Kamikaze Attacks Del's Saloon

Some foolishly suicidal broad interrupted the harmony of Del’s Saloon by crashing her SUV through the front of the building, taking out a tree first. Bobby Farlow was on the crime scene.

The hysterical girl was allegedly scorned by her boyfriend over at Busby’s, admitting to everyone within earshot that she tried ending her worthless life, a bold statement for her dude and family to comprehend later. She was sadly unsuccessful, earning the title of “Bad at Suicide, 0-1.” It put quite a scare into the patrons; a sudden collision into a beloved bar is never expected. What distressed me most upon hearing the news was that she took out the area where we often play darts. The Hat, Devon and I would’ve been badly injured or killed if it happened on this particular night.

Theoretically, we could’ve been victims to some psychotic skank’s utter selfishness. Out of all the places she could’ve smashed into, why did it have to be Del’s? I’d have had more respect if she cut herself or popped pills and failed. Del’s had done nothing to her, and if she really wanted to crash her SUV into a bar, she should’ve just turned around and destroyed Busby's, a wretched excuse for a sports bar. At least that’s what Cliff said.

Busby’s was probably the main reason she became downright delusional. She’d have had a better time in a sanitarium, which is where she’s currently under observation. Only hapless losers go to Busby's and enjoy it, a truth all facts support. You’ll never find worse service and more sausage anywhere, whereas Del’s has the friendliest bartenders with the stiffest pours, the kind that help you tie one on faster than you can say “Kamikaze!”

Venting about useless people and places is boorish, I must relent, but it's tough to focus on inspiring topics rather than the macabre, like how The Hat and I didn't die and still Bash gloriously at Del's!

You can't beat a great bar that's crawling distance from headquarters. On any given night or day, half the place knows you. It's like Cheers on steroids. Bobby recently said, "When you know everyone at a bar, you have license to stalk any newcomers." Amaury and I tried that last Friday, with mixed results.

Not sure if she was afraid, but she'd certainly never seen a press quite like that. With wit and unsurpassed mastery in the Art of Bashing, most guards are dropped effortlessly once the first salvo has been executed properly, a talent Tatum and Scarlett O'Connell admire.

The locals are easily my favorite aspect of Del's, which is where the venue flourishes on a daily basis. Holly Paige and Reno are there everyday, and they were both disturbed by the bizarre suicide attempt.

I think everyone was pretty spooked, like Michelle, who instinctually ducked behind the bar when the unexpected visitor arrived at the wall.

Tough to not take it personal when assailants trying to end their feeble lives choose a dearly cherished landmark to dispatch themselves to Hell. I'm seriously grateful nobody was hurt, that this story didn't have a more tragic turn. That means I can continue receiving blackout drunk cell phone photos from former lovers.