils.

Second, while I kind of get the whole idea of prioritizing soul nourishment over physical nourishment, I tend to take issue with implied (and perhaps misapplied, with respect to spirituality) egocentrism in the subject-verb “I am,” as in “I am giving up lentils for lent.” What I mean is, for most major religions, the ego is identified as the problem in the first place, that which fosters self-importance and the separation of the self from the other. And reinforcing the concept of the “I” for 40 days is, I posit, missing the point.

Think about it this way: if you can self-observe, what are you observing? That is, there is an inherent divergence from that which we generally refer to as the “self” when we self-observe. When we self-observe, we orient ourselves as the observer, which is disconnected from the observed, which is somehow still us. More specifically, the ego tends to observe the consciousness or the consciousness tends to observe the ego. When you find yourself self-observing, you can usually tell which is in the driver’s seat pretty easily.

In the case of Lent, folks try to observe/check their ego through self-sacrifice, with the goal of spiritual growth, which is ultimately a great idea. But is there more efficient road from point A to point B? How else can we challenge the ego? Well, you know I’m gonna say it: alcohol. …and a new religion is born. Ha! Stay with me…

Okay, you know how booze can kind of thin the filter between the ego and the consciousness? I mean, where your personality would normally interrupt ego-driven impulse, the addition of booze can sort of weaken the defenses of the personality to the intervening ego. Ever have your butt pinched at a bar? That’s somebody’s ego that’s broken through and taken over, or in layman’s terms, an asshole. Or maybe it was just your boyfriend, or maybe it was for purposes of pure comedy, or whatever – but you know what I’m saying.

Anyway, if the point is to check the ego – to exercise the muscle that keeps the ego at bay – then the conscious introduction of alcohol to the mind is like weight training. It’s like how in baseball, the hitter puts a weight on his bat while he’s on deck and takes a few cuts so that once he’s at the plate, he’s got a quick stick. Same thing with the sweet, sweet booze. Drink a whole bunch and be mindful of yourself. If you can keep your ego in check while you’re blitzkrieg blasted on a bottle of bourbon, then the force is strong with you, my friend, and Satan’s temptations – booze, not among them – will be dealt with handily long after the 40 days of Lent have come and gone, and when you’re sober you’ll be like a goddam Jedi. At least, that’s my Lenten goal: to do drunken warfare with my ego. My beer is my light saber. Join me!

Wow, we went deep there for a bit. If you’re still with me, kudos. You will now be rewarded with Rhino’s booze-fueled (literally) commemoration of Black History Month: a wonderful informational video about abolitionist Frederick Douglass featuring Will Ferrell and Don Cheadle, as narrated by a really, really drunk girl. Enjoy!

Half-price Happy Hour 5-9pm, and the party continues upstairs all night. Saturday afternoon, stop by for some delicious drinks, good tunes, fun times, friends, and optional consciousness weight training.

See you all this weekend!

Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: Olive Me

2012-02-17T15:29:00.000-05:00

Since President's Day is always so shockingly uninspiring, I say this week we raise a glass to something else that's going on in the world, and which is oddly related.

You know how they say our democratic model - and by derivation, our presidential system - would not exist if not for the ancient Greeks' concept of democracy? Well today Greece burns. Their economy is imploding and their government is helpless. Stateside, even George Stephanopoulos has the flu, and I have a hunch that the real reason Fox News fired Judge Napolitano is because of the Greek thing.

What I'm saying is, invest in hemlock now. Go all in and ride the wave. Then pull your money out before the banks use derivative price suppression to force hemlock farms out of business, buy the farms, and then demand taxpayer bailouts to compensate their losses. That should be about 5pm. Use your smart-hemlock-investor winnings to come to Rhino for Happy Hour (5-9pm), where we will be selling all the Sambuca you can imbibe at half price! It's not a celebration, exactly, but it's something you don't want to miss. Like Aristotle's funeral. History in the making.

See you there!
Cheers!

P.S. Due to the imminent olive shortage, Rhino can no longer offer dirty martinis.

