Monday, August 5, 2013

123 Burger Shot Beer

The first thing you notice is the girls who work there. They are dressed like cheap Hooters waitresses. Even if they were hot though I wouldn’t care. I’m the least horny drunk person ever. And I don’t trust bartenders/women who flirt with me. Combined with my subpar looks those are strikes one, two and three for romance. Oh and that’s a bowling reference, not baseball. Hooks in the house. Gobble, gobble, gobble!

1.)    Dollar burgers. Cheese and fried onions on a soft seedless bun. Tiny. Only a mouthful. Smaller than a slider. They are adorable. I could eat one of these burgers every day, forever. An apple a day keeps the doctor away. A burger a day and you’ll be dead soon. How selfish do you want to be though? Doctors got to stay in business too. They’ve got mouths to feed, Jags to lease and treadmills to buy.

2.)    Utah! Give me 2…dollars for a shot. Kind of a girly shot. And it looks watered down too. Full confession. I prefer whiskey but I chugged a bottle of green apple Mad Dog in college once. So I will drink anything if I think it’ll get me drunk. I don’t think these shots will though. Probably because I’m 29 years old. I’m full grown. 

3.)    Beer here! Stars and suds. Caviar wishes and brewski dreams. $3 for a non-happy hour beer is good in NYC.  If it’s not happy hour why are you there? For the burgers. You should have invited me I work right there geez.

I don’t hate this place. I don’t hate a lot of places. 123 is cheap and cheap food is a great excuse to grab drinks though. Here's my thought process. Go home and it’s a $10 minimum for delivery. Plus tax and tip. That’s $14. So if you come here you can spend $3 on burgers. Then get 4 beers and only spend another dollar. Tip? Sure I’ll tip. Better get another though. Hell, 5 beers after work on a Wednesday. This is America right? 


Friday, August 2, 2013

Polar Bears

This is a post I've used as a writing sample a few times recently. People seem to not hate it but I don't think I can sell it so I'll throw it up on here. Thanks for reading.

Polar Bear
The Coca Cola bear isn't wearing sunglasses. His white fur is soaked with the blood of your precious children. Their innocence intact until their intestines are dislodged. Loosed onto the ground like an overfilled shopping bag, tearing open from the bottom. Its contents coloring the crushed snow. 

Well, good news. We are now free to destroy these animals. Smile you son of a bitch.

The polar bear is the spirit animal for the energy conservation movement. A noble cause that looks foolish to discredit. However, their selection of this monster was a poor choice. A recent NPR story has brought to our attention that these animals are in no danger of dying off. In fact because of a hunting ban 40 years ago they have experienced a baby boom. Also as seen on the Colbert Report all bears are godless killing machines.

On a personal note I've always wanted a bear skin rug. I’d invite somebody, maybe a coworker, over to show it off after a few too many glasses of wine. We take our shoes and socks off and grab at the fur with our toes. "It's so real!" she says as a pull her close and look deep into her blue eyes. Meeting her apprehensive shocked gaze with a fierce look of determination. We exchange no words as my grip grows tighter on the small of her back. We twist to the down to the floor.  Settling on the bear rug. Looking past her face. Above. Into the glassy eyes of the once mighty fallen beast. Imagining myself riding it up a mountain. Grabbing the fur as I thrust. Like a wave traveling hundreds of miles. Up and down.  Until it crashes into the rocks. Broken. Spent. Dead. As dead as the formerly powerful  creature beneath us.  “God damn” I say. Still panting. “This rug really ties the room together.” 

Friday, May 31, 2013

Nostrand Pub

Bars like White Elephants

There is a backyard garden. Tables and chairs. Hot air heavy with pollen. It's the worst allergy season New York has ever seen. You get your own drinks from inside. No food. There are bags of chips you can buy at the bar. Inside, it's dark wood and friendly faces. New to the neighborhood, it's drawing a crowd. Neighbors meeting for the first time. Classy tap beers offered for $2 off during happy hour. Accompanied by an extensive whiskey list.

The bell chimes as the door opens.
'Hey, what can I get you?'
'Hi. Um. Has a girl been here? She's uh. A woman. I mean. She has hair. Usually wears jeans. Glasses but she might not have been wearing them. Ugh. Damn it.'
'She has a big forehead' he said apologetically.
'Really. A fivehead. Like that dinosaur with 3 horns'
'A triceratops?'
'Bingo. Yes. A triceratops. Only pretty. And with smaller excrement piles. Hopefully.
'Actually yeah. She's in the back.'
'Just somebody you're meeting at the bar?'
'Nope. Quite the opposite actually. Do you have Sailor Jerry's?'


