SUNDAY
Go to Footsies (2640 No. Figueroa St.). They have dollar PBR during happy hour (which is pretty much all day). Even though you can buy a 12 pack for like five bucks, something about dollar PBR feels like an amazing deal. The coin slot on the pool table here is broken so you have unlimited free pool, plus a good jukebox (ZZ Top’s Tres Hombres, Sabbath Vol. 4) and scenester chicks who are painfully easy to pick up.
Next, head over to Tee Gee (3210 Glendale Blvd.) for the amputee party (seriously, it’s all limbless people getting hammered).
Just for a laugh, end the night at Beauty Bar (1638 Cahuenga Blvd.). I mean, fuck this place and the pieces of shit that go there, but you should at least get one glimpse of what passes for nightlife among the status quo of Los Angeles.
MONDAY
When you wake up in the afternoon, head to the Red Lion (2366 Glendale Blvd.). Sit on the patio. It is impossible to get kicked out of this place! Last time we were there, one guy threw up literally on a bartender and she still served us. You should order a “saw” of Schnapps. It’s seven shots all lined up on a wooden cutout of a saw.
Later on, go to Jalisco (245 So. Main St.). You can order a beer “to go” in a paper bag if you are going to see a show at the Smell (all ages punk co-op club in the alley, more on that later). Sometimes it’s more fun to stay here, though, and party down with the gay rancheros and trannies that call Jalisco home.
TUESDAY
Strap on your balls and head over to the Power House (1714 No. Highland Ave.). It looks like a trailer and smells like a porn shop, but it’s where all the street performers from the Mann Chinese/Hollywood area take their liquor breaks. This means that it is fucking hilarious there. Last week we got wasted with a Jimi Hendrix impersonator.
Next up is Crabby Joe’s (656 So. Main St.), the homeless bar. You won’t fully understand until you go. Watch out for shanks, and never touch another man’s bedroll. Oh, and we found that address on a County Health Code Violations website.
WEDNESDAY
Guess what? You are doing karaoke tonight. Go to Smog Cutter and make friends with the lunatic Thai bartenders. Their most oft-used phrase is “Whaat tha phack yoo whan?!” Puke wherever, puke on the mic while you sing karaoke if you want. Nobody cares, not even the top-notch security. His name is Mike and he doesn’t own one shirt that has sleeves.
THURSDAY
Shatto Lanes: (AKA Ghetto Lanes, 3255 W. 4th St.) has the best bartender on earth. He stands about 3'3" and looks like an A-Team bad guy. They serve the best cheeseburgers in Los Angeles here and they have the Guns N’ Roses pinball machine. And yes, you can bowl while you get drunk (if you want).
Next up is Grasshopper, AKA the Blizzard. If you play it cool, the barman will hook you up with coke. Just play a game of pool or something and be nice. You will soon be able to buy blow in the bathroom.
Now take your grinding jaw over to Blacklight. The bartender will be so stoked that you aren’t a trannie that your drinks will be half off. If you’re lucky you might see an actual trannie fight, and trust me, these fuckers know how to throw down. It has the grace and brutality of ice hockey, but in drag.
FRIDAY
The Office (19606 Normandie Ave.) is a good bar. It smells like stripper perfume, they always kiss new patrons, and one of the bartenders has pendulous breasts that swing just above her navel. You can smoke while you cook your own steak in the back (no shit!). Watch out for the Cholos that live in that U-Haul truck in the back. They are not as friendly as they look, and no matter what the booze told you, you could get stabbed.
Now go to Little Siberia. Place your bets on the horses and put your winnings in the bartender’s thong. Seriously, throw her a buck and she’ll show you her pussy, ass, or tits—whatever you can stomach.
End the night at Linda’s Place. They buzz you in the door like a pawnshop or project housing, they only have beer and wine, and nobody speaks English. Talk about atmosphere! The regulars just keep buying you beers, so buy them some too.
SATURDAY
Start Saturday night at the Study. Make sure and order the house special, a dark mystery concoction that will totally fuck you up. The bartenders here are cool as hell, and the bar part of the bar is literally held together with duct tape! The napkin holders have strips of paper for getting phone numbers, and you can pretty much kill someone or fuck right on the dance floor. Nobody will even look, let alone sweat you about it.
Now head over to the Prince (3198 W. 7th St.), an out-of-control Korean bar/restaurant where you can seriously go completely apeshit. The Korean bartenders will ignore every stumble and just keep the booze flowing. They have cheap Shoju pitchers here.
Well, you made it through the week. Pick yourself up, take a shower, get an AIDS test, and keep your mouth shut about everything you saw.


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