P.P.S. Rhino has no rule against tunics.

This Week for Happy Hour: Love Bombs

2012-02-09T19:01:00.000-05:00

Today is February 9^th. Valentine’s Day looms close above, casting its shadow like a B-52 (the massive WWII-era bomber, not the terrible 80s band which, somewhat ironically, wrote ‘Love Shack’). The question is, friends, what kind of bomb is the airborne leviathan going to drop this Valentine’s Day season? What’s coming out of the mechanized belly of institutionalized romance-ishness? Will it be a love bomb? I hope so. But I have my worries. If it’s not a love bomb, then what do you call it? What is that nasty little Trojan horse impostor? (My God, I just realized how gross it is that there is a condom company called ‘Trojan’ – that which tricked the recipient into the act of receiving by misrepresenting itself. Yikes! If I wore those silly things I would totally switch brands.)

Anyway, here’s the thing: it sucks that people need to schedule (merely once a year, mind you) time to be romantic with each other. And clog up all the restaurants on the same stinking night. And ugh with the grand romantic gestures, already. Let’s face it: whoever wrote the movie “Say Anything,” where John Cusack stands outside that girl’s bedroom window holding up the stereo that’s playing “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel – that guy wins. Okay? Somebody give him the Gold Medal for Best Grand Romantic Gesture Concept of All Time and let’s all just dispense with the cliché hokey pokey and get on with our non-fiction lives. Romantic or unromantic as they may be. Grand gestures are for movies and people who have to be convinced that they’re in love. And such gestures are usually – let’s be honest – silly. Oscar Wilde said it well: “Nothing spoils romance like a sense of humor in the woman.”

My point is, grand gestures only last a moment, or a day. Maybe the memory can be prolonged with a photograph or by loading up on your ginko biloba, but still, it’s fleeting. So what about the rest of the time? Which springs to mind this holiday: Valentine’s Day. Ay.

I’m not saying don’t bother with romance. It’s a good way to prod love in the direction of longevity. And it makes people feel good in a genuine and substantial way. And that’s good. Hey, if you’ve had it, you know that love is itself grand, when it’s not being a dog from hell. That dirty trick played on us by 60,000 years of human evolution to keep the species afloat. Don’t fight it. It’ll win. But don’t plan it either, or force your own institutions on it, or you’ll end up inevitably disappointed. Men don’t change. Women do. It sucks. Deal with it.

“Oh no,” you say. “What a bummer, man. However can I cope?”

Well you’ve come to the right place, my friend. At Rhino, we sell solutions(TM, 2010). This week for Happy Hour, Friday 5-9pm, and the rest of the weekend, come to Rhino for a Love Bomb. It has ten times the love of a trite grand gesture, and costs a mere fraction of the price.

“What’s a Love Bomb?” you ask. “Is that like when, instead of bombs that blow up, the plane drops Teddy Bears with ecstasy pills in their cute little paws, and warm lavender towels tied to red helium balloons that slowly descend into your cold, dry hands, and coupons for free back rubs?”

Well, the answer is, yes, that is a Love Bomb. And how cool would that have been to drop over Iraq about a decade ago? I bet that after the populace sobered up they’d have overthrown their government on their own.

But that’s not what I meant. I meant the Valentine’s Love Bomb, the drink, which is like a Jager Bomb, but instead of Jager, it’s tasty red vodka that you drop into Red Bull, and instead of high fives and fist bumps to follow, you hug your co-drinkers afterwards. Really hug it out. Sexual or non-sexual – totally up to you. Hey, even hug others nearby. Don’t be afraid to really spread that Love Bomb around. That shit is contagious. Remember the Mr. Deeds aftermath?

So come try out a Rhino Original Love Bomb this weekend. Take the edge off. Give a hug. And let love find you. There’s a long list of happy couples who found their mates at the Rhino Bar. I’m even on the list, if you can believe it. And I think a few of you are too. What a great story for the grandkids. “How’d you meet, Grandma and Grandpa?” “Love Bombs, children. Love Bombs.”

