Road Trip to The Weeping Radish

Dear Penthouse Forum, I know this is going to sound like a crazy fantasy but every word of this story is true.

Many of you may recall reading or perhaps "hearing" stories to good to be true in the popular adult fiction magazine, stories about the hot babysitter, the horny twins or maybe if you were unlucky like D-Rail, you read about the creepy neighbor that liked to "tuck" you in and share naked snuggle time. Recently, a few members of the BC4M got to experience a story too good to be true when they went on location to celebrate Johnny Wilder's 38th birthday. Johnny's bride, dance party champion Dr. Cricket Sassafrass, had set up a special dinner for the J-Man at one of his favorite OBX brewpubs, The Weeping Radish. Snake provided the transportation for Fred, D-Rail, and Johnny each along with their better halves. Even D-Rail, known for his numerous failed attempts to score with any single lady available during our annual neighborhood New Year's Eve crawl had somehow managed to convince a charming German lass named Heinie Gootenmunch to accompany us for dinner. Little did she or any of us know that the special dinner was actually gonna end up being a live version of "Dazed and Confused" with the pub's owners. As we sped towards the restaurant down a pitch black route 158 in Snake's pimped out "cowboy cadillac", we wondered if the beers would be any better on draft than they had been in bottles. Wilder assured us that he had been there many times and thought their offerings were quite tasty on draft. "We'll see about that shit" said the always sunshiney Fred. We arrived shortly after 8pm to a deserted parking lot that was surrounded by a pen of baying goats that screamed Friday the 13th meets Deliverance. Outside to greet the group was the glassy-eyed co-owner of the eatery, Eileen, a veteran of multiple years of cross-country travel as the sous chef for a lesbian crocheting group called "Hempus Straponamus". We were quickly ushered into an empty (save for a lone fellow drinking at the bar) warehouse sized brewpub that made us think we had just entered the Hotel California. The other half of the ownership duo, whom we would later dub Dopey, was a ponytailed charlatan that looked like the bastard love child produced from a weekend of lovemaking between "Superbad's" McLovin and music legend Alice Cooper, greeted us and promptly explained how our evening was gonna unfold. We found our seats around the table and were told by Dopey that we would be joined for dinner by the guy at the bar, a hot tub repairman named "Stephon" and that the first round of beers was gonna be on him. Eileen then promptly snuck up behind Fred's wife, Darby O'Hooterhan and asked her if she was single. Not knowing if our hostess was looking for a little girl on almost a girl action, she explained that Stephon was single and ready to mingle. We laughed her brazen attempt at matchmaking off and then watched as "Dopey" slurred on about each of the different beers that they had for us to try. Realizing that the two of them probably spend the majority of their afternoons cooking up a few bowls, we decided to play along and go with the flow. We ordered up a few flights of their beers and were pleasantly surprised that they all didn't fucking suck. The six beers of the flight included a Weeping Radish Weizen (4.7%) which was the typical clove and artificial banana flavored wheat beer that we despise with all our might so it only got a so-so, a Kolsch (4.9%) that caused Fred to remark that shitty beer like this was why the Krauts lost both WW1 and WW2. The Fest Amber Lager (5.2%) was a Märzen style that was quite tasty and received a really good while the Black Radish (4.6%) was dark but thin in body with a nice malt backbone that wasn't overpowering, scoring another solid good. The final two beers were a Corolla Gold Helles Lager (5.0%), a weak watery mess that still fucking sucks and a Radler (2.0%) a mixture of lemonade and light lager that was like drinking a 7-Up but with a surprisingly nice tartness that rated a good. While we downed the beers, we tried to order some food from their sparse menu, which features traditional German staples like cheeseburgers and fish and chips. Wilder loves an appetizer called "pig wings" which are actually the hacked off shoulder joints of roadkill eating turkey buzzards that have been maimed by passing cars as they graze on the dead carcasses that litter the OBX roadways. As we ordered a platter of "wings" to start the evening off with, Dopey started to take our dinner order but before Darby could answer him, he gave her a gruff "Screw You" and moved on to a shocked but giggling Cricket Sassafrass who quickly ordered before he could shoot her down as well. By then he had made it around the table to Heini, but before she could open her mouth, he scolded her with, "Hey, if you don't like it, go on down to the Horse Piss Saloon, I bet your sweet ass could find a bunch of new boyfriends in no time honey." Too surreal to believe this was actually happening, we decided to dismiss his rudeness to the amount of sticky icky he had probably ingested. Dopey's concentration appeared to be severely impaired and was obviously suffering from various hallucinations as he had a hard time making pen meet paper during the ordering so most of us simply asked for the burger to make his night easier with the exception of the fish and chips ordering D-Rail who had decided to give up "meat" for Lent. While we waited for our food, we noticed that Dopey and Eileen had been gone for quite some time so Johnny decided to make himself useful and poured us a round of the good stuff in steins the size of a small zeppelin. After about a half hour, Stephon went and found Dopey somewhere in the kitchen and came back to tell us we needed to go on a tour of the brewery. "This is some bullshit" said Snake, as we scurried up a flight of stairs and then into a dimly lit room that appeared to be where the beers were made. After navigating a river of what we hoped was runoff from the fermenting tanks but was probably pig vomit, our tour guide took us to the butchery part of the building where we figured we would be quickly disembowled and ground up into sausage. By this time, Dopey had shown back up in a haze of smoke and said that he had found his wife passed out on the kitchen floor while making our dinner and that if we wanted to eat, we needed to "chill out man". He then took us outside to see the "majestic" full moon and ask if any of us liked to "smoke", sorta like our old friend Ganja Bob from California. While Dopey explained that they in the process of establishing themselves as a certified "organic" farm, we decided the safest course of action was to head back inside before we were all arrested by the ATF and DEA agents that were more than likely keeping watch on the building. As we sat back down at the table, Dopey finally brought out various platters that may or may not have been what we ordered. "Tough shit" he said, as everyone but D-Rail got their food. "Oh yea, I guess we fucked up" said Dopey. Eventually D-Rail got his portion of fish and chips that looked like a school of menhaden deep fried in peanut husks. The meal was actually decent, and despite the fact that we waited 2 hours to eat, we had a blast. After dinner, we asked "Sleepy" if Johnny could jump into the costume of the Brewpub's mascot, Ricky Radish.

"Fuck yes he can" she replied as we watched her climb on the counter to help get the costume ready. Not realizing the counter was only a thin sheet of plywood, we were grateful she wasn't hurt when she crashed through the top of the counter and almost busted her ass. After watching Johnny perform his best chicken dance routine, we noticed that our hosts were fading fast and were probably jonesing for another hit on their bong. We went to pay the tab and watched as Dopey looked like a retarded one handed monkey humping a beach ball as he attempted to figure out how much 10 beers and 8 hamburgers cost. Luckily, Snake was there to guide him through the process of ringing the bill up. Even though the bill seemed to be highly inflated, the entertainment value was certainly priceless. Had this been any other restaurant or any other night, we probably would never return, but this was a unique night that was funny as fuck. As we gathered our belongings to go, we said our goodbyes and laughed as Dopey tried to squeeze out extra long hugs from the ladies. Easily the most bizarre birthday any of us had ever been a part of, we still had a blast and the beers weren't half bad either. In the immortal words of Wooderson in Dazed and Confused, "The older you get, the more rules they are going to try and get you to follow. You just gotta keep on livin', man. L-I-V-I-N"