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saturday at the k club
by todd w bush

If you are between the ages of 21 and 35 (18 and 35 in the military), and you tend to frequent establishments that serve cool adult beverages, then you probably have “your place.” On TV, that place was perfectly portrayed by Cheers: a bar where, as the song says, “everybody knows your name… and they’re always glad you came…” (got you singing that song now? Good, now you know how I feel.) It’s the place Toby Keith was singing about in his “I Love this Bar” song. You know everyone, they all know you, and if you are really lucky the bartender already has your drink of choice up on the bar waiting for you before it’s even your turn in line. For me here in Germany, that place is the K Club.

When Muffin came to visit me, her remark about the K Club (officially it’s the Kazabra Club, but who can actually say that after a bucket or four?) put it perfectly: “I like you better there. You’re just… you.” If by just me she means arrogant, loud, a bit of an asshole, fearless, loud, obnoxious, flirty, and if I didn’t mention it before, loud, then she’s exactly right. The K Club was the site of some of my more infamous remarks at the expense of others. For instance, the time the 456-pound lady made a rude gesture when I politely nodded hello to her, and I responded by shouting at her, “Hey Sea World, come back!” And then there was one of my buddies talking to two very attractive women who just happened to work at the gastro-intestinal area of the hospital here on base, and after meeting them I immediately asked, “since you work with asses all day, does that make you more or less likely to do anal?” Or more recently when the girl in the Hustler shirt made a comment about her rather large breasts, and I proceeded to make a couple of my own comments about her particularly nice breasts. She responded to my comments by saying, “You know, talking about a girl’s tits is really the way to her heart.” My response was classic K Club Todd: “Who says I’m trying to get to your heart?”
With only a few Saturday’s left until my (hopefully) epic going away party at the K Club, I decided that since this Saturday night was a typical once, I’d do my damndest to keep a running diary of the events. If I ramble, go off topic, disappear for hours at a time, or just quit altogether, you can safely assume I’ve a) left to do the Barn Dance, cause it is a country bar, b) gotten punched for some inappropriate comment, or c) gotten so drunk and had so much fun I’ve completely forgotten about the damn diary. Wish me luck.


Ok, so the running diary part of this column was effectively ruined by the fact that my poker night on Friday rivaled Necessary Roughness’s Texas State Fighting Armadillo’s. If I’d have split a pot at any time during the whole 4 hours I played, you’d have seen me screaming “Hey, man we tied!!” I didn’t win a single hand. Nothing. Nada. Sure I only lost $15 dollars, but that was enough to bum me out of my “running diary excitement phase.” So what you get is the scaled down version of “Night at the K Club.”

I got to the club early, around 8:45 or so. Most people don’t even think about showing up until at least 10. My favorite bartender, Rocky, was there along with his pregnant wife. Sure, we are acquaintances and talk on occasion, but with no one else there, my attempts at starting conversation with both of them felt like Chris Farley from “SNL.” “So… um… you’re gonna have a baby, huh? That’s cool…. You know, your boobs are gonna shoot out milk!... That’s awesome!” Finally, a married girl named Beth who just happened to be from Mississippi walked over. Her bringing up memories of crawfish boils, SEC football and sweet tea brought an end to the pregnancy talk. Thankfully.

Around 10 or so, King and Dirty showed up. We spent our first hour doing the usual, sitting in the smoking room, talking about the week that was, and going through at least five cigs apiece. Finally, we walked into the main room to get our table. The big room is huge, with at least 30 round tables that hold around 7 people comfortably. At the other side of the room from the main door is the dance floor, with the bar almost all the way down the left side and the smaller smoking area (inside and outside to it) just off to the right. In the back left corner of the room is the mechanical bull (you think I’m lying). Our table is the first one in the right corner. King, Dirty and I sit down with our first bucket of Bud Light. Then, the Hobbits arrive.

