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It is rare for Mr.
Hipster to review a place in which he has never been (there's a first
for everything.) In this case, though, it seems warranted. There's
nothing we love better here at the survey than those Michael Clarke
Duncan lookin' bouncers with the earpieces and the too-small black
muscle shirt. There's nothing they love more than turning
away a group of guys by telling them that there are already too many
dudes inside. We say, "Yeah, but they're paying for their drinks,
aren't they?" In fact, they were probably paying for the women's drinks
too. After being promised admission after some guys vacated the joint,
we stood around waiting patiently as our girl friends (as apposed
to girlfriends) partied inside. Several groups of horrible b&t dudes
later, we were once again denied entrance by the unsmiling, megalo-cephalic
bag of meat behind the velvet rope. After a half an hour, other groups
of similarly pissed off looking guys were hanging out on Columbus
Avenue, while small hordes of women strutted in, and more guys poured
out. We figured percentages weren't this guy's strong suit, but the
place must have been at least 75% women at this point. No go. We said
a few choice words to the jackass before walking away that I believe
contained an 'f' and a you, and found a joint that served our kind.
Reading other reviews, it sounds like we missed amateurish jazz music,
some guys with gold chains, and food straight out of the frozen food
section. Boo fuckin' hoo. [MF]
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