a thirtysomething-year-old regular who frequents the bar with his companion Chuck (formally Charles Brown) on a daily basis. Long nights, years of smoking cigarettes, some jail time, sunburns from passing out on the picnic tables (beer still in hand) combined with rheumatoid arthritis make him look about 50. Byron owes $200 a month in child support for his 22-year-old son, which he doesn’t pay. He’s gone to jail for it before but vows never to go back. The cops aren’t finding him; every address written to his name belongs to somebody else. When Byron gets really wasted, he starts speaking in a unique dialect known as Byronese. Only a few can understand it, but everyone at the bar will hear it. “Kendra” becomes “Kenya.” He speaks in no sentences, just a mashup of words with absolutely no coherent thought. And don’t forget the lisp, undoubtedly caused by numerous infections from his tongue ring. His escapades with the trailer park tramps are entertaining but not convincing enough to disprove his questionable gayness. His flamboyant usage of the term “whatever” is enough to make Perez Hilton blush.