They refuse to serve Bob Filner.
The funny thing is, I’ve been in a Hooters precisely once in my life; I got nothing against the chain, but I’m both happily married and long out of practice at leering. At this point in my life trajectory I just want the beer and the various fried items and the chance to read my book in peace and quiet and you’ll understand when you’re my age.
…the staff of Hooters, here: I’m pretty much ensconced at a table, it’s clearly my first time at this chain, and yet I’m more or less ignoring my surroundings. What I’m actually doing, of course, is hiding from my kids: the babysitter has them, which means this is my first time off in a week. So… a beer, a bunch of wings, and a blessed, blessed lack of situational awareness.
Which is just as well: I’m pretty sure that I’m old enough to be some of these girls’ father.
PS: These breaded fried pickle things are pretty good.
Never mind the ostensible reason for this post; let’s focus on a 2007 scandal “involving the Hoboken, New Jersey SWAT team, which claimed to have gone on a humanitarian aid trip to help victims of Hurricane Katrina, but ended up partying it up at Mardis Gras, with ensuing photos involving Hooters girls, Jello shots, and SWAT chief Lt. Angelo Andriani posing as a member of the Ku Klux Klan.”
Wow. You need tequila for that level of idiocy. Or cocaine. Or both!
“Bartender! Give me a cocaine Margarita!”
“A… cocaine Margarita?”
“It saves time. I’m on the road to self-destruction, and I want to take the HOV Lane.”