I decided to check out a hotel bar for tonight’s Tuesday Swizzle Stick search. Googling around I found a bar called Forty Four in the Royalton Hotel in midtown. The name alludes to the address, 44 W. 44th St. It’s close enough to walk to, so let's be on our way.
And we're off. Another nice night in New York City. Hard to believe that last week we had an earthquake and a hurricane tropical storm here.
Anybody else find the name, "My Daddy's Pizza" kind of creepy? I don't know why, but I do.
Speaking of creepy, the name of this store should be "Pedophiles R Us."
I walked by the bar twice because there's no sign, just this marker on the wall.
Here's the entrance. Let's check it out.
There's a long hallway and this is a dark place.
There's several lounge pits on the way to the bar. Here's one of them. The photos will be a little on the dark side, since I don't want to pop flashes in a dark place like this.
Here's another lounge area.
There's a square bar in the back of the club.
I chose a seat at the back of the copper-topped dark wooden bar.
A view of the bar from my perch at the bar.
And I found out they have a special swizzle stick drink here. It's called the Queen's Park Swizzle and here's Enid, the pretty and friendly bartender serving it up with a great smile.
Houston, we have a swizzle stick! And it's metal! Nice.
Here's Joshua with Enid who was also tending the bar. Everyone here is really friendly.
As you can see, it's a well stocked bar.
For my second drink, Enid suggested a Vieux Carre, which includes this huge block of ice.
And here's the finished product. It was delicious and loaded with booze.
The check and the swizzle. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
The Swizzle Stick Collecton so far. Thanks to all who have contributed. They're prized possesions indeed!
Last week over at the fine blog, The Half Empty Glass, anonymous271 wrote a post asking what people were doing in anticipation of Hurricane Tropical Storm Irene. I jokingly replied I was getting a copy of Juggs magazine because the power might go off and then there’s be no internet porn. After I left that comment it got me thinking, “Who the hell buys printed porn these days?” You can get more than enough free porn on the internet. Check out this screen shot.
The more I thought about it, I realized I haven’t bought a porno magazine in years. I think they still exist and I thought that for tonight’s six pack, I’d go out and buy six porno magazines and check them out. I just had a memory of when I bought my first porn magazine. I was a sophomore in high school and had just gotten my drivers license. I drove to the local shopping center in Peoria and headed to a local book store called, The Book Emporium. In addition to books, they had a large magazine selection and at the end of the display were the “men’s” magazines. I already had picked up a copy of Rolling Stone to use as a cover for standing in line and I chose a magazine with the subtle yet provocative title of “Beaver Magazine.” I put it underneath my Rolling Stone and wandered around till there wasn’t a line. Then I charged up to the register, the woman behind it (who looked a little like the principal’s secretary in Ferris Beuller’s Day Off) rang up the Rolling Stone and kind of scowled at me as she rang up my treasured copy of Beaver Magazine. I paid and the magazines were just sitting on the counter for all to see.
“Can I have a bag please,” I nervously asked.
The secretary look-a-like smirked and slowly went to get a bag. She knew I was a nervous wreck and she was moving slow. Right as I went to put the Beaver Magazine under the Rolling Stone, I heard a voice.
“Hi Marty, fancy running into you here!” a somewhat familiar female voice said.
I looked to my right and there stood my next door neighbor, Mrs. DeYoung. I think I turned about 57 shades of red while trying say hi and cover up the Beaver Magazine. I wanted to vanish. She was staring directly at my copy of Beaver Magazine.
“Hi Mrs. DeYoung,” I said while the woman behind the counter sloooowly put my magazines in a bag. I grabbed the bag and ran out to the safety of my mom’s blue Oldsmobile. For years, whenever I would look at an X-rated magazine, I would think of Mrs. DeYoung, and that’s not the vision you want to have while getting ready to hand it to yourself, so to speak! I don’t want to be unkind, but Mrs. DeYoung resembled a female Dick Butkus. Right down to the moustache. Aaaaahhh!
Okay, I’ve cracked a sweat reliving that experience, let’s go out and see if we can find six print porn magazines. I hope Mrs. DeYoung doesn’t happen to be in Manhattan by any chance!
Very nice out tonight, a wonderful evening to go searching for printed porn.
There's two newsstands on either side of the entrance to Penn Station. I thought I'd check these two out first.
Nothing here, the closest is Playboy and Maxim but those are a little too porn-lite for what I'm looking for.
Let's see what the one on the right has to offer.
They must be owned by the same people, it's the same magazines in almost all the same spots. No porn here, let's go inside.