Friday, May 10, 2013

The 13th Step

The 13th Step is what it's called when two people from AA have sex. Two lonely fucked up people connecting. Fine by me. I'm a broken robot who wants to feel love. If it wasn't for the stop drinking part I might even go to some meetings for that.

Or the 13th Step is when an AA old timer has sex with a newcomer. Which has a "don't fuck the interns" less cool vibe to it. AA is an emotionally vulnerable place but unless you are over-brimming with confidence being the fresh meat always comes with an insecure feeling. This is why I stay away from new people at jobs. I'm a recovering creep. I take the battery out of my phone after 5 drinks and have to ask a family member for my Facebook password whenever I want to log in. Damn it. Jean, I just want to change my cover photo!

So they named a bar The 13th Step. Naming a drinking establishment after an AA expression. Clever. Inside jokey. Insensitive. Let's go inside.

It's been awhile so I'm a little fuzzy on the details. I remember the waitress was hot. She had glasses. Glasses are beautiful. That just totally does it for me. I write for a Velma Dinkley slash fiction blog. It's called Oh Jinkies! Check it out sometime. I know. Confessions of a Creepy Mind.

They offer cheap drinks. Weekdays 11-8 the entire bar is half priced. That's the kind of deal that will get you in trouble. You know what I mean. You walk out and are blinded by the sun. "Oh! Oh!" Grabbing at your skin like it's burning. You've been watching Trueblood and you're hammered. It's only 3 in the afternoon. Get on the subway, throw Swedish fish at people. Get off after three stops, puke in a garbage can,, get back on before the doors close. 3:15. Car empties out like somebody just took a dump. "What's wrong with you people?!?! Never seen a person throw up before I guess." You get to your stop. Can't make it home. Piss on the steps of your own subway station. Right in front of two old ladies. "Eyes on your own paper grans. What, never seen one that big before?" It's just now 4 in the afternoon.

Hey, it happens. Things get carried away sometimes.

They also have Colossal Nachos. Served on a big platter and stacked 3 feet high. It's enough to split with 5 or 6 other people and, if you don't mind your food served on an upside down garbage can lid, at $30 it's a good value.


Friday, June 15, 2012

The Frying Pan

We can't talk about a big boat like this without acknowledging the elephant in the room. Or in my mind. Pirates. Before zombies were vampires they were pirates. Briefly they were werewolves too. But werewolves were a brief comet flashing across a supernatural fad creature sky. What's next? Plain ghosts. Don't tell me they aren't sexy enough. I watched one give Dan Ackroyd a blowjob in Ghostbusters. If you don't find Ray Zalinksy's getting ghost head sexy then I can't help you. 

But pirates. (phrasing?) Pirates were always my favorite. I'm too big and hairy and drunk to be a vampire. A vampire doesn't drop his keys 3 times while trying to get into his shitty studio apartment. Then stumble and fall into his only lamp. I'm not graceful or mysterious. I don't find Sookie attractive. At all. And look at these eye lashes. My god. If you gave my Jack Sparrow's makeup I'd look downright Cleopatraish. I'm the last Pirate Pharaoh of Egypt. 

Drinking in a boat docked on the west side of Manhattan could be the first step to Piratehood. You've got to find your sea legs somewhere. Do it docked with buckets of Coronas and some serious people watching. Where do the girls find these clothes anyway? The See Through section in the Stripper Store? Sheer R' Us? What is the thought process behind the outfit? Are their parents dead? Or just wishing they were dead? No, not you honey. You look great. I'm a pirate and you're a hooker. We're meant to be together. 

I'm off track here. Breaking records for rhetorical questions. The Frying Pan.
It's cool. Drinking outside is fun and drinking on a boat is a unique experience in NYC. You can feel the waves rocking you. At one point when I was there a big wave hit the side. (bow? stern? boat words!) and a bunch of people got soaked. Somebody told me it was a whale and I actually believed it. That's how out of your element you are drinking here. You can believe things like whales in the Hudson River. Jumping out of the water and landing on 26th street. Singing like the WB frog. 

It's not cheap unlike almost every other place reviewed here. Bucket of Coronas for $37 is the best deal you can find. It's over $6 a beer. By comparison the bar I can most frequently be found in, Rudy's, is $2.50 a beer. It's not a waste though. It's worth it. Location, location, location. 


