I went in Cody's (Barry and Paulina) the other night, which is the best dive bar within walking distance from my house. Reasons being, they have outdoor darts, bocce ball, a jukebox with Built to Spill, you can bring your own dog, you can bring your own propane to grill, and they have this killer beer from, I think Belgium, that's only like 3 bucks for a can. I discovered if you pour it into a glass it's like liquid candy. Liquid candy that gets you piss drunk. It's got a yellow and blue can, so it kind of looks like a can of root beer, it's called like Whittakerke's, and it has those little dots over a couple of letters, kinda like Motley Crue.*
So, I'm in there with some friends, and in walks The Tamale Guy with a red cooler full of love. I'm really hungry, so I get six chicken ones for five bucks. He hands them to me, but not before he hits on every one of my female friends, which didn't bother anyone, because he's The Tamale Guy. They're damn tasty, and he hooks you up with hot sauce to accompany them and napkins for a little post-tamale freshening up. Now, I must warn you, they don't look nearly as good as they taste. In fact, I pointed out to my medical school neighbor, who was quick to lend a professional affirmation to my assessment, that they look like 6 penises (or is it peni?) all in the advanced stages of Syphilis.
As I'm merrily scarfing away on my tamales, thinking how great a concept The Tamale Guy is, trying to get the thought out of my head that I just ate what looked like 5 chancred up schlongs, I asked anyone if they heard what ever happened to the Hash Muffin Lady. Because I do believe she predates my bar-going days by a couple of years, I've never been fortunate enough to see her stroll in with her basket of pyschadelic baked goods, but I've heard a few too many first-hand accounts to doubt her existence. One source divulged that she used to bring hash brownies, fell off the map for a period of time, only to make a glorious comeback, only now selling a slightly more discreet foodstuffs vehicle for her pot: Hash Muffins.
I can't find ANYTHING on the internet about her that will speak to the validity of these tales, but if Chicago can claim a Tamlale Guy AND a Naked Guy, then why should we doubt that the finest city in all the land also has a Hash Muffin Lady going bar-to-bar stoning up Chicagoans until last call?
Doctor Kenneth Noisewater
*The men's bathroom at Cody's has really old, yellow newspaper cippings all over the walls, and the patrons have since written many of their own editorials on them. There is one cartoon someone drew which cracks my shit up every, single time I see it. There's two guys talking.
Guy 1: I fucked your mom last night.
Guy 2: Shut up, dad. You're drunk.