This guy is cock-blocking the evil escalator walkers with his bag. Good for him!
Let's check out Hudson News, they have a lot of magazines here, let's see if there's any porn to be had.
Nothing here but Lady Gaga, and I've seen enough of her to last a lifetime.
Here's a Hooters magazine. We're getting warm, so to speak.
And here we go, the old half darkened X-rated magazine racks. Lots of choices here.
And here's the first three porno purchases. Let's go downstairs and see if we can find three more.
This place has the most magazines in Penn Station. I'm sure we'll find some in here.
Here's some entertainment magazines, no porn here. St. Vincent? That was the name of my grade school!
Holy moley! There's a whole corner devoted to porn here!
Lots of XXX choices here.
And they are appropriately bagged up in a brown paper bag. Okay, let's go check out my purchases back in the privacy of my apartment.
Magazine:Cheri Price: $11.99 Some of the cover lines: “Slut Alert! Madison Parker F#@ks 2 At A Time!” “Jesse Jane Gets Off On Dirty Boxers!” “Butt Sex Beauty Kristina Rose Crams Her Ass With Giant C*ck!” Random paragraph from the article titled: “Carol—Pinch Between Her Cheeks” Jugs. Hooters. Sweater meat. Headlights. Bazookas. Tits by any other name would still look as sweet and feel as nice. We’re a little obsessed with boobs here at CHERI. T.M.I.“I like hanging out by the urinals best...guys stand there, unzip, and take out their cocks! I want to cram all that sausage into my mouth.”
Magazine:Naughty Neighbor Price: $11.99 Some of the cover lines: “Jessica—Sex is her new favorite pastime.” “All Ages • All Types • All Amateurs” “Bush Baby—Hairy Teen” Random paragraph from the article titled: “Candy—Brooklyn, New York” Job Status: Unemployed. Age: 20. Bras 34D Panties: Mostly commando. Anal: Sure! BJs: Swallow it all. Diddle: Hardly ever. T.M.I.“I don’t mind if the guy wets a finger and works that in my butt while we’re screwing, but he’s not going to put his dick in there!”
Magazine:Penthouse Forum Price: $8.99 Some of the cover lines: “Unfaithful And Loving It: How I Survived My First Affair.” Monique Alexander’s X-Rated Makeover!” First sentence from a typical Forum letter: “It all started when I first saw Anika walking across the parking lot next to her building." T.M.I.“Dan likes fucking my ass more than he likes anything else.”
Magazine:Over 50 Price: $8.99 Some of the cover lines: “Grannies Go Gay!” “Phyllis & Friend 59—We’ve Eaten Miles of Pussy!” “Corrine 57, Dalia 57—Dick! Pussy! We can’t Decide!” One look inside this magazine is too frightening to be believed. It does prove one thing though, gravity is all too real!
Magazine:Juggs Price: $8.99 Some of the cover lines: (Mulitple exclamation mark alert.) “Brunettes Only Issue!!!!” Cory Emerson Pop slut Slop Tart!” Random paragraph from the article titled: “Hailey” Although she’s beautiful to behold and her rump is as round as a man could desire, she snaps her gum too loud when she’s talking and she burps, loudly, in the middle of sentences without excusing herself. T.M.I. Once the attractive young bassoon player blew his load all over her hand, he keeled over and died on the spot.
Magazine:Beaver Hunt Price: $11.99 The title of this magazine brought back visions of Mrs. DeYoung and I had to flee the store immediately.
MAD commenter and quote supplier, rr, sent in this photo of the Manhattan skyline after Tropical Storm Irene pranced through the city. The photo is by Inga Sarda-Sorensen. Thanks, rr, it's a beautiful photo!
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Bonus Cartoon By Jaws!
To go along with today's theme, Jaws sent in this cheesecake cartoon. Thanks Jaws!
With all the media reports that Hurricane Tropical Storm Irene was going to level New York City, I didn’t expect to be able to go out tonight, so I stocked up on booze and expected to stuck in my apartment all day and all of the night. Below is my stockpile for the storm which I figured would go on all though the day and into the night. I ended up with three bottles of tea, four bottles of water, fifteen sixteen ounce bottles of Budweiser, 6 bottles of Red Stripe, three bottles of Ballantine Ale and four bottles of Diet Mountain Dew. Yeah, I admit I overdid it, but I was certain from the news reports that I’d lose power and that this thing would rage on through the day and night and wreak powerful damage.