Wednesday, May 30, 2012


5 shots for $10. 5 shots for $10. 5 shots for $10. 
Wooooo. That's what is important here. Don't come for food. They don't have any. Don't come for good service. They don't have any of that either. Don't come for a well decorated room. You're not going to feel at home and you're not in for a magical evening. There are thousands of other bars for that stuff.  Come here to get drunk. 

I always thought of Continental as a classic New York bar. It's on Third and St. Marks. It's grimy. Cheap as hell. It just always felt, to me, like a throwback to what New York used to be. The New York that scared the fucking shit out of me when my dad used to drag us in to the city as kids.  That's the romanticized New York you hear so many old timers talk about. I thought Continental was a peek into that. Like a drunker less scene CBGBs. 

However, I don't know for a fact if Continental has anything to do with a previous era of NYC. It could have opened in 2004 and been made to look shitty. For saps who come in and tell their friends "Oh man I heard Joey Ramone shot heroin into David Byrne's dick here."

Why do I even have any interest in that New York? I'm not cool. I don't own any leather. I definitely don't want to rape anybody. And I don't do drugs. Unless my friends are making me. I'm not a chicken or a turkey okay? 

To be honest my window into the glory of a more grimy the Ninja Turtles movie! Oh man. The sewers. Old taxis. Pizza. The smoke rising from the streets. What is that? Street fog? It's like fucking Scorsese directed it. De Niro era New York ended with the Ninja Turtle movie. I guess because it peaked so hard. I love it and that's how I get into it. Truly. 

So I researched Continental to find the year it opened. Sadly I saw a lot of really negative comments, reviews and a consistent history of alleged racism at the door. Aziz Ansari has a bit about South Carolina being racist but still liking it because it has good food. Well I don't like biscuits.  I think they're terrible. I do like getting drunk though. Love it. 

They won't give you water for free. Smart because they are mostly dealing with dirt bags like me. You can usually get a beer for a couple of dollars though. 

There is an okay jukebox. The website says it's the best jukebox in the world. Lunacy. Average at best. It's better than no jukebox at all though. The website also says Iggy Pop drank here. Maybe he should be in the jukebox then? I'm not sure if he was. 


Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Porters On the Lane


As you leave the boroughs and keep going east population density drops. Which is nice at first. Population density goes down as comfort goes up. You order drinks without waiting. And they are cheaper. You take a piss and the toilet isn't kicked to a million pieces and covered in shit. 

Less people = less assholes.  But no people = post apocalyptic waste land.

You keep going east and that comfort line goes up. But then it stops suddenly. Its makes a tear filled apology and swan dives from its great height. Oh comfort line. Why?
Because we are in the sticks now. 

We don't scare easy though. Built Ford tough. American made. A drunk, grinning tornado of a pirate. If you want to find us, follow the trail. We drag our big dicks on the ground like a dinosaur tail. We invented pussy flavored chewing tobacco. And if we met Jason Vorhees we wouldn't run for the door or up the stairs. We'd stick that mask up his ass and whatever didn't fit is going in his dickhole. 

So we're not babies. We still get scared out east though. Nighttime. Nobody is here. Bat country. Does a tumbleweed still tumble if there is nobody around to see it? No zombies. They've moved on in search of brains. Go west, young Zombie. Go west. 

Why was I there? Why do men do anything? Women. We sails oceans for women. Fight wars. Go to the moon. Go to Bellport. 

The bar is an old house. I used to live in an old house. So I know a thing or two about getting drunk in them. Lesson 1. Pee outside. That's exactly what you do. Parking lot. Like you're at Giants stadium finishing up at the tailgate. 

Saturdays they have live music. It's one guy. Acoustic I guess. I think he played Tom Petty. I know he played Brown Eyed Girl. I tried hating on him and then he played a song I really liked. Unfortunately I can't remember because I was drunk. Hunter S. Thompson used to carry a tape recorder. So did Tucker Max though. 

I know it was a big house but I really just hung around the bar. They had pickle backs which was a nice surprise. Although negated by the beers costing $6. The bar tenders were too (caught this but leaving it. they were two and too) Italian looking guys. One tall and thin, the other shorter and stocky. They would be fantastic as the Mario Brothers for Halloween. Or just everyday. Its a me! Bellport Mario!

They are supposed to have good food. Assume fish stuff since we're not far from the water. Kitchen closes before 10 so I've never had the chance to eat. 

They have a dice game. You are permitted one roll a day. Dollar a roll. I think it was 5 dice and you have to roll the same number on all of them. If you succeed you take the pool. Fun little bar game. 

It was a good place. Comfortable. Dice game is a great idea. The music was good.