Willie Farkle's

The first time I went to Willie Farkle's, two women were engaged in a knock down, drag-out brawl in the front parking lot. They had their hands entwined in each others perms, banging each other's heads onto the parking lot. Blue Maybelline streamed down their faces as the sweat and rain smeared their makeup. Scrunchies went flying threw the air. Their tight, Jordache jeans were covered in mud and their press-on nails were littering the pavement as they fought it out. I continued walking toward the building, already intrigued by this place, as the cops rolled up. Upon entering I was delighted to learn that the drinks were served in small mason jars and that the drinks are so freaking cheap there never really is a special. Jello-shots are de rigeur and can be had any old day.

My subsequent visits to this fine establishment have revealed that every time you go there you will either witness a fight, a peeping tom in the bathroom, or a creepy (SUPER creepy) dude sitting alone at the bar. It's an ok place to go if you like a freakshow, but not an ok place to go if you just want a quiet drink with friends where uneventful things uneventfully occur.