Well, it came and went during the morning, I slept through it and now it’s just spitting a little rain and is a little windy out. So I’ve decided to have a few beers at home and then have my Sunday dinner at McSorley’s and meet some friends. Usually the place is packed, but since the subway is still down, I’m thinking it might be a good night to go there. We’ll see!
My neighborhood was lucky and this is the extent of the damage that came from Hurricane Tropical Storm Irene.
The skyline doesn't look threatening at all tonight.
And here we are, McSorley's Old Ale House. Hopefully it won't be packed in here like it usually is.
There's only one way to find out and that's to go through the doors and take a look.
Jesus Christ, it's fucking packed in here and really loud.
There's a small spot at the bar and I've managed to squeeze in.
A view of the bar from where I'm squeezed in at.
There's always sawdust on the floor in here.
A photo of someone taking a photo. We'll call this "Photo Squared."
And of course there's texting going on.
When you order one mug of beer at McSorley's, you get two, it's the way things are done here.
Michael's the only bartender on duty tonight...
And as you can see, he's very busy. There's a lot of thirsty people in here relieved that Irene didn't cause as much damage as the media predicted.
I got a ham and cheese sandwich for my Sunday dinner.
I slathered it with McSorley's spicy homemade mustard (sorry Kari and Britta) and it was delicious!
After I ate it, I went back and thanked Maeve in the kitchen for a job well done.
Here's the legendary wishbones that hang over the bar that recently had to be dusted off. You can read about it here.
And here's the Duncester, Ed and Goggla. We managed to score a table in the back, but it was still really loud in there.
And here's Lindsay and Shawn to complete the party!
After a couple of beers we were ready to move on and go to a quieter place. On the way out, The Duncester points to a picture of a friend of his on the wall.
It's Peter Farnan who was a manager/bartender at McSorley's in the '70's and '80's. His mother still lives in The Duncester's building.
And Shawn leads the way out the door and onto quieter pastures. Goodnight everybody and that includes you, Irene! See you tomorrow after dark.
(Note: I'm posting this tonight, because there's a good chance that the power could be off tomorrow. If I don't comment back, it means that Marty After Dark is really living up to the name.)
Live, from New York, it’s Saturday Night Cheeseburger! Starring Old Town Bar and featuring the Ready for Prime Beef Player, Marty Wombacher. And now, right before a hurricane knocks the shit out of the city, please welcome your host, Old Town Bar!
It's raining out and the streets are pretty empty because the subways aren't running. Even though the bad shit isn't supposed to hit till morning, I think I'll stick close to home and go to the Chat 'N' Chew right down the block.
Can you say, "irony?" Sure, I knew that you could!
Motherfucker, it's closed! Oh well, Steak Frites is right across the street and they have a great cheeseburger.
Shit, they're closed too. Pussies!
There's Union Square Cafe down the road. I don't know if they've got cheeseburgers, but they do have a bar, let's go.
Closed! Shit, Irene's not supposed to get bad till after midnight, this is becoming a trying Cheeseburger Saturday Night!
Fuck, I hate to resort to McDonald's for a Cheeseburger Saturday Night, but I need to get his over with and go home and start drinking get ready for the storm.
Well, looks like I'm not going to resort to McDonald's, these fuckers are closed too.
I wonder if the Andy Warhol statue will ride the storm out. He is pretty frail after all!
A lot of people are taping their windows.
I don't understand how it's going to help, but whatever floats your boat.
Hold on, I think I see a beacon of hope there!
The sign is lit, but is the bar open?
Shit, there's a sign on the door, I hope it doesn't say they're closed.
Ha! I love Old Town Bar!
Not only is it open, it's packed! Let's see if we can find a seat at the bar.
No sooner do I sit down, than friendly bartender Peter serves up a beer.
The view from my perch at the bar.
A shot from the end of the bar.
People at a table in the back room.
The booth's opposite the bar are filled up.
Meanwhile back at the bar the condiments and sliverware have been placed. The cheeseburger can't be far behind.
And speak of the devil and it appears. I got a cheddar turkey burger with bacon and cole slaw.
Delicious!
And here's our pretty friend Lucille, who waited on us last time behind the bar with Peter.
Irene may be knocking some shit down later, but I think the Old Town Bar and it's might and massive urinals will still be standing. See you tomorrow after dark if I still have power!
For the cheeseburger rating, review and more photos of Old Town Bar on MAD click here and here.
