I'm gonna buck you up.

I used to hit up the bars with my buddies to a) drink away the stress of work, b) drink away the boredom of not working, c) meet and watch folks equally saturating themselves with temporary fixes, d) get fucked up, or e) a glorious combination of all of the above, resulting in a total black hole of anything good, kind, and right with the world. But as all fateful misadventure would have it, this gloriously habitual lack of sophistication in my life has introduced a fifth element in my infinite spiral downward: Big Buck Hunter.

For the unfortunate ignorant, Big Buck Hunter ("BBH" -- best said with a truncated lilt) is a simulation hunting game found at those peddlers of fine beverages that could only be described as having "character." To date, the current DC establishments worthy of such an electronic magnificence:


1) Pour House, Capitol Hill
Known for Thursday $1 beer night and phenomenal burgers; our most common haunt.
2) Kelly's Irish Times, Union Station
Never actually played BBH here; too drunk from kickball. Machine existence confirmed through photography of other calamities.
3) Rocket Bar, Chinatown
Blue glitter bartops; enough said.
4) Garret's, Georgetown
Apparently the place to go if you just broke up, if the jukebox is any indication; no better reason than to spend your night shooting things.

There is only one way to play BBH: loud, aggressively, largely wasted at the start but certainly so by the end, with constant smack talking to your opponent. Or onlookers, for that matter. Guzzle beer in between every round. (For 3-trek adventurers -- which is also the only way to play -- this entails sipping between all five rounds of each trek, plus the bonus round. Times three. Might want to have a second, or even third beer on hand before starting.) As a matter of fact, drink during rounds.

Nothing says commitment like holding a rapidly warming Miller bottle in between your yet-chipped teeth, waving a fluorescent green shotgun at digital deer while pumping a plastic trigger so frantically even the couple making out in the corner peel blearily away to wonder what the fuss is about. I just made round Buck Hunter, betches!