I’d been hearing about The Bitter End’s Quiz Night for some time, rumblings here and there that this was THE place to be on Tuesday nights. Having nothing better to do, I e-mailed interested parties and assembled the following team:
Spots: Television/Gay Culture
Big Chris: Sports/Sexism
Berkeleyist: Classic Literature
Michael: Slapstick Comedy
Man on the Inside: U.S. History/Foreign Policy
K.G.: Gothic 1960’s Literature of the American South
Shawn: Film (Noir/Cult)
Michael, Chris and I met early, securing a table and ordering food. K.G. had warned us about the menu, recommending that I pass on the chicken curry I was craving. Mike seemed particularly interested in the sausage rolls, tantalizingly described as “two sausages wrapped in puff pastry and baked.”
“Mmmmm.” said Mikey. “Fancy bagel dogs.”
Our food arrived, the sausage rolls looking pretty good. I downed my beer (yep, beer) and ate my chicken burger as Chris looked over on to Michael’s plate. “How’re those sausage rolls?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I reached over and grabbed a bite. The combination of taste and texture was, in a word, unexpected. The sausage was pale and foreign tasting, not horrible, but strange. The side of baked beans added to the bizarre-ness.
Joined by K.G. and Shawn, then Berkeleyist and Leslie, and finally MOI and Lauren, we packed around the table and began to select a team name. K.G. produced a pen, Chris grabbed a napkin and we took turns submitting our suggestions. Below, please find exactly what appeared on the napkin. Oh, and try and guess which ones are Chris’ (aged 29, folks) offerings:
Designers, Rock the Kasbah
Where did you go to High School?
The Star Wars Clan
Deep Space Nine (a sexual metaphor)
Big Foot’s dick
Ninja Pirate Battle Assassins
Chris Penn’s Pallbearers
I’m Rick James, Bitch!
Pass on the Sausage Rolls
The napkin was passed and we voted by secret checkmark. Pass on the Sausage Rolls initially won, but was soon changed to our official team name:
Mike Hunt Passes on the Sausage Rolls
Our host (apparently someone Mike went to middle school with) began, although with a shitty microphone, the pauses in between questions got annoying. I’m all for suffering through technical difficulties, but this guy rambled and cracked lame jokes far too much, especially when it took an hour to complete round one. We passed our ballot to another table, Chris leaning over and screaming “Exchange!”
We scored them, and they scored us, crappy host revealing the answers via his crappy microphone.
We got our sheet back, receiving a score of 25. MOI looked at it and exclaimed, “This is wrong. We got a 26. Count that shit.”
He was right. And the judge agreed. He changed our score and left with our ballot. We sipped our drinks and waited for the score of round one.
“And the winners are…a three way tie for third place, with scores of 24…”
Oh my god. We got 26. Does that mean...?
“In second place, with a score of 25 is ‘George Bush Actually Likes Black People…At Funerals’”
A table nearby went crazy as the bar chuckled. “And in first place, with a score of 26, Mike Hunt Passes on the Sausage Rolls…not funny.”
We went ballistic. I couldn’t believe it. First place. Leslie and I leapt into the air for a high five, our hands swiping only air in our excitement.
But wait. We still had three more rounds. The night dragged on. We lost K.G. and Shawn early on, and I was worried MOI would slip out early as well. We needed him. Not only has he served in the military for ages, having extensive knowledge of white trash rock music and Republican propaganda, he’s currently in law school. When asked the difference between libel and slander, we looked to MOI, who silently grabbed the ballot and scribbled an answer. “Dude, I just wrote a paper on that shit.”
It’s hard to remember to stay quiet, and I found myself so excited by knowing an answer, I’d uncontrollably shout.
“Shut up, Spots!”
“Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with you?”
Well, those bitches ate crow during the photo identification round.
“Number 10. Who is that?”
“Oh god, it’s the youngest son on Home Improvement.”
“What the fuck is his name?”
“How the hell should I know.”
People, people. Relax. I grabbed the ballot. “God forbid I shout, but watch this, assholes.”
I delicately penned my answer, “Taran Noah Smith, y’all.”
By 11pm, I was done. We turned in our final ballot, convinced we’d failed, and made our way home. I was so exhausted, I no longer cared if Mike Hunt Passes on the Sausage Rolls won. I simply wanted to sleep.
Will I return to the Bitter End on a Tuesday? Possibly. I’d like to do a sound check beforehand, however. Interested parties should e-mail me areas of expertise, team name suggestions and your level of willingness to eat fancy bagel dogs…
Berkeleyist's take on the evening can be found HERE...