Old Town Bar 45 East 18th St. (Between Broadway and Park Ave. South) 212-529-6713
Okay, tonight I’m finally getting out of work on time. I’m going to go to the Food Emporium in Union Square to get my Hurricane Sunday supplies. I’ve heard people are getting a little kooky and stores are running out of supplies. I don’t get this. It’s only going to be one day. And it’s going to be one nasty-ass day indeed, I don’t want to leave my apartment during the storm, so I’m getting enough food for one day. I’ve seen people on the streets with bags of food and cases of bottled water. That’s fucking nuts! Fill up some jugs and bottles with tap water and put them in the fridge in case the power goes out and there’s no water. And why buy a shitload of food, a lot of it perishable if not refrigerated, if there’s a chance of the power going out?
Anyway, I figure I’ll go to the store tonight for food and then tomorrow I’ll stock up on the booze supply. The whole Hurricane post will be up this Monday, now it’s time to get the grub!
And we're off! The Empire State Building is colorful tonight.
It's really nice out tonight, the calm before the storm.
Windows are being taped in anticipation of the hurricane.
Okay, we're almost there.
Aaahhhh!
And here we are at the Food Emporium. Time to get some supplies for Hurricane Sunday.
Holy freaking shitballs, look at the lines in here. This is nuts.
Goddamn, people do know that this is just going to be a one day shut in, right? All the bread is gone.
Nothing here either.
An empty freezer, I hope all the jerkoffs that bought frozen food realize that there's a good chance of a power outage and that shit is just going to spoil in the heat.
Another empty case. Oh well, I need to lose a little weight anyway.
A few shallots remain, maybe I'll make some onion soup on Sunday.
The loneliest can of sleazy cheese in the world. Sob!
Well, I managed to find a few things but now I have to wait in this god-awful line. I'm glad I went tonight, I can't imagine what will be left tomorrow.
Okay, after a half an hour wait in line, I'm finally out the door with my stuff.
I took a break in Union Square Park to listen to this trio. They were really good so I threw them a few bucks.
On my way home I looked up and saw the lights in this building. I think the storm is the least of our worries. Aaaaahh!
The talk of the town right now is Hurricane Irene. She’s supposed to hit this Sunday and I was talking to my Dad today and he asked if I had a flashlight. And I don’t. I’m really beat tonight, yes, another shitty night at work. But at least it wasn’t as stressful as the beginning of the week, but I’m really feeling burned out, so I thought I’d just take photos of my walk home tonight and one stop will be at an all night drug store to get a flashlight. It’s supposed to be raining outside, so let’s go out and see a rainy New York night.
Shit, it's dry as the Betty Ford Clinic out here. I was kind of hoping for a rainy night to get some rainy-night pictures. Oh well, off we go.
The Empire State Building is all a-glow tonight.
Iced and proud, say it loud!
Here's the 24 hour Duane Reade, let's see if they have flashlights for the upcoming Hurricane Irene.
Okay, here we are. Hey look...candy!
Dots. As a kid this was the candy I always bought at the movies.
Eccchh! Always hated the Raisinets. Gross. Raisins aren't candy. It's like covering brocolli with chocolate and passing it off as candy. It's just wrong and it should be stopped.
I never liked Goobers either. If you spell the name sideways you get Boogers. Chocolate covered boogers. Goober says hey.
I just asked a clerk about flashlights and was told they don't sell them here. Am I weird in thinking that drug stores should stock flashlights? Oh well, there's one more 24 hour drug store on the block, let's go check them out.
2 Bros. Pizza. I've ragged on about this place, but I do confess to having eaten at one of these places, but always on a walk home after a night of several beers at a bar or two. Let's check it out sober.
There's always a line and late at night the drunk to sober ratio is about 4 to 1.
The slice is happily served up by this affable fellow.
Here it is in all its greasy glory.
It literally defines, "You get what you pay for." The worst pizza in the world. It tastes like tomato phlegm on soggy cardboard. But it's only a dollar a slice!
The view from my sidewalk table at Two Bros. Pizza.
Okay, here we are at CVS. Let's see if they have a flashlight. I want to get home, my stomach feels a little queasy from that slice.
Plenty of light bulbs, but no flash lights. Oh well, I guess I'll go to a hardware store tomorrow before work. Hey, what's that over there...
These days when most people here the words, “30 Rock” they think of Tina Fey and her TV show. So tonight I thought I’d take you on a real life tour of 30 Rock after dark. So it’s off we go.
I was hoping to get out of work a little early, but a bunch of shit happened towards the end of my shift and now it's around 11:30. I want to go to the observation deck which is called, "The Top of the Rock." It closes at midnight so hopefully we can get there for the last few minutes.
