Every day takes figuring out all over again how to fucking live, but let’s assume for the sake of fucking conversation that you’re flush with cash and bored on payday and in blissful disregard, moreover, of other pressing financial responsibilities. Look, then, to the 2007 American Royal Livestock Show at the American Royal Center (1800 Genessee), where you might find diversion amongst your dirt-scraping brethren in the exhibition and judgment of heifer, steer, lamb and goat, Friday through Sunday between 8 in the morning and half-past-6 in the evening.
While we’re on the subject, the Missouri Professional Auctioneers Association Bid Calling Contest starts Sunday at 1 in the afternoon. I guess the fast-talking carpetbaggers didn’t have enough on their fucking plates with the Livestock Show and needed further fucking professional justification for coming to Kansas City.
And I’ll note in passing that, as the American Royal Marketplace is open through Sunday evening, opportunities fucking abound for the exchange of cash for boots, hats, belt buckles and sundry other fucking sartorial embellishments, while meanwhile the stalls of food purveyors offer whatever fucking culinary fancy your caprice should fucking light upon.
Pierpont’s in Union Station has a happy hour daily, from 4 in the afternoon until 6, likewise the Hereford House, at 2 East 20th Street. But in the interest of full-faith fucking disclosure, let it be known that said establishments stand in competition to my own place of business, modest though it may be, and furthermore, I stand today before you beholden to no human cocksucker. Far be it for me to recommend you raise a glass anyplace else. Any further suggestion gets answered with blood.
What further irresponsible fucking diversion presents? The Kansas City Beerfest beckons from The Legends at Village West (Junction of I-70 and I-435) to those with an inclination to imbibe on Saturday. The attendance of dozens of brewers and availability of food and fucking entertainment virtually fucking guarantees that business at the Gem will be as meager as piss through a hard-on. What are you waiting for?
A full fair-mindedness requires us also to report that within the Gem Saloon, on Deadwood's main thoroughfare, comely whores, decently priced liquor, and the squarest games of chance in the hills remain unabatedly available at all hours, seven days a week. That's all I say on that subject, except next round's on the house. And pussy's half price, next 15 minutes. -- Chris Packham