Bogart's Pub & Pizza

Standard college bar.  

Half the kegs are empty.  The food is greasy.  The cups are plastic. The shoes stick to the floor.

Need I say more.

But I do go there occasionally.  Only because I'm meeting with some "die hards" that love the place.

It is now called Bogart's, I'm assuming because of my great review, not 'our place' anymore. And they now accept credit cards! I still strip on the bar though.

December 23, 2010. Enormous blizzard. New York friend visiting my brother and I, and we're sitting on the couch bored to tears. Someone has the genius idea to pre-game liberally and then walk a mile through 2 feet of snow, with still more snow falling and being whipped in our eyes by angry wind. Doesn't matter. The destination is Bogarts. And Bogarts is a hole. A HOLE. But a hole filled with alcohol and piss-drunk BSU students, and this particular occasion, two recently released white-supremist convicts at the other end of the bar. Go to Bogarts and you can expect 3 things: to get drunk enough to make poor decisions, slutty drunk BSU girls making bad decisions, and there is always, ALWAYS at LEAST one dodgy character sitting alone at the bar creeping you out.  Bogarts...you were one of the first bars I ever hung around. You have my deepest secret scrawled across the chalk-board wall in the bathroom. You were half of the night that I got alcohol poisoning. May you forever live on to supply BSU kids cheap pitchers of Coors Light to vomit on your bathroom floor.