Part IV

Rossman's Travelogue (June 11, 2003)

Finally! We had a full day in Boston! For some reason I was so looking forward to this town. Not that it let me down or anything, it's just that my lust for Boston was kind of inexplicable. Could it have been because of my love affair with TV's greatest sitcom of all time and its heart-of-Boston location? Could it be because of the incredibly sucky Red Socks and their total non-threat to the Braves in their yearly championship run? Could it be because of the great way that Bostonians pronounce "clam chowder"? Who the fuck knows. All I know right now as I get drunk in this bar (our 8th bar today! Huzzah!) is that I had a super day.

It all started as we got some coffee and donuts at some place right across the street from some big college. I just had milk, but the ladies said the coffee was delish. The donuts were good, but the conversation at the next table over was the best! Only by all of us working together could we get through those guys' terribly thick accents to figure out that they were talking about some girl that one of them banged the night before, and how she kept getting distracted by the TV, then her cell phone (apparently she made a call, then received like 2 or 3). The dude wasn't that mad, so I'm assuming that he finished his business with her all right, so all is right with the world. As we were walking past them to the door, though, I stopped, looked at the college guy who was telling the story and said, "You know... You look very familiar. And your story... It sounded like I've heard it before." Before Karen could stop me I then asked, "Do you know Paris Hilton?" But I didn't get an answer as I was dragged out to the car by Big D and Rodney while the two Bostonians started shouting, "Ya queer! What a wicked feckin' faggot, eh, Seamus?"

After that we found Beacon Hill, got a shuttle and did some of the Freedom Trail (where we pushed out Heather at one stop just as we started moving again and laughed as she tried to catch up... Come to think of it, where is Heather? Could have sworn she magically teleported back to us or something at some point), and bar hopped quite a few times in order to get us ready for the fulfillment of my entire life's dream and purpose!.... Finding Cheers!!

Karen's Hello Kitty Diary (June 11, 2003)

Well, Boston was a great day! Despite losing Heather along the way (what the hell happened to that slut? Prolly found some dirty, scuzzy college boy along the bar-trek we took and shacked up with the loser... Hope she gets back before we jet tomorrow), we enjoyed the shit out of this city! We took every opportunity to talk to every native we could find just to see how many we could get to say "chowder". Really, it was a lot more fun than it sounds. Most would do it outright, but there were a few that we had to trick into saying it. Rodney had it down pat though. He'd get them to recommend a place for lunch or dinner and then ask them if they had any specials of the day. Then he's ask if they had any soups and/or salads for appetizers. Then he's ask if they "had that good soup... The thick kind. You know, sometimes it's got corn in it. Sometimes clams... What is that shit called?" After getting pretty annoyed for a few minutes they'd usually blurt out, "CHOWDEH!!! You arse! It's feckin called CHOWDEH!!!" Then we'd laugh and run like sixth graders... My God are we immature. After all that we then (eventually) found Cheers and had a late lunch.

Addams?  Adams?  Potato, potahto.Before going up to Rockport we stopped in Quincy and saw this house.... Wow. Now, granted, it is pretty amazing to know that 2 of our first US Presidents came from here (and the house next door to this one), and that they're still standing... But it's a fucking house. I mean, I have a house, and it's got more interesting things in it, but I don't go charging $10 for a tour of it given by a boring fat man. Though, maybe I should... "This is where the Rossman sits and watches anime every night before playing Marvel Vs. Capcom 2 on his Playstation 2, before hitting the computer and looking up some lovely pr0n that his readers send him on a regular basis.... That'll be ten dollars, sir... And no, sir, you cannot view the pr0n collection yourself."

Rossman's Travelogue (June 11, 2003, part 2)

It took us over 2 hours just driving all around Boston looking for that glorious pub for us to actually find it. Seriously, two feckin' hours!!! We were told which street it was on by the girl behind the counter of the hotel before we left that morning, but that still didn't help much. Beacon Street is loooooong and tricky. We drove up and down it three times (THREE TIMES) and everybody was starting to get sober and very hungry. Finally I made Big D pull over and I asked a FedEx guy where the Bull and Finch Bar was ("You know," I'd add, "The Cheers bar"). Finally he told us to head in one direction, take a left, circle around this park and we wouldn't be able to miss it. Well, we apparently did. Twice. Then I got volunteered to run into some cheap looking gift shop and ask again where the bar might be. The fat lady laughed at me and told me, "Sweetie, it's right across the street. On the other side of that park area." Bitch. After waiting for the car to pull around for its third circle, we drove through that damn park and found a meter two doors down from that famous banner and awning. It was soooo worth the pain and suffering. All of the suffering. For it was glorious.

The only thing that was really kind of disappointing (and not really all that much, just a tiny bit) was the inside crampiness of the place. Now, I knew that it wasn't gonna look anything like Sam's bar on Thursdays on NBC, but I thought it'd at least be a bit bigger. We got a table in the back room (where the pool table would have been) and we each got a Cheers themed sandwich and then got almost completely blotto. I began hitting on the waitress from the next table, Little J started hitting on our waiter, and Karen, Matt^3 and Rodney started playing drinking games with the five year old in the corner (who was drinking juice, morons).

After that late lunch I ran around the whole place yelling, "There's a call for an Ernie Pantusso! Hello! Ernie Pantusso! The Fucking Coach, people! Get with it!!!" Rodney raided the gift shop, and everybody else was dragged out of the joint by very large men while they all sang, "Where everybody knows your naaaame! And they're always glad ya caaaaaaame!" It was quite a day. First time in a long time that I wasn't the most obnoxious one in the group!

Rodney's Logbook (June 11, 2003)

Despite all the shit that happened to all of us at Cheers, the Rossman was still the most retarded one in the group. How the hell does someone get to be so annoying? He kept calling our waiter "Woody", the waitress next to us "Carla" (despite the fact that she was 5'9", leggy and blonde), and the cashier at the t-shirt counter "Backseat Becky." I didn't even understand that last one. Then he kept kissing the wooden Indian by the front door full on the lips, and then he started screaming out "Last call!" and "Barkeep! Another round on the house! Hoo-ah!!!!". That's pretty much when the cops were called and some bouncer-like peoples dragged us up the stairs and threw us in front of a bus (that luckily stopped). Granted, Little J and Karen couldn't hold a tune as they wouldn't shut up with that old Cheers song. Man, I don't think that ditty is ever getting out of my head now.

Cheers!  Ziggy Socky!  Hoy hoy hoy!!!Yes, visiting the original Cheers was a dream come true for me. And now that it's over I have come to realize that I don't have that many dreams, nor are they very creative or grand. Pretty much I've got a very limited imagination where the biggest thing I wanted to do with my life was visit a fictional bar and meet fictional people that never really existed outside of my picture tube. Kinda sad really. But at least I didn't wait till I was like 80 to do it. By then my kidneys would have been rotted through and I would have only been able to have my great grandkids drink some brewsky for me and tell me how great the feeling is to get faced while in the immortal little basement tavern in Boston... Bean Town.

I've lived my dream, baby.

The Final Trek Home Through Historic Williamsburg is This 'a Way! Yay!

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