Come kiss the Rhino all week in celebration of Rhino Love.

See you there!
Cheers!

P.S. It’s my birthday on Monday! If you so desire, come see me tonight, during Happy Hour on Friday or on Saturday until 7pm and do a Love Bomb with me!

This Week for Happy Hour: Superb Owl Weekend

2012-02-02T19:05:00.000-05:00

With the Super Bowl at our doorstep, I encourage you to accept in advance that the siren spawn of our economy – crappy advertisements – will exert their dominance over us and that we will all helplessly smile in submission as we are swept downstream, that we will all be power chugging whatever those clever marketing shorts tell us to by this Sunday as we watch that gristly old whistle pig, Madonna, preside over the perversion of entertainment that has become the Super Bowl halftime show. We can only hope that, by then, our vision has blurred out the hi-def.

But my question is this: why not at least retain some semblance of hope for existentialist human individuality and freedom by choosing to pay only half-price for your inevitable ad-borne cross-bar acquisitions? The choice is yours, over pay or don’t. Go to some stuffy, cookie-cutter, corporate “bar” product inside an edifice which is itself an insult to your intelligence (I’m looking at you, ESPN Zone) – and, there, overpay for your swill – or, come to your friendly neighborhood Rhino Bar, the Spiderman of sports bar-like options, and pay only half-price on Friday for Happy Hour, 5-9pm. Get yourself warm and ready for SB XLVI, son. You gotta prepare for the big game, after all. Can’t just show up on Sunday evening and expect to excel. Nah, you have to start training now. Saddle up.

Need a little more inspiration? Ok, let’s stoke the rivalry a little bit.

Pats fan? You guys are supposed to win. But sometimes a little underdog-type fire in the belly is a good thing. Hmm. How about this senior yearbook picture of Bill Belichick?

He looks like the lovechild of Shrek, David Letterman, and an industrial grade push broom. This guy…this guy needs a win. Every day. This guy is like the supermodel who was a mess in high school, so she stays at the top of her game through sheer drive and determination. And sometimes hidden cameras. Go pats.

Giants fan? Y’all are already the underdogs, even though the last two times these teams met the G-men went home with the W. But don’t get cocky now. Have you heard that Peyton has been giving secrets to Tom Brady about Eli in an attempt to remain the Alpha brother a bit longer? Check out this leaked voicemail from Peyton to Tom:

Bottom line is this: big game this weekend. It’s gonna be tons of fun with delicious drinks, enticing sports drama, perhaps a chest bump or two, and so on and so forth. Make happy hour the beginning on Friday until 9 (did I mention the half-price thing?). Then, party upstairs on Friday night until you are blind and numb. Re-enter Earth’s atmosphere on Saturday afternoon with movies and revelry and sweet, sweet tunes all day. And finally make Rhino your spot for the Super Bowl. There’s no bad seat in the house, unlike in Indianapolis.

Following the game, there will be a marvelous after-party, honoring the victor with praise but not class. On Monday morning, plan to wake up for just long enough to call in sick, then pull the covers up over your head and smile, because you, my friend, have just experienced what it truly means to live. If only Kierkegaard could see us now.

See you there!

Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: Beer Fetishes

2012-01-20T15:31:00.001-05:00

Be at the Rhino B&P from 5-9 this evening for a special celebration of January 20^th, International Fetish Day! (Seriously, that’s a real holiday. Look it up.) All drinks and most food will be half-price, so if you have one of those beer or whiskey or Malibooty fetishes, now’s the time to satisfy your craving.

Do you know what a fetish is? I mean, can you define it? I kind of had an idea of what it means, having heard about different fetishes and deriving the meaning from context. Like when a girl falls asleep on a Greyhound bus from DC to NY and wakes up from her nap and the guy across the aisle wearing all corduroy is staring with his lazy eye at her flip-flop-clad feet, that would roughly be a foot fetish. But what does that really mean?

So I looked it up. A fetish is essentially something without which sexual gratification or expression is impossible or unachievable. So for that weirdo on the bus, he needs feet to be involved to be turned on. Which is cool, I guess, if folks are willing participants and all.

