Lily was back after a few weeks of plane hopping. On this evening, however, she had gotten down to the buisness of drinking rather quickly. She was staring into the ashtray before her, watching her third cigarette burn slowly into a column of ash. Now and then, she took a deep swig of her wine and looked, somewhat bleary-eyed, around the bar.

Kriminal enters The Peach Pit, and approaches the bar.  He downs a couple shots and notices LilyEvans sitting alone, noticeably not in her best state of mind.  Kriminal looked over at LilyEvans and gave her a flirtatious look.  Kriminal walks over as Lily gently places her cigarette in the ashtray.  Kriminal notices her glass of wine, and realizes she isn't here to get picked up.  That was okay for Kriminal's purpose, he was just looking for some companionship.  Kriminal walks towards Lily, and asks:

"May I get you a drink?"

MrClean walks in the new bulding. he looks around.

he sees the restaurant part he heads for it.

"hey Gordon_Zola nice place you have here.

MrClean takes a seat and looks at the menu

Hedo_Rick enters The Peach Pit and looks around, noticing a vacant establishment that reeks of cheap booze and stale urine. He continues to breathe in the rank air, allowing it to fill his lungs, for the sake of history and great tradition.

"So all the stories I've been hearing of the once proud history of this place are true. The fecal matter on the floor, rotting NPM corpses in the corners, and the unmistakable feeling that at any moment you can taken from behind and violated. This is absolutely my kind of place."

After contemplating the most fitting way to pay tribute to those who have come before him and fallen, greats like Brent and ThomasHarrow, and lesser beings such as Bearderus and Marionette, he stumbles upon the perfect tribute.

Rick drops his speedo, squats, and unloads one of the most violent shitpisses ever taken by a man across the 8 cities, right in the middle of the floor.

He looks around, still in the presense of know one, pulls up his pants and walks out of one of the most historic establishments Detroit has ever seen.

"Maybe someday I'll be back for a drink." he says to himself as he walks out the door.

Elvis was about to enter the establishment for a bit of eat, his stomach longing for a meal. Upon opening the door, the raunch smell of urine and feeces hit him at once, nearly causing him to vomit. He quickly turned around, coughing and gagging. The smell burning his nostrels

The Peach Pit had been neglected for too long thought Gordon as he walked down 14th street. It`s high time I got back in there and attracted some interest from a more preferred level of clientele.

He had heard reports of great debauchery and filth from Detroit’s finest restaurant and bar. He braced himself as he turned the corner of 4^th avenue and approached the marble steps leading to the jewel in his financial crown.

The stench hit him like a dead pig hurtling through a car windscreen. The place was awash with urine and excrement, dead bodies lay in dark corners surrounded by swarms of flies whilst the bar looked disused with buckets of what can only be described as dried saliva scattered around its once mirror like polished surface.

“The bastards” he thought to himself as he took out his handkerchief and wrapped it around his hand. He picks up the telephone receiver and dials...............

“Raoul, it`s me, Gordon. Get your lazy ass down here, we got work to do, and bring some bodies with you to clean this place up. It smells like the inside of Favara`s truss in here.”

Within an hour of the call a small army appears brandishing mops, cloths, cleaning equipment and several gallons of air freshener. Within a short time the place begins to look something recognisable again. The brassware begins to gleam once again, carpets are replaced and the oxblood leather is professionally cleaned.

Walking over to the bar area Gordon asks........”I hope we`ll be serving beers by seven Raoul?”

“Yes indeed Gordon we will Sir. The restaurant may take another day to sort out as Marionette, rest his soul, had deposited much of himself into the majority of the cooking utensils.”

Excellent, thought Gordon............the Peach Pit is back.................   

FrankCastle walks up to the bar and odrs a drink.

*FrankCastle shakes his head*

"i hate it when a bully picks on some on smaller then them or weaker then them".

Tell them to look me up. and i will clean the floor with there face.

John walks though the doors of the bar*

John head to the bar, hey bartender i need a strong drink and a nice cigar.

