I saw a good one today: Big Shots.
Moe’s.
My sixth-grade teacher, a wonderful, bizarre ogre of a man, was very grumpy in the mornings: until he’d had a few cups of coffee from the pot that he required a student to brew for him every morning, we were forbidden to speak to him, were required to do quiet work at our desks.
Of course, we were eleven, so we were terrible at remembering this rule and were constantly up at his desk to ask him questions. Eventually he got a small signboard and slapped a “He’s Not Here” bumpersticker on it; whenever anyone went up to his desk, before they could open their mouths, he would grab the sign and pop it up in front of their face until they left.
I’ve never been to the bar, but the image of that bumpersticker will stay with me all my years.
Daniel
If it’s anything like my local bar (very nice place, but my friends and I have been regulars through a few name changes), might I suggest “Yoostabees”.
You know. To prevent this conversation:
“Hey, you wanna go to {new bar name}?”
“What? Where’s that?”
“It Yoostabee {old bar name}”.
I’ve promised myself that if I ever win the lottery (although I figure my odds are only slightly worse by not buying tickets), I’m going to buy that place and call it “Yoostabees”.
Another pointless story:
There yoostabee a bar here in Asheville called (I think) the French Bar. At some point they change the name to The Old French Bar, but then they moved and became the New Old French Bar.
After their latest move, we gave up on keeping up with their name, and now we call them the Reticulated French Bar.
Daniel