Dick's Last Resort
Dallas, TX, USA

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We first met Dick in Dallas. A yearly trade show in Dallas and a legendary pub crawl where you didn’t really crawl so much between different pubs, as much as you crawled out of Dick’s at the end of the night and tried to make your way back to the hotel.

I’ve spent a lot of time at Dick’s in Boston and in Chicago, but there was something about those Dallas experiences. The drink of choice was Mamba Beer, a strong lager brew from Africa. I don’t remember the Mamba being especially good, it was just strong, and came in a 25 oz. bottle … and this was during the quantity over quality days.

"ColoniAl" (way before he became a wine snob) and I had consumed mass quantities of Mamba, and it was nearing closing time. Our trade show “father”, Father John, hoped to see us on booth duty the following morning, so he started the work to migrate us back to the hotel.

ColoniAl and I exited the front door, and raced around the corner to find an open air bar that was still serving. ColoniAl slapped his hand on the bar and called out, “Two shots of something tough and a couple of beers to chase them.” That was my first and last meeting with DonQ 151 rum. As we tipped back the shots, the color drained from our faces. ColoniAl put his head down at the bar, and I stumbled back out the entrance to take a closer look at the shrubbery. As Father John caught up with us, he heard the stereo sound of synchronized vomiting (which I believe was an experimental Olympic event that year). As Skippy stumbled back toward the bar, ColoniAl through his arms in the air and proclaimed, “I’m cool!”

The Green Bay Packers were in town, and a cheesehead lady proclaimed, “You most definitely are not.”

A short Mexican man emerged from nowhere with a hose and sprayed down the damage. (Or he might have been a leprechaun, but I think he was Mexican because we called him Hosè.)

“See what you made him do?” exclaimed the cheesehead.

“Oh sure, he was in the back, inventing a cure for cancer, and I interrupted him. I was this close, and I’ve got to go hose down the vomit again,” was ColoniAl’s retort.

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