It seemed to Barry like nobody had set foot in this place in years, and the smell that assaulted his enormous nostrils as he cautiously peeked inside, suggested anyone who would have been willing to do so must have had a penchant for the stench of rotting corpses and human shit. Still, he was used to foul smelling things, having spent a lifetime in the employ of Achilles, so that didn't deter him and he crinkled his nose and wandered inside.

It was dark inside the Pit and despite Gordon_Zola's best efforts to restore the place, 14th street was barely better than a war zone so the only people who had graced the interior of this bar had either unwanted sexual advances or dire bowel movements on their minds; probably both and it showed. The once fine bar was scorched and scratched far beyond repair, what chairs had previously adorned the place had long since been broken down into their raw materials and tossed into the ash pile in the center of the room. Barry deduced from the fecal marked note nearby, that this had been the site of the pyre for the immortal NPMs Brent and ThomasHarrow and people had gathered in their thousands to look upon it.

"What a fucking shit hole" Barry muttered under his breath. He took one last wistful look about the place and shook his head; he could do nothing with this. He went outside and signaled to the broker waiting for him to come over.

"Well?" The man asked, his eagerness doing little to convince either of them this wasn't an undisguised ass of a building.

"I'm not a miracle worker. Show me somewhere I can turn around and use and I'll buy it" Barry said "but this?" He gestured to the rotting facade of the Peach Pit "burn it down."

Dark_King walks into The Peach Pit and takes a seat at the bar.

Hey, can I have one of your finest drinks?

I look around admiring the decor of the place. Everything looks wonderful. The waiter arrives with his drink.

Thanks man!

I down my drink and ask for another.

My blonde hair blowing somewhat in the wind, along with my skirt, almost revealing my slender thighs...I feel my stomach begin to rumble.Looking around at the available choices, I see what looks like a new place, called ''he Peach Pit.'' Thinking of Shay and how much she loveeeesss anything with peaches, I open the beautiful door, and notice the beautiful marble steps.

After being out of the wind, my hair settles down and I make a beeline for the bathroom to make any adjustments. Coming out of the bathroom, I look around and flag what looks like part of the waitstaff for a seat somewhere. Looking around as I am seat, my slender leg slide under the table, I slip off my shoes, as my feet were killing me.

I see the red bound menus, and over look it. There is quite a bit of variety at this place, which is good.. I might actually find something I like. The waiter comes and asks if I wanted to place an order...I wasn't quite ready, so I  just order a drink, a rum and coke, as I am working tonight, and surely cannot be drunk on the job.

I still cannot choose, and wonder what would be recommended for as some would say "picky" pallet. I place my soft pink lips over the straw, after swishing the straw a lil bit to mix the drink some more. I almost moan slightly, as I was pretty parched.. and practically suck that drink down and ask for another. With a WEG, thinking I just might be here for a while....

As Barry and his agent had been preparing to leave the Pit, he noticed a formidable entourage arriving hot on his heels. He stepped out of the doorway as several bodyguards pushed past him and scoped the place out. A few moments later, Dark_King, reputed mob boss of Inglewood, sauntered into the joint with a look on his face somewhere between childlike wonder and intense orgasm.

"Hey, can I have one of your finest drinks?" he said to nobody in particular as he seemingly admired the burned out remnants of what was once the bar of the Pit. Barry cast an awkward glance towards his agent, who looked a nonplussed as he did and then back to Dark_King.

"Thanks man!" He yelled, holding his hand out and accepting an imaginary drink as if from an imaginary waiter, which baffled Barry even more. He was caught in a horrible trance, like watching a train wreck fucking a donkey; he didn't want to look, but he just couldn't make himself look away as pistons fired past sphincter.

Fortunately, the harrowing silence was broken by the arrival of another unexpected visitor; this time a seemingly slender blonde woman. Given her raunchy attire, Barry assumed automatically that she must be on the game, but she too seemed caught up in Dark_King's fantasy and was pretending to rifle through a menu while doing something with her imaginary straw, which Barry assuming was meant to be alluring.