But it got me thinking about things that turn people on, and how that may or may not differ from a fetish. Alcohol, for instance, seems to somehow indirectly turn people on. Though it seems to be more a catalyst than the subject of desire. But that’s more or less what we’re talking about when we talk about fetishes: catalysts. With the foot example, for instance, a pair of severed, dead feet probably wouldn’t do the trick for the bus-riding peeping Tom. No, those feet need to be attached to somebody, who is really the subject. The fetish is the catalyst, right?

And that hypothetical pair of dead feet got me thinking even more, about how almost everyone needs life and social pairing for sexual gratification, and – stay with me here – even our personal, private parts are actually just objects of fetish on some level, not the subject of desire.

Think about it: all the parts that people want to kiss, lick, or put in their mouth for sexual gratification are the same parts that nobody wants to get near after they are dead. So, lips, vaginas, penises, assholes – these things are kissed, licked, and put into mouths all over the world every day by normal people. But then, for the meat-eaters of the world, lips, vaginas, penises, and anuses of, say, bulls or cows – those things are not fit for consumption, must stay far from our mouths, and generally become kibble that you feed your dog or cat. Eat the thigh or the rump, but keep that bull anus off my dinner plate. Or, fellatio is sexy. But a woman eating elk dick is Fear Factor, and there is almost nothing grosser in the world. Isn’t that weird? Such a strange oral dichotomy, if you ask me.

Not that you did. But there you go. Good luck unreading all that.

Anyway, my point is, nearly all of us have a fetish for life and a fetish for beer. When you get people like that together, fun and good things can happen. And that’s just one of the many wonderful things that Happy Hour is all about. Beer and life fetishes. Yup.

See you at the bar, you filthy animals.

Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: The Wrong Kind of Bars in Jail

2012-01-13T15:28:00.000-05:00

Happy Happy Hour day, everybody! This week Rhino Bar is celebrating the anniversary of the renowned Live at Folsom Prison performance by the legendary Johnny Cash. January 13th, 1968, Johnny Cash performed live in front of a crowd of federal inmates. That's right. The Black Eyed Peas just fell a couple rungs in the balls department, huh?

As usual, half-price food, drinks, and psychological liberation. Don't thank me, thank Johnny.

And what better place to celebrate this occasion that at a bar, anyway, since prison requires a crime, conviction and travel, which tends to take more than an afternoon. Rhino, on the other hand, is just around the corner. And we’ve got the right kind of bars: bars that let you in, not keep you in. And our booze wasn’t brewed up by some big scary skinhead using old fruit and toilet water in a trash bag.

I know what you’re thinking and the answer is, no, Stiles is not a skinhead, he’s just big and scary and regularly bald, and he doesn’t make hooch under the bar in our trash cans.

Though that would be spectacular, I think doing so might ultimately land him in prison. Ironically, he would still be behind bars. But since Johnny has passed on, there’s not even any good live performances in there. What a gyp.

Know what’s not a gyp? Half price drinks and food. (Full circle, uhuh. Like how I brought it back around? Mhmm.) Kick off the weekend right – starts at 5pm.

See you there!

Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: The Festival of Enormous Changes at the Last Minute

2011-12-30T15:25:00.000-05:00

It’s the last Rhino Bar Happy Hour of 2011 – your last chance to get cheap tasties and a good buzz on before the Saturday clock strikes twelve and we officially enter the last year on the Mayan calendar! Oh, the endless reasons to imbibe.

So whatever you’ve got planned for 2012, put those designs on hold and get your hiney in a bar stool and drink in the moment while it lasts. The enormity of next year can wait. It’s still 2011, for liver’s sake.

There are no resolutions today, only alcohol solutions. And the New Year’s Eve rookies of tomorrow night won’t be there to bother us. They’ll be home doing stretches and carbo-loading and listening to self-esteem tapes narrated by Stuart Smalley in the hope that they can survive another “night out.” Blech.

