The Barbag
Here’s your classic Barbag.
No single overwhelming trait of choad.
Not some Bukowski anti-hero slinking through the retro-nostalgic dystopian underground wood panelings of Ramond Chandler by way of James Ellroy.
Not some boozy poet wandering through the night, with vague hopes to piece together the shattered splinters of his once coherent existence.
Just a classic suburban barstool sitting pud. Who loves Budweiser and his DVR, and smirks at all who see him in presence of a suckle thigh.
And then there’s Katherine. All sorts of small-town hope and sunshine hotness. In a red sundress that speaks of first dates and milkshakes and the DB1 humping her stuffed panda that she keeps on top of her bed during the day.
Suckin’ down chili dogs, right outside the Taste-e-Freeze.
Together, they are classic American HCwDB.
