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"Just fuckin' kill
me." That's all I kept repeating while standing in this dump.
I thought I was just thinking it, but apparently I was saying it out
loud--in fact I was screaming it until my vocal chords snapped in
a fit of horror. Unfortunately nobody could hear me over the out-of-tune
warbling coming out of the piehole of some mulleted, pleated freakshow
who decided it would be a good idea to sing "Friends In Low Places"--the
cabaret version (as if the original didn't cause spontaneous combustion
in four out five people with any kind of musical taste whatsoever).
I only wish I had a camera with me so I could show you kind readers
how truly hideous the clientele were in this joint. They stood on
pool tables. They crowded the flimsy bathroom doors. They Grendeled
(to coin a phrase) over the bar in expectation of more self-beautification.
They were abundant and multitudinous (see
previous report). And that's all I have to say about that. [MF]
Other Locations:
Iggy's
Keltic Lounge
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