Welcome to a Classic Party Crasher: this insane (and inane) idyll took place in 2002, back when the Crasher had really bad taste in hair color. Well, to be honest, this got the Crasher decent amounts of tail during that four-year-long bad hair day. But that was then. Oh, and what a then it was, back on this V Day.

Another year, another Barfly Bus Tour. These rolling, drinking jaunts happen once a month, but I’m so busy getting lost between bars during the rest of the year I forget to go more often.

But welcome to Cape Disappointment. Unlike last year’s goofy party-on-wheels, which lugged us drunks around on a luxury bus that came complete with movie screens and really soft seats, we get a rickety, noisy old school bus.

But it’s Valentine’s Day, so I’m in a forgiving mood. In fact, I rarely give it a second thought (largely because it’s Valentine’s Day and I’m pretty much just thinking with my pants.)

First stop: Jolly Rogers.

Arrrr, now this appeals to the pirate in me. Whiskey, women and song. (OK, so it’s just tunes on the jukebox.) That’s the first wave of our invasion, crushing up against the bar and keelhauling the locals.

In the next shot, the décor here is an interesting mix of maritime motifs and knick knacks and state fair arcade winnings. There’s also a pirate-themed drink glass in this shot that looks suspiciously like a bong.

At left, this is an ad for the signs of a stroke on the bus stop outside the bar. Reading over the signs to look out for I thought, “Jeez, this is me on a typical night’s bender.”

Next up was the Sandy Hut, otherwise known as the Handy Slut. It’s where safety obviously comes first, as evidenced by the interesting electrical wiring arrangements dangling from the ceiling in some spots.

Next shot is what happens when you try to take a shot of mega-camera shy Jen Lane, publisher of Barfly Mag and hostess-wit-da-mostess of our magically messed up tour.

The final shot above is the kind of Valentine I like to receive. Yummy Red-haired Girl (whose name I never caught) graces the Crasher with a bit of a cuddle, to his obvious delight.

One of the goofy gags on the bus included everyone having to describe themselves in three words. These self-descriptions were gathered before the bus took off, and then distributed in valentine form to others. It was then your job to find that person (guy or girl…ouch), based on the three words described. Mine happened to read “Irish, sarcastic and horny.”

What are the chances? By the second bar, just by a chance conversation, I discover I’m holding the card with this guy’s description on it. What a happy couple we make. Meanwhile, if you look closely, someone jammed a pool cue between us. Keep in mind, I had no clue this happened until afterwards when putting together the graphics for this site. Life is full of surprises – especially on the Barfly Bus.

And here we are at Lucky’s. Some are already drunk enough to try and get lucky with anything – even if it doesn’t move. In this case, one gent named Michael gets frisky with a mannequin. (Ironically, this action was to reappear for real later in the evening, as if a foreshadowing of twisted events to come).

At the top right are some of us gathered together, undoubtedly huddling to avoid the weird, shrieking elderly hag who went up to everyone and either kissed them on the lips or told them she loved them.

At left above: it’s apparently the MOST boring conversation in the world, as one of us has caused the other two at the table to nod off.

At the right: it’s a case of punk love. I make the acquaintance of one delicious creature named Mel. She loves it when I bite her dreads; she gives off her best Sex Pistols-esque sneer in return.

Duck Tales

During our tipsy tour, I was puzzled by the constant sight of a plastic, yellow duck onboard. I thought it was some dippy icon of sorts (like a dumb prop at a bachelorette party). It took a while, but I finally figured out it contained beer!!

The fact this group kept downing its contents during the tour probably explains why I didn’t see them after a while.

In the second shot, one girl in the Drunk Ducky Group feeds the duck nectar to someone at the bar.

And back aboard the bus, it appears there’s a tickling match going on here (at right).

Here we are at The Pagoda, where the fish pond foreshadows all the drinking-like-a-fish to come. At the bar is some sort of five-pronged condom with a face painted on it that someone has mounted on one of the taps.

More Drunk Ducky Tales....

Another chick from the Duck Group gives bus rider Scott a chance to suck on the lips of the duck.

And here’s the Duck getting refueled. This rare insider footage reveals a bartender actually refilling our little mascot. Notice that it’s getting fueled via its ass.

Awwww, what a Kodak moment. The Drunk Ducky Group gals win the five-pronged green thing and show it off. It then oh-so-cutely adorns the Drunk Duck.

At left, Michael (the mannequin romancer) shows off some of his booty for the evening (booty of the stolen kind, that is). He gleefully admits to having stolen this cool, light-filled pen from someone at Lucky’s.

Meanwhile, Yummy Red-haired Girl gives the Crasher the talk-to-the-hand treatment when it really sinks in what Crashing is all about. She’s afraid of getting embarrassed by the Crasher’s evil camera. This ain’t nothin’. Boy, does she have a surprise coming.

One girl at our table becomes thoroughly verklemt when some gentleman hands her a necklace of beads (it’s not like at Mardi Gras, where she would’ve had to do something to deserve them.)

Someone at our table decides ice cream tastes great with soy sauce. These drunks are starting to need a babysitter.

On our way out, the Crasher decides puke would look really good in the pond with the fishies. The Pagoda’s pond is my first casualty.

