A bar has gotta look like it's been enjoyed for me to enjoy it. If I can tell that the furniture is brand-new, I can't cut loose. I feel like if I spill, the owner's kids won't go to college. I want a bar that's got some stories, that's made some mistakes. During Barmageddon, we shot in a place where a baby had actually been conceived on top of the piano. That must have been one hell of a song! Then again, there is such a thing as a bar being not classy enough. We shot in a biker bar where the staff was forced to cut paper towels into squares in order to save money on cocktail napkins.

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The money is not worth this.

When your economic plan involves arts and crafts, you know it's time for a change. Out of all the money-saving tactics I saw while shooting the show, this paper-towel-napkin thing sticks with me as the ultimate sign of a bar owner having hit rock bottom, like it's the business decision one makes right before switching from serving beer to cooking meth.

When it comes to drinks, I'm open-minded. Jalapeno Martini? I'll try it. Coconut-infused mimosa? Bring it on. An alcoholic chipmunk's breast milk with a pickle back? As long as you're buying. But if you're gonna be cocky about mixology, your drink better be fucking amazing. There's nothing worse than a bartender giving you a long explanation about how his fresh ingredients are locally sourced and he makes everything from scratch, right before he serves you a drink that makes you gag. One place we shot in served me a drink that had an actual lavender branch in it.

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So, a piece of scented wood. Floating in my drink.

I'm sorry, is this a bar or a renaissance fair? And if it is a renaissance fair, hand me a sword, because that's about the only way I can drink lavender and still feel like a man. In other words, indulging in mixology is like getting to know the personality of a one-night stand: if it's great, it makes things a little better, but for the most part it's a major letdown and you're better off keeping things simple. And, you usually wake up feeling better as well.

She hit on me when I was trying to film a segment, and when I explained that she was a bit too old for me she immediately tried to set me up with her daughter. I kindly explained that if she's 70, her daughter is probably a bit too old for me as well. Without missing a beat she mentioned that she also has a granddaughter. It was like one of those Russian nesting dolls: each one you open there's a smaller one inside, and each one wants to have sex with you. Or maybe they don't want to; this was all coming from a bronzed geriatric pimp who seemingly didn't stray beyond her own bloodline. The point is, she was entertaining as hell, made for good conversation, and I got the numbers of her entire lineage should I ever hit a major dry spell.

In another bar where we shot, the bartenders kept themselves entertained by constantly switching their accents. They were both former actors, so they would take your first order as a noble Scotsman and your next as a rootin' tootin' Texan out to provide a knee-slappin' good time. Little details like this make the staff seem part of the party instead of just servers stuck doing a job. As someone who bartended for two years myself, I can tell you that a good attitude is integral; if you're not enjoying serving drinks, you shouldn't be serving them at all, which is exactly what my boss told me as I was being fired. Apparently, I was also drinking too much, which based on some of the bars I saw while shooting Barmageddon isn't even humanly possible.