49 cent beers
Best Part Of the Cake Is the Frosting — I’m strolling down South St. peeping my two favorite things. Boobies. I love wearing my s.g.’s cause I can bug out for like a whole quarter block without looking like a registered sex offender. Though I “get it in like that” I sometimes find my self stunna free, so then I gotta pull my patented move “the tourist”, that’s when I bobble my head sharply from left to right, squint my eyes like I’m Mickey Rooney in a black and white movie, and tilt my head back at an obtuse angle until my top row of teeth are exposed and I invariably look like a lost “Neasty” thereby distracting any talent that passes by from noticing me noticing their “tastee cakes”. It’s a classic move and I fully intend on teaching it to my illegitimate half breed son I’ll end up having by mistake one night at a barn party in Amish Country after a comely gypsy with silken wings feeds me too many Root Beer and Bourbons, a concoction she likes to call “The Bat Masterson”.
Makos
It’s not usual I come across anything more visually satisfying or even as soul stirring as a fully loaded set of wholly pert milk riffles, but this was no usual day. A Wednesday night I was en route to The Laff House to make it do what it do boo boo, a couple bucks, a few Wood Chucks, and some good old fashion Yuck Yucks. On the way I noticed a most intriguing sign out side of the Mako’s Bar on Third and South near that Mexican ran W.O.P. shop that sells two fifty pizza soup by the slice and charges extra for flavor, yeah that Mako’s. It’s a beach bar themed dive — perfect for celebrating in after you and your “bros” finish date raping a couple of U Penn Sophomores under the South St. over pass during Spring Break bought to you by Axe Hair spray and Old Navy flip flops.
The bar feels like the kind of place that will give you mouth herpes if you drink anything from the taps, and the patrons from last I could remember definitely smoke Crystal and listen to trance. The bartender is usually a Suicide Girl cast off with a complexion that rivals a gallon of Skim Milk and who has the type of name you’d give a cute pocket sized animal or a dowdy middle aged house wife that works part time in the afternoon, and drinks before ten a.m now that the kids are in high school, and play intermural sports while her husband works eighteen hours a day just so he can avoid his wife. Not because he doesn’t love her anymore or that he’s cheating on her, but because he’s dealing with erectile dysfunction issues bought on by his penis which has decided to go on strike until his wife’s vagina looses some girth.
The bar maids tend to think that because this place is a beach themed dive bar that it’s completely acceptable to rock the whale tail. Ladies, this is the future. If you’re gonna wear super tight bottoms and low rise jeans, back it up a little bit and doff the underpants all together. It’s cool, that’s what Bond’s make talc for. Just hit up your crotch area with a little sprinkle sprinkle, and then when you peel yourself out dem jeans at the end of the night give yourself a twice over with a few wet wipes, Johnson and Johnson style! Another classy stand out amongst the Mako’s Decor (aside from the six foot protruding Mako shark) is the iconic photo “Kiss” by Chelsea College of Art and Design graduate Tanya Chalkin, a giant portrait of two girls laid out on a bed of white sheets in white camisole tops with matching bikini cut underpants in a tender embrace totally making out with each other.
Let me tell you something about me readers, I feel like I can refer to you as “readers” because I really don’t have the energy to type out the names of the five of you that will read this article. I am not interested in seeing two girls kiss unless they are both tens and they are kissing me. I know two girls kissing is supposed to be one of the ultimate dude fantasy up there with fornicating on Asian girls with bad English and good skin, or owning slaves, but I’m not even close to that type of brotha and when I see two girls kissing that’s not dimes, like say one chick is a dime and the other chick is a seven, then it just looks like a regular hetro couple making out, like if I was channel surfing and I inadvertently came across a rerun of “Mad About You and it’s the part where Helen Hunt and “the one Hitler let get away” are eating Grape Nuts and just start making out. Willfully watching straight couples make out is gauche. And when I see two broads thats sixes and under getting into it then that just looks like two lonely ass, pathetic, poorly shaped, schlubby dudes, mouth fucking, and I cant be a party to that kind of activity either because watching ugly people get sexy makes part of my penis die a little bit on the inside.
So why bother drinking in a bar that’s the equivalent of guzzling in a Greyhound Bus Station Bathroom with hot wings and a “pool table upstairs” sign that is clearly pointing in the wrong direction? Because of the sign crackerjack! No, not the “pool table upstairs” sign pointing in the wrong direction! The sign out side the door, the sign advertising $0.75 cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer and $0.49 bottles of Miller High Life Beer. One being what I like to describe as the tofu of beer and the other I like to describe as the Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer of Beer! And because this deal is running from three to eleven Monday to Friday for what was told to me would be indefinite amount of time I think you can can look past all of the Mako’s many many flaws and make this “bro bag stable” at least a pre-game jump off before you go to a bar you really want to drink in, like North.
Tags: Bar, beer, cheap, Makos, Michael Adrion, Michael Smith, Mike Smith, writing