Imagine, if you will, Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas from The Lord of the Rings movies came to the real world and started cruising for chicks. You’ve got the rugged Ranger, the warrior from Gondor, and the elf prince; these guys are gonna do ok. That’s King, Dirty and me. But then walks up four of King’s soldiers that he supervises. They are all either 18 or 19. None of them has been away from home more than about 50 miles, and they’ve been plopped down in a country where not only can they drink, carry a gun, and go see a hooker, but all that is legal. It’s like emptying a short school bus into the “Land of Bouncy Balls.”

I’ve been coming to the K Club for over two years now, so you can imagine that I know quite a few people. Around 10:30 or so, King and Dirty made a bathroom call, so I was left with the Hobbits. Within about two minutes, five of the hotter girls in the bar came walking in. First: a tall brunette with huge breasts walks over and gives me a hug. Second: a short blonde with equally large boobs gives me a huge and a kiss on the cheek. Third: a taller girl with long red hair gives me a hug and a wink. Fourth: a medium height girl with shoulder length blonde hair and a nice tan gives me a hug and a big kiss on the cheek. Fifth and finally: a short blonde with a J-Lo butt also gives me a hug. After she leaves, the Hobbits look like I’ve just been crowned king of Gondor, killed seventeen giant trolls, and banged Liv Tyler. I am their hero.

After a round of Jaeger bombs, one of the hot blonde comes to sit at our table. The dumbest and drunkest of the Hobbits, we’ll call him Pip, decides to not only make his presence known, but also to drive the hot blonde away from our table. He turns to me and says, “Heeeeeeey. I’mmmma gonna TALK to heeerrrrr…” Just as he leans over to say whatever he is gonna say to her, I notice he’s drooling. Seriously, Pip is looking like Hooch at this point. It’s 10:45. The kid’s had two beers. Before I can stop him, he looks at Hot Blonde #1 and says “Do yooooooooouuuu think I can seeeeeeee your BOOB?” Thankfully, this girl is more of a guy than Pip will ever be. She replied, “Yeah, if your dick wasn’t a millimeter long.” We thought we were laughing, until Pip, looking utterly confused, says “Heeeeey Todd! Wazzza milililimamameter?”

Around 11:30 or so, Hot Blonde #2 walks by our table, and I ask her to dance. She politely says no, cause she’s off to the bathroom. The three Hobbits who aren’t reverting to being a Jerry’s Kid start giving me the “Ooooohhhhh! Shot down!” stuff. They think they have taken down the man. So proud are they of their conquest over me, that they almost didn’t see what happened next. Just arriving for the night are Nikki, a stunning blonde wearing a barely-there spaghetti-strapped shirt that hardly covers her full breasts and Nashanna, an unreal-hot brunette that is also sporting a spaghetti-strapped shirt, but hers is practically falling off of her D cups. The sisters (yes, you read that right, sisters. And they do look just like each other) walked up to me, and, having seen what had just happened with Hot Blonde #2, greet me with big hugs, kisses on my cheeks and then grab my arms and lead me over to the bar. The Hobbits looked like Pip had just gotten naked on the table and started wacking off to Garth Brooks. Good times.

The rest of the night went off pretty much like every Saturday at the K Club. The myriad of line dances, which I don’t participate in, takes place between 11:45 and 1:00 am. At around 1:20 or so, the Barn Dance takes place and I get to dance with a lot of hot women. And because it was the Saturday before pay day, the crowd was a little light. Those who were there left around 2:00 or so, and I was one of them. The K Club night was over, and while it wasn’t as eventful as I’d hoped, it at least gave you a little glimpse into a typical Saturday for me here in Germany. I am hoping like hell to find a bar just like this one when I move back to the states. The atmosphere, the people, the way no one cares who you are, as long as you are there to drink, have fun, and maybe even get lucky. It’s perfect, even with the Hobbits. As Toby Keith sings, “I love this bar.”


Todd's background includes military service, a stint at a movie theater, and getting turned down for a date by Sandra Bullock. All things that make him totally unqualified to be a writer. However, now that he's getting married in November, that might just do it.

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