My own dignity later became my second casualty – but more on that to come.

Then we pile into the bus and head over to the Candlelight, with the funky tables that I think they stole from old Wendy’s franchises back before 1987. It’s here where the dreadlocked beauty Mel does the rock star thing and goes all karaoke on us.

Meanwhile, the karaoke DJ proves he can’t do air guitar correctly and needs a stupid, blowup prop.

Hey kids, look. It’s the Barfly Bus Faerie! As far as I could tell, she was the only fairy on the bus this evening. But then I didn’t meet all the guys. She’s definitely a good fairy. A great fairy, if you count the body.

So, I’m waiting and waiting at the bar, trying to catch the attention of the bartender (who’s visibly overwhelmed by our legions), and I happen to be standing next to the fiery Mel. It’s close quarters, squished up against the bar, and I’m getting warm and a little bored. So, oops, my tongue slipped and happened to land in her mouth.

At right, the bartender really gives it to the Ducky with a beer spout, refilling our precious little mascot with more of the stuff that keeps us all acting asinine.

And asinine we act. And so does the Ducky. The little bastard, obviously not potty trained, wets the seat on the bus. (Noooo, I’m sure this had nothing to do with the blood alcohol level of the Drunk Ducky Girls, its keeper.)

Luckily, the Crasher is there to immortalize this party foul from the fowl.

At some point, the back of the bus becomes monkey bars for one gentleman.

At another moment, well, I can’t tell exactly what’s going on here. But the Crasher spotted the occasional flicker of light from behind these two huddled together. Maybe it was just Valentine’s Day fireworks? Who am I to say?

Here’s a contingent of the Drunk Ducky Group, yelling “Can you hear me now?” as the bus rumbles down the streets of the Rose City.

There goes the neighborhood: some staggering Shriner shows up. Just when the Crasher thinks he’s got the kookiness all sowed up, someone upstages him. Nearly upstages him, that is.

Now by this time, it became plainly obvious the Crasher had become the major scandal bunny of the evening, with a host of unseemly behaviors in public. Some of this involved someone else leaned up against a car in a parking lot and the Crasher in a comprimising position, and sometimes it was vice versa. Then there was that lewd act caught by someone else just outside the Renner's tunnel. Man, I made an impression this night.

Yes, I saw many of the looks, snickers and pointing fingers from both bus compatriots and shocked civilians in the various bars (and outside them too). I have no pix of these behaviors of mine (although I did see numerous flashes going off in my direction, so I"m guessing others out there have pix of these numerous indescretions). But sorry, we’re not going to go there. We’re going to stick with poking fun at others.

Well, at least in a minute, we will.

Above, we’ve made it to the ritzy Henry Ford’s, a place that proves old lounge singers never die – they just wind up working here. This piano/singer adeptly crooned old standards, which Mel and I took advantage of by doing a little slow dance thang (above). This, as you can see by the droopy eyelids of this lovely creature, was more like a case of the drunk leading the drunk.

Henry Ford’s is also where our behavior received the wackiest looks. Part of this was our use of the coat closet as a place to put our empty glasses. We were nearly kicked out for this. Funny we didn't get kicked out for the nasty display in the parking lot.

Once aboard the bus again, Mel and I share an intimate moment with a donut. I believe the word is menage a trois.

And then we wind up at Renner’s, a wondrous little watering hole in the Multnomah Village area. This bar, by the way, has the coolest graffiti in the men’s room.

No, you’re not hallucinating (although some of us were by this time). That there hat is indeed glowin’, pardner. Some chap on the bus had real working lights on his hat.

Now, we’re all too civilized to engage in a wet t-shirt contest. So, we settle for the next goofiest thing: a drunken face contest. Here’s Mel with one of her pals, both vying for the title. Take one guess who won.

Here’s one of the scrumptious little bartender gals from Renner’s. I don’t doubt the word “stop” is one she has to use a lot.

Awwww, look. It’s sleeping beauty. Has yummy Red-haired Girl passed out? Or simply taking five from all the drunken hubbub?

Who cares? It looks like she’s passed out and that’s all that matters to the Crasher. (For the record, at the time, this girl thoroughly hated me for posting these shots of her. I seriously feared a lawsuit).

At one point, I notice this sign. Now, this always scares me. If you’ve got a place where you actually have to REMIND patrons to not shoot up or light up in your premises, something’s seriously wrong. It's a little like having a sign in your bar asking people to "Please do not kill anyone on the premises."

And look, kids. It’s Beavis and Butthead. Here’s Michael and Scott at the end of the evening, with that kooky, ever-present grin on Michael’s face still.

My guess is there was more than alcohol involved there.

Finally, the night ends at another weird bar (which had NO name on the outside, so for a while I thought I was in one of those Twilight Zone episodes when somebody died and doesn't know it).

Anyway, I just barely remember stealing someone else's cab as we left. Oops.

The evening ended with....well I can't really tell you how it ended, except to say it involved a bed and pillow that was somehow accidentally set on fire. And I do mean literally, not JUST in the figurative sense, (although it was certainly true that bed was on fire in other ways).

To apply for a seat on a bar tour, see http://www.barflymag.com/

Back to Coastal Crasher / Party Crasher Index