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Of all the scary, generic
Irish joints in a city full of scary, Irish joints, this one may be
hands down the most depressing. Nestled on a block dominated by trinket
shops and porn DVD palaces, Mr. Keane's bar & grill is nothing more
than a temporary home for the criminally intoxicated and The European
Idiocracy. After getting the boot from DVD Heaven for fondling the
merchandise in an unsavory way, your typical Keane's patron comes
next door to drown his sorrows in a pint of whatever will make that
cheap suit he's wearing not feel so much like the cotton/poly blend
that it is. In walk the stork-like German parents--tow-headed spawn
in tow--searching for a typical American meal of boiled potatoes and
cold buffet chicken wings. Little do they both know that their lives
have just become meaningless and sapped of anything that once resembled
hope. Such is the strength of places like this. Life-sucking properties
aside, we just can't excuse the pure lack of anything redeeming about
this pit of despair. Ooh, we do remember them having a few Smiths
songs on the jukebox. More reason to want to hang yourself. [MF]
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