Basement Bars and Subterranean Lairs.

Ah! Good day , Mr. Bond! So nice of you to "drop in", heh heh heh heh heh heh huh huh huuuuuuhh. No, don't move. Yes, you have seen the ridiculously spindly pistol I have trained on you. It fires a tiny dart filled with a curare whose making is known only to me and the four corpses in the bellies of my crododiles Yes, those are the ones with the thinner noses. Alligators have broad snouts. But do not try to distract me with fascinating conversation of crocodillians. Please, have a drink.

Yes, you see I have a bar concealed in an ordinary armoire, where you may expect to find mundane plates and cups, and perhaps a tureen. I have servants for such things. I much prefer my armoire-bar. Quite elegant, don't you think? What? You think the rules of propriety dictate that one must only have a bar in the basement? Mr. Bond, I am not a savage, regardless of what your MI-6 handlers may tell you. Oh, wait. We're out of cherries. Let me just open the fridge and... Damn it! Where did he go? Guards!

Aha! There you are. You have found my elegant and inviting other bar and combination fondue station. I find that some mornings I cannot face another day of fighting good until I have had my fondue. Can I interest you in a monkey brain dipped in melted cheese? I assure you it is quite breathtaking. Yes, the drink to accompany such a sweet meat is a Chinese Whisper. One part rice wine. one part lychee juice. Pour over crushed ice. Fill with soda. Wait. The lychee juice is empty. I'll be right... No! Wait! Seize him! GUARDS!
Ah! Mr. Bond, you are quite the curious guest, but we cannot have you scampering about my compound unguarded. Welcome to the basement. So you see, I DO have a basement bar after all. Yes, that's right. I am the savage they told you about. Unfortunately, you won't be able to tell anyone about the location of my secret paisley basement bar's location, for you are about to die. Say goodbye to my little red donkey, Mr. Bond. He will be the last knickknack you ever talk to. Yes. That particular paisley looks familiar, doesn't it? I made it out of the pant suit that your accomplice, Tiffany Case will wear in your upcoming adventure about diamonds. Yes, that's right! I have a time machine! It's called a Fruit Madrid. Two parts grenadine. One part Chartreuse. A pinch of salt. A fresh mint. I think I will have a sip right now. Mmmmmm. *thud*

That was very clever of you to slip a knockout tablet into my Fruit Madrid, Mr. Bond, but you'll be sad to know that such toxins have a reduced effect on me due to my solid gold artery filters. yes, those were a little painful going in, but poison is an occupational hazard, you see. Never mind that. Your knowledge of my secret Brady Bunch rec-room bar must not escape this rec-room. I'm glad I keep a syringe of deadly viper venom in this cleverly concealed wall cabinet, along with a selection of fine soda-pops and gooseberry cookies. No, wait. This isn't the viper venom. This is the aqueous humor of a giraffe: useful for an entirely different type of murder. How did this get - Mr. Bond!!! Halt! The son who is of a bitch! GUARDS!!!
Jeez, Mr. Bond! Why do you not keep still? Aha! You found my mini-pub. A little taste of home, I bet you were thinking. You see that it is complete with amusing figurines of Dickensian characters, and a miniature one of those funny horns they blow at fox hunts. Enjoy this last taste of home, Mr. Bond, because in a moment you will taste hot lead - what??? Where has he-? I didn't even look away that time!!! GUAAAARRRRDS!

There you are! You are one slippery fish, Mr. Bond. It is fitting that I find you near my rough-hewn corner basement bar that is very like being in the hold of a ship, don't you think? I always say that if it feels as though the ship is rocking, it is probably the evil grog one has drunk, and not actually the wave action of any body of water, because we are, in reality, underground. It's wordy, I know. I should probably have one of my minions pare it down a little, to fit on a coaster. I have some more clever quips on some coasters back here. Let me see where I left them. I - HEY! Consternation and malediction! He has gone away! GUARDS! Find him, you slowcoaches! Find him at once! Damnation, I need a drink.


Michelle_Randy said...

The interior decorating reviews (and this use of them) is one of my favorite features. The oldsters were crazy with their decorating, right?

PhilAreGo@gmail.com said...

These are all pulled from the same decorating book, and they were NOT cherry-picked for the bars. This is what the basement/rec room chapter looked like. Bars bars bars. It's interesting that the priorities of the era are kind of revealed through what they did with their houses. You don't see many how-to's on making your basement into a cabana or a bar. It's all very grand now. Expensive build-outs with lavish theater seating. 45 years ago, it was "how can I build a bar in my basement for five hundred bucks? Cool, man.

Thanks for reading, Michelle!


PhilAreGo@gmail.com said...

"The interior decorating reviews (and this use of them) is one of my favorite features."

Good to know! This information will be added to the Phil Are GO! Reader Feedback Knowledgebase, so that we may better meet our readers' needs. Also, it will comprise the entirety of the Phil Are GO! Reader Feedback Knowledgebase. Thank you for creating the Phil Are GO! Reader Feedback Knowledebase.


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