"Eh," Barry started, but neither of the new arrivals looked up and each continued their charade. "So, er, I'll be going then?" He said without getting a response. He stood spellbound for several seconds, still not entirely believing what he was seeing. A high profile gangster from Inglewood rocking up to this forsaken shithole, sipping on thin air and settling himself on a pile of rubble like it was his throne, closely followed by what he could only assume was a streetwalker, all playing the same la-la-land nonsense about grandeur and marble...and....and....

And suddenly it hit him; this was a planned rendezvous. These two had meant to come here. They had intended to dance this odd little dance. This was part of some weird fetish involving a shit-encrusted former dive-bar and a man and a woman, and here he was, right slap bang in the middle of it. His stomach turned as the pieces of the illicit affair clicked slowly into place.

"Fuck!" He squeaked, barreling into his agent and flying through the door. He didn't know what they were smoking over in LA, but he didn't want to get turned inside out in the Peach Pit, like so many others had before him, so he didn't stop. He charged off down the street as fast as his big head and the resulting wind resistance allowed. 

The_Stig stood motionless with his arms folded in the middle of 14^th Street as instructed. He looked long and hard at what remained of a once regal establishment, now home to several hobo`s and a flock of wild geese. What looked like coagulated brown sauce ran from the gutter and hung like infected snot above the shit covered entrance. He shook his head at thoughts of what had taken place there many years before. The intense smell of filth, debauchery and wanton lust filled his nostrils but he had a job to do here, and it didn't involve bowel movement of any kind.

His task was to meet with a couple of builders who were to erect scaffolding outside the abandoned “Peach Pit” and remove the custom built sign above. He followed orders to the tee, and was happy to wait, take in the sights, and the unpleasant aroma surrounding the battered and bruised building.

He had been stood there motionless for approximately 3 hours and was bored as fuck when from nowhere appeared two men and unfortunately, they didn't look like builders. The younger of the two was smartly dressed, cleanly shaven and carried a leather bound attaché case. The other man was dishevelled in appearance, wearing 28” inside leg trousers when he obviously needed two sizes larger, clearly upset and equipped with the most alarmingly huge head he had ever seen. It was clear that this man's mother must have had a birth canal the size of the Ganges.

He watched as they passed by, over hearing words such as “no name C” and “shit-piss” and “where's my fee you fat headed Mo”.

Shortly afterwards the builders turned up. Erected the scaffold and removed the sign, carefully crating it before loading it onto a waiting flat back truck.

The truck moved off with The_Stig following behind them at the wheel of a custom built Buick capable of phenomenal speed, in the right hands of course.

Curtis had caught word of this dilapidated burnt out shit-box bar downtown and couldn't understand the appeal. Nor could he resist anything that peaked his curiosity. He'd heard stories, wild stories. Drunken homosexual man-tangles thinly disguised as legitimate brawls. Lots of poo and fire and disdain and shame. Bewildered West Coast twits involved in charcoal fantasy rendezvous. The list was as long as it was diverse. It couldn't all be true. He made haste to the venue and getting out of his car and was immediately distracted by the glimpse of The_Stig driving past at high speed. He tried to wave but it was futile.

Looking back toward the venue, he was staggeringly underwhelmed at what he saw. But he had been expecting that. It was all part of the mystique. With an appropriate sense of intrepid adventure, he strode inside like a proper hero. At once he was taken by the black charred interior with it's stench of urine, lies and betrayal. It was all true! He couldn't believe it. Charred memories and burnt poo everywhere. The bonfire style pile of burnt timber and assorted bar furniture in the center of the room. The Los Angelean fantasist slumped dead over his imaginary drink. Curtis saw potential.

​He knew hip meant cutting the bold line ahead. It meant shunning anything universally liked and embracing what would be rejected, then holding it aloft as some new golden fleece and singing it's praises until all that was fashion, bent like reads in it's direction. This was it! The art deco 'era' that everyone was so smitten with was bullshit, this was where it was at. Burnt out shit-hole dive bars with no signs above the door and a bare minimum of function. A few exposed light bulbs, a few half upholstered chairs and a decent collection of booze and this could be THE spot. He walked back outside and found a phone.

"Yeah hi its me. Listen, you know that edgy new bar vibe you were looking for? Well, have I got new for you pal!..."