Which makes this happy hour among the best of the year. Come celebrate pre-New Year’s at the Rhino Bar today, 5-9. Half-priced drinks and food, and a stark absence of enormous changes begotten by temporal insignificance.

Cheers!

P.S. New Year’s Day will continue in this vein. The bar will be rockin’ from noon until close, with a $20 open bar from 8-10pm and a complimentary champagne toast at midnight. Get your drink on early so you don’t get stuck in bar traffic come the ball drop. See you there!

This Week for Happy Hour: The Legend Continues

2011-12-09T14:31:00.000-05:00

Half-price drinks at Rhino this Friday, 5-9, in honor of David Carradine’s birthday!

Sign language for "grasshopper."

David Carradine’s birthday was yesterday, December 8^th. Sadly, the revered star of the 1970s TV series “Kung Fu” and the 1990s follow-up series “Kung Fu: The Legend Continues” died three years ago in Bangkok, Thailand when a foray into the pleasures of the flesh via autoerotic asphyxiation went terribly awry and he choked to death in his hotel room. Presumably, his ladyboy prostitute accompaniment absconded with the previously agreed-upon fee, a lifetime of haunted dreams, and a story to share with the other Bankok cross-dressing prostis that, by now, has no doubt achieved legendary status.

Dudes. And yeah, they have their own beauty contest.

But that’s neither here nor there, the terms of Carradine’s death. Because, though the man has passed on, the legend continues. As a wise old cowboy once said, “I guess that’s the way the whole durned human comedy keeps perpetuatin’ itself, down through the generations, westward the wagons, across the sands of time,” until sooner or later you find yourself a little further down the trail, sippin’ sasparilla and reflecting on those stories and memories that make this whole experience so interesting.

So Rhino Bar is celebrating Carradine’s birthday, Kung Fu, and legends in general – all that crap – at happy hour today. Half-price drinks and food as usual, then the party continues all night upstairs. It’s gonna be legendary!

The irony, of course, is not lost on me, the focus on legends and memories in a venue that exists in no small part to hinder the memory functions of the brain. But don’t be a smart ass. Just live it up, bitches, and don’t be afraid to explore the pleasures of the flesh via autoerotic intoxication. And don’t worry. Even if your memory doesn’t hold up, your legend will live on, gossipy ladyboys willing.

See you there!

Cheers!

P.S. Shout to Rosemary Clooney, who died under much less interesting circumstances but could make a living room curtain into a stylish evening gown with her eyes closed.

George Clooney's Aunt, seriously.

This Week for Happy Hour: Friendsgiving

2011-11-18T15:39:00.000-05:00

Happy Friendsgiving!

What's Friendsgiving? Well, it's the chance to get together with the people you choose to be around for a celebration of thanks, of course.

You may have noticed that Thanksgiving can be a little uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable like the back seat of a Volkswagen, but, you know, awkward and a little less than pleasant. Like when Aunt Janet asks Uncle Herb if he likes the turkey, and Uncle Herb says it's a little dry, and Aunt Janet suggests that next Thanksgiving Uncle Herb get his turkey from the Saigon whore he visited during the Vietnam War.

Next thing you know, you're getting drunk for patience and cerebral liberation, instead of for fun and spiritual enlightenment. And that just blows.

So there's Friendsgiving, a Thanksgiving supplement, every year during the weekend before Thanksgiving. And we're popping it off during Happy Hour, half-price drinks and all. Party starts at 5pm!

See you there.
Cheers!

This Week for Happy Hour: Mo-vember Rain

2011-11-04T13:57:00.001-04:00

It’s that time of year again! Mo-vember time. Viva la mustache, join the mustache revolucion!

At this point, Movember has been around a while, and most know somebody who started wearing their first borderline ironic facial hair during the last few autumnal seasons. But for those of you who aren’t in the know, here’s a quick recap.

Movember is a time (highly temporally correlated with the month of November) during which people (mostly men) grow mustaches to either a) boast thick, hyperactive lip follicles to ladies who will listen, or b) bring attention to a cause, men’s health or other. It’s kind of analogous to walking laps around a track to bring attention to/fundraise for anything other than childhood obesity. Except with the mustache, you also add a touch of flare.

