Meet Mitch

Hello all, I am Mitch. You have all met my trusty sidekick Sardine and now I would like to introduce myself - the brains of our operation. I am the Batman to her Robin, the Superman to her Lois Lane and the Brain to her Pinky (the cartoon, not the body parts).

First off, I would like you all to know that blogs are for tools. So if you are reading this, you are a tool. But since I am writing this, I am an even bigger tool. So let's begin:

There is really nothing more to write about Mikie Squared and East LA that Sardine hasn't already mentioned. Considering that the latter part of the East LA night is still a haze anyway, no loss there.

What I would like to mention is an appalling event that happened to me at Green Rock about one month ago. It is no secret that I am no fan of Green Rock. It is loud, overcrowded and one of the few Hoboken bars you may need to stand in line to get into - not fun when there are about 20 other wonderful bars within a 5-block radius that serve the same booze. But they have $1 beers all night on Tuesdays, and since Sardine and several of our friends were already there waiting for me, my friend Brutus and I decided to head down there and meet them after work.

When we arrived we expectedly encountered a pretty long line. Brutus and I got in line, but because of my moral opposition to standing in lines at Hoboken bars, I immideatelty texted Sardine telling her that if I was not inside in 10 minutes I was going somewhere else.

The line was moving slowly but consistantly. Several people had gotten in line behind us, including five typical Hoboken girls with overpainted faces and dashing boosomy outfits. We were approaching my 10-minute deadline but since the line was actually moving I decided to give it another 5-10 minutes. All of a sudden I saw one of the beefy bouncers--one of those who probably does nothing but downs musclemilk, works out and jerks off to Roadhouse all day--approach the five girls standing behind us, pull them out of line, and escort them into the bar ahead of the 10-15 guys standing in front of them.

Needless to say, I was furious! It's bad enough that practically all women drink for free at bars anyway, as poor schmucks all across the country spend hundreds of hard-earned dollars on drinks for a bunch of bleach-blond, fake-boobed barbie dolls just for 5 minutes of coversation. Now they have the privelage of getting into bars ahead of me too!? So we immediately got out of line and started walking away but not before I yelled obscenities in the direction of the bouncer about how horrible the bar is and how I will never, ever go back there again. Brutus and I then preceeded to Sullivan's where I let off my steam over 3 vodka tonics.

Moral of the story, if you want to wait in line to get into a loud, overcrowded Hoboken bar that is no better or worse than the other 50+ Hoboken bars, only to have chicks standing right behind you get in ahead of you, then after waiting 30 minutes having to push through a hoard of drunken people to get your tiny $1 beer and look at girls who are never going to go home with you anyway, Green Rock is your place. I prefer the deadly East LA margaritas.