Batiatus of The House of Batiatus honors the storied Peach Pit with his esteemed presence! Hail Batiatus I call out to the patrons, or lack there fucking of. I revoke all gratitude to The_Stig, who insults good Batiatus with invitation to an establishment far beneath my station.  Certainly not any place a man of noble breeding would dine.  You offer piss and claim it wine, The_Stig.  May the Gods curse Gordon_Zola in the afterlife for constructing such a vile eatery.  The beef served resembles a whore's gash.  And where are the fucking utensils?  What am I to cut this putrid meat with?  My cock?  Filthy latrine water splashes up at fucking cheeks as shit falls from ass in your horrific stalls.  Unsanitary!  The sight of Barry's head causes appetite to give way to nausea. And on the subject of nausea, tell that wench Mari to put her fucking shoes back on!  Her feet reek like Pluto's asshole.

sigh

Apologies, The_Stig.  Perhaps I shall escape... I mean exit... now as to not offend with further insult.  Perhaps I should have taken a more diplomatic polite approach to my departure as the good Godfather Curtis has before me, and pretended I needed to make a phone call.

Gideon had spent most of his day learning his new city by walking around meeting people checking out what establishments were around he had been all over and it was nearing night. Gideon had a small lunch so he was hoping to make up for it with dinner and he had heard that The Peach Pit was a good place to go eat so he decided heh why the Fuck not come see what the place is all about maybe get a few drinks at the bar afterwards and maybe get lucky with a lady and take her back to his place for a little fun

  for too long, rumors of this mysterious place had been whispered. tales of debauchery, sacrifices, and prayers to a statue of Sidious where often attached to these tales. ragnarok decieded it was time to discover these things for himself. after a few hours of exploiting the crime scene in Detroit, he found himself at the corner of despair and bin dipping. it was better known as The Peach Pit.

The Peach Pit

Where dreams come to die, and mobsters live in infamy forever

Long Live Bearderus
 

 the sign in the window was enough to lure him towards the doors. the worlds finer clubs has security, or at least a doormen to great you. this nearly vacated club had but a mere door, so covered with grim that you couldn't peer inside. he reached for the door, pulled it open, and stepped into what could be the 7th level of hell.

the place smelled like Chris_Vaughn, a mixture of stale sweat, cheap tabacco, and baby oil. not a pleasant mixture by any means, nor with Chris a pleasant person, more like a foul mouthed jobber with a stole 2x4. as his nostrils burnt, he drove himself further into the Pit. Off in the nearly deserted corner, two hobos where doing things to one another that could only be described as grotesque yet unique. at the bar stood a skeleton of a man, stroking his white beard while absentmindly dumping cheap beer into an already full glass.

when he realized a living breathing customer had ventured into this place of ruin, he grinned with broken yellow teeth. it looked like Barry had smashed his forehead into this mans face one too many times during his recent visits. a white covered tongue licked his lips, the beer stopped spilling, and he asked Ragnarok what he could do for him.

Batiatus had been right, dousing himself with Ragnaroks own colonge had kept the hermaphrodidic gollum at bay, Chris just hoped he could wash it off again, he smelled like stale sweat, cheap tobacco wnd baby oil. How people could smoke was beyond him. Still it was all worth it. As he stired through the grimy window of the Peach Pit, he could see Ragnarok had finally been reunnited with his mother. She was just like @Ragnatok if it wasnt for the white beard and broken teeth. At least they both had yellow ones. Chris was sure that Ragnarok would look after her though, after all you only had one mother. 

Smiling Chris headed to the airport to catch the next flight back to New York. Damn this cologne better wash off.

Good Batiatus returns to the storied Peach Pit.  Marvel at my bold new Dominus suit, peasants!  The place still lacks decor, still reeks of shit and piss, still absent any curbside fucking appeal.  Yet good taste gives way to hunger and I find myself once again honoring The Peach Pit, elevating the establishment with mere fucking presence.  The_Stig, my friend, prepare for me that sandwich I often satisfy  hunger with, the one that resembles a whore's gash, the open-faced roast beef sandwich I believe is it's proper name.