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Fishbowl Charlotte

On Tuesday, the Democratic National Convention kicked of in Charlotte, NC, which means reporters had to start doing real work instead of glomming onto swag bags and watery cocktails. I decided to dive right into the filthy waters of Fishbowl Charlotte to get a taste of the local scene. (Spoiler alert: It tastes like fried chicken and tobacco.)

The morning started as I was greeting by this sweaty, shouty member of the God Delegation. He was strolling the streets with a LOUD microphone asking that we repent and ask forgiveness from Jesus Christ. (Full disclosure: I didn’t)

Right behind Jesus Screamer was Herman Cain this Black Cowboy. Everyone seemed to want to take pictures with him. Take a good look at that picture, because it’s the last one I took before rain began to spray over the entire city.

After dodging waterfall all day long, I managed to find myself at the “super secret” Wonkette Party. To call it a party would be generous. It was a gathering of about 10 people in a house where Team Wonkette is staying for the week of the convention. Hostess Rebecca Schoenkopf (a.k.a. Ripped Rebecca) was joined by Jim Newell, Liz Gorman and Liz Glover, for a bounty of fried chicken and keg beer. While convention speeches aired in the background, there was plenty of snark flying around the room. I can confirm that Schoenkopf was NOT ripping drunk when I met her. When word got out that I was a writer for FBDC, I was exposed to a few big boy words. After calling our coverage of her drunken escapade at the Politico party in Tampa “fucked up,” Schoenkopf marveled at her own thin-skinned reaction to our story. I sulked away into the rainy night, hoping against hope that Roaring Rebecca will get ripped at Charlotte’s Politico Hub tonight.

After that, it was Politico Live! time. I moved over to the Politico Hub on Church St. to watch more speeches, drink more free hooch and try to break into shots with the Shermanator (i.e. reporter Jake Sherman). We arrived in time to see Mike Allen ambling through the crowd and getting a soda from the fancy, newfangled soda machines.

Overall, it was a well-stocked, fancy affair, but it was FAR more subdued than I expected from the Behemoth of the Beltway that is Politico. With the exception of this scene, which features a scantily-clad party-goer taking hors d’oeuvres from a server wearing sunglasses. INSIDE. At 10pm.

After that, I stumbled out into the torrential downpour to find more trouble in Fishbowl Charlotte. Stay tuned…

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