Ideally, as a mustache grower, you fall into a third category, the one that bridges those two aforementioned. That would be where you get to enjoy the physical mustache in addition to raising money for a worthy cause. [Seamless transition to Rhino’s Mo-vember Fundraising Event, otherwise known as NAMBLA. We are raising money for Children’s National Medical Center, which provides medical services children who don’t have healthcare. If you have extra a few extra bucks and a beating human heart, you can give at this link]:

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/nick-bernel/m4kdc

So that’s why some folks say that Movember isn’t an ironic joke, any more than the “Save the Ta Ta’s” thing is a joke. But I don’t understand why humor and healing sick kids, or boobies, or whatever, can’t all coexist. You know? Go ahead, do some good while you furry up your mouth-nostril connection, but also realize that you might cause people to laugh when they see your face.

Which I like. Partly because it is shavable. And partly because I like the idea of keeping something that’s tongue-in-cheek right there next to my tongue and my cheek. And partly because it makes me look like I have a sordid sexual history. And partly because it makes you really appreciate the kind of guy who can rock the balls off the mustache look – really make it work for him. (I’m looking at you, Wilford Brimley, postmaster general.)

So with no further ado (yet another seamless transition), I present to you: Rhino Bar Happy Hour Top Ten Mustaches of All Time Ever in History:

10.

Teddy Roosevelt

Biker from the Village People

Sam Elliott - his mustache smells like Sioux City Sasparilla

Pancho Villa - Viva la mustache!

Ned Flanders' mustachaleedoodalee

Mark Twain - master tongue-in-cheeker

Oates from Hall and Oates - or is that Simo?

Tom Selleck - his mustache's name was Magnum

Rollie Fingers - what a curve ball

Wilford Brimley, the one and only.

Come celebrate the beginning of Movember at Rhino! Half price Happy Hour today, 5-9pm. Then American Football (I’m looking at you, Bill Cower) on Saturday and Sunday afternoons.

See you there!

This Week for Happy Hour: Halloween in America

2011-10-27T16:52:00.001-04:00

Before I get started with my Halloween Happy Hour rantings, I'd like to share this quick Top Ten list with you. Please enjoy:

Top Ten Halloween Things That Sound Dirty but Aren't
10.	She's a goblin.
9.	I'd like to get a little something in the sack.
8.	Let me see your bag... Oh! your having a great night.
7.	Just get on your knees and bob your head.
6.	She's got a nice couple of pumpkins on her porch.
5.	If you just lick it, it will last longer.
4.	Show me your Jujubes and I'll show you my Zag Nuts.
3.	Have your mom check it before you put it in your mouth.
2.	You scared me stiff.
And the number one Halloween thing that sounds dirty but isn't is...
1.	He's got candy spread out on the floor.

In 1984, Reagan’s Presidential campaign slogan was everywhere: “It’s morning in America.”

It’s amazing that slogan ever worked, really. And there is no way that slogan would work today – and not just because morning, for most, is associated more closely with a tired, grumpy rush out the door to go work for 10 hours at an unbeloved job. I’m saying, a new day is not inherently a good day. “It’s Happy Hour in America,” is something more people could get behind, I think.

I could be wrong on that, but few would argue that things haven’t gotten a little scary lately: the global economy is at the precipice, the political system is inarguably corrupt, the banks and the populace-at-large appear to be squaring off for a pretty, pretty, pretty major conflict. Does that sound like morning to you?

No way. That sounds a lot more like Halloween. And what timing. You know, because Halloween. It’s upon us. Booga, booga!

If Halloween has ever really NEEDED to be celebrated, the time is now. We need to be spooked, and then we need to laugh and enjoy ourselves, if for no other reason than to remind ourselves that life can be a blasty, even when things get a little thick.

