[Editor’s note: For this week’s essay we’ve once again pulled out a relic from the archive of Slim Goodbuzz, who served as Duluth’s “booze connoisseur” from 1999 to 2009. Twenty years ago the Sultan of Sot paid a visit to Eagles Aerie 80 at 1710 N. 12th St. in Superior, and composed this article for the May 2005 edition of the Ripsaw newspaper.]

So, what is the Fraternal Order of the Eagles? Well, according to the group’s motto, “Eagles are people helping people.” How do they help people? Well, who cares? They help me by selling 34-ounce mugs of beer for $2.50 during “late-night happy hour” from 10 p.m. to midnight. Thank you, Eagles Aerie 80. “People helping people,” indeed.

The Eagles are also big on disaster relief. For example, all this cheap beer is causing a 9+ magnitude gutquake in my stomach, but, this being a Saturday, I can count on a wholesome breakfast to be served tomorrow, right here, hopefully in time to prevent a reverse tsunami.

Right now, however, I’m so fucktarded drunk that, despite being surrounded by philanthropists, I’m seriously thinking about stealing an old guy’s jacket. It’s a Rusty Nail jacket, advertising my favorite South Superior bar, and I think it will look good on me.

I’m able to justify the theft in my mind by thinking about how many jackets of mine have left Superior bars with someone other than me. It’s usually a case of me leaving my Goodwill reject draped across the jukebox to soak up nicotine for a few days until it lands in the dumpster and then eventually on the back of the guy sitting next to me at happy hour. Anyway, there’s no need to point fingers here, I’m just saying that I’ve lost more jackets than I’ve gained at bars, and it’s time to start evening the score.

Of course, in order to steal this Rusty Nail jacket, I have to wait for the owner to take the damn thing off, or at least pass out. Neither of these scenarios seem likely though, because, well, it is a Rusty Nail jacket. That’s all probably for the best, however, since I might look conspicuous wearing a jacket with the name “Wes” across the left breast.

Anyway, though I may not come out of this experience with a Rusty Nail jacket, Eagle’s Aerie 80 is providing me with just about everything else I need tonight. In addition to the cheap beer, there are two TVs behind the bar, a small group of people to socialize with (one of whom is a grown woman using a SpongeBob SquarePants can-cozy) and — root for me — there’s a chance to win a handmade cane. There’s also, hanging from the ceiling, a more sought-after item than the cane. It doesn’t seem to be a prize, but instead a piece of equipment for drunks with special needs. It’s a set of inflatable football shoulder pads, sponsored by Coors. This will come in really handy, I think, should I end up floating in the half-frozen bay tomorrow.

One of the bar TVs is tuned to sports, incidentally, but the other is tuned to static. Everyone has chosen to gather around the TV that’s tuned to static. We are all drunk, and we are in a place that is dedicated to making “life more desirable by lessening its ills, and by promoting peace, prosperity, gladness and hope.” And to me, it will always be considered a place where I can drink so much that I can legitimately fear the possibility that I might puke up a bartender before the night is through.