So take the weekend off, dress up like something silly or terrifying (or, ideally, both) and have your fill of drinks at the Rhino. Beer goes in, fear goes out. Or at least that’s what my Grandpa used to say. And the price is right, with half priced Happy Hour on Friday, 5-9. For sure, the best Halloween Happy Hour deal in the city. And the party goes on all night upstairs afterwards.

Not only that, but Nick and Matt are kicking off “Halloween in America” proper, tonight, upstairs. Come see Nick in his red, white, and blue America onesie suit (amazing and tantalizing), and Matt in his American Grey Squirrel costume (see him satisfy his long-time desire to have a mood-indicating tail).

As if that weren’t enough, Saturday should be tons of fun too. Ohio State game isn’t until the evening, so bring yourself and your costume for afternoon pre-gaming and a costume contest with lots of prizes, including a $1000 gift certificate to Rhino Bar. I’m begging somebody who reads this to go all out and win that sucker, mainly so we can do chuggers with bottle upon bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, which is only $15 per shot. Just remember to wear a costume that will inconspicuously conceal your scroner.

See you there!

Cheers!

-Finnegan

Halloween Tip: Don't puke in children's toilets.

This Week for Happy Hour: Smashing Pumpkin Cheesecakes

2011-10-20T17:44:00.000-04:00

October 21^st is National Pumpkin Cheesecake Day, and Rhino is having a half-price Happy Hour to boycott the insidious foodstuff, Friday 5-9pm.

There will be no pumpkin cheesecake allowed on the premises, keep in mind. Let me explain…

I understand what the powers that be are trying to do here – promote a seasonal vegetable by piggybacking it atop the desert flagship, cheesecake. If you’re in the pumpkin selling business, it’s not an all together terrible idea. But here’s the thing: what they’ve really done is taken two independently delicious treats (pumpkin pie and cheesecake) and combined them to make a less-delicious holiday treat. In the end, it amounts to counterproductivity for the sake of the holidays, and I don’t care for it one bit.

Do you see what I’m saying? Some butt nugget corporate ad exec somewhere got hired by the U.S. association for pumpkin farmers, and thought: people love cheesecake, so let’s put some October pumpkin in it, and we’ll sell a bunch of Halloween Cheesecakes.

Two things: first, you already had pumpkin pie. It’s better and has more pumpkins in it, so you’ve taken a step back already. Second, of course everybody loves cheesecake. That’s obvious and not creative advertising. In fact, I propose a new project for this Happy Hour: to find somebody who doesn’t like cheesecake, and then kick the shit out of them for making the ad exec seem even possibly competent.

Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll stop a passerby outside of the door and I’ll say, “Hey, buddy, do you know anybody who doesn’t like cheesecake?” And he’ll say, “Whuh- no!” And then I’ll backhand him. Pretty hard, the way you have to when you’re trying to get information out of somebody. And then you’ll put your finger close to his face and say, “Don’t lie to us, you bastard.” He’ll be terrified. And then we’ll tie him to a chair and feed him peach schnapps (can water boarding be done with peach schnapps?) until he spills the beans, and we can continue on our witch hunt for somebody who doesn’t like cheesecake.

We’ll probably end up with some misinformation from our peach schnapps torture techniques, and some poor guy who actually does like cheesecake will get his ass whooped, but hey, don’t blame me. Blame pumpkin cheesecake. That mess is a cheap shot. Makes me want a half-price cocktail not involving pumpkin-cheesecake vodka.

See you Friday for half-price Happy Hour at the Rhino!

P.S. For the Rhino lovers who fear the big Rhino crowd during football season, keep in mind that Saturday and Sunday afternoons should be a little calmer than normal, with both Ohio State and the Eagles on bye weeks. Show up and you too can enjoy the luxury of a bar stool while you power through your pint glass of Halloweenie-tini, or just beer.

P.P.S. We'll also have some special guests at Happy Hour on Friday: Kristin, who's been West-coasted for some time now and hasn't set foot in Rhino for far too long; and Kavitha, who may actually be coming through due to Georgetown Homecoming, but I'm going to choose to believe that last week's blog shamed her into a triumphant return to the white marble.

Cheers!