Fuck, a train just pulled off out of the station. That means a long wait, this doesn't look good.
But then about thirty seconds later a train pulls up, maybe our luck is turning around!
But just as the train takes off I realize I've boarded a downtown train. We need to go uptown to 30 Rock. Fuck! I'm a complete idiot! And this guy has his pant leg rolled up and is scratching his scabby leg. This night is not going well.
Shit, here we are at Washington Square. It's a ten minute walk from here to where I live. i'm half tempted just to go home, but I didn't go out last night, so I'll tough it out.
Okay, here's the uptown train. Hopefully this won't take long.
Well, we made it here fairly quickly and it's a little before midnight, maybe we can still make the Top of the Rock.
Fuck, it's closed.
Here's the back area of Thirty Rock. In the winter it's a skating rink.
In the summer it's a courtyard. Hey, there's a bar down there, I sure could use a beer right now, let's go.
Down the stairs...
And this woman told me that they were closing. I told her I was going to take a photo and she started running away. This night appears to be hexed. I think I know what needs to be done.
Taxi!
Obligatory taxi acid flashback shot.
And back home to the beer fridge. It's a little pathetic compared to Britta's fridge from yesterday, but what are you going to do? And look, in addition to the Sol for Britta that Gene and Terry brought by, I've got an orphan can of Modela for Tom when they get here in a couple of weeks. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
I had to go into work early today at 10 AM and now it’s over twelve hours later and I just got home from a horrible, stress-filled day/night at work. Usually tonight’s swizzle stick night, but I’m fucking beat so I just came home. I’m too burned out to even write a short story so I looked around my apartment for something to write about and saw the books I bought from St. Mark’s Bookshop last night and a light bulb went off over my head. Then the acid flashback went away and I had an idea. I’ll type a random paragraph from each book under a photo of the book and that’ll be tonight’s entry. I may do this every once in a while with some other books in my apartment, so here goes, what I’ve decided to call: "MAD Looks At Books!”
Just Kids by Patti Smith The Chelsea was like a doll’s house in the Twilight Zone with a hundred rooms, each a small universe. I wandered the halls seeking its spirits, dead or alive. My adventures were mildly mischievous, tapping open a door slightly ajar and getting a glimpse of Virgil Thomson’s grand piano, or loitering before the nameplate of Arthur C. Clarke, hoping he might suddenly emerge. Occasionally I would bump into Gerr Schilff, the German scholar, armed with volumes on Picasso, or Viva in Eau Sauvage. Everyone had something to offer and nobody appeared to have much money. Even the successful seemed to have just enough to live like extravagant bums. Public Illumination Magazine—Staff: Miss Davenport, Mr. Cologne Singer-actress Cher was admitted to St. Monica’s Hospital in Los Angeles on Tuesday, complaining of flu-like symptom's and fatigue. On Thursday the hospital’s chief of pulmonary research, Dr. Paul Belsen, announced the the entertainer had been diagnosed with mononucleosis.
I Slept With Joey Ramone by Mickey Leigh with Legs McNeil The crowd gave it a minute, which was about one whole song. They thought there was a technical problem or something. But when the Ramones began their second song, and it was justl like the first one, the kids in the audience realized that was indeed the show—and then they turned. The look on their faces is a priceless memory for me today, but that night it was pretty scary. Damn, it was only some guys playing music, but the crowd acted like they were stoning a bunch of murderous child molesters. Lucha Libre Masked Superstars of Mexican Wrestling—Photographs by Lourdes Grobet The public still remembered when the Mexican wrestler shouted to her rival, who laid flat on the mat: “Get up you miserable piece of imported trash!” Never before had a Mexican female wrestler snagged the world crown and few expected Molina to change that. Expectations were high that Willimas would triumph. 100 Whores by Mykola Dementiuk When you went out with a whore you never knew what you were going to get—a fucking, a blow-job, or just a stinking hand-job. I’d even gone out with a few whores who just lay there while I felt them up. Maybe it was my nature that they read right off the bat, knowing I was just a plain old wuss and they could get away with anything.
A while back MAD commenter and blogger, Britta commented about her beer fridge and I was curious about it and she sent me these photos of it. Are you like me and are you thinking the following thoughts right now: Party at Britta's! Oh and it was her birthday a couple days ago, so happy birthday to you, Britta! Thanks for the photos!
I decided to check out a hotel bar for tonight’s Tuesday Swizzle Stick search. Googling around I found a bar called Forty Four in the Royalton Hotel in midtown. The name alludes to the address, 44 W. 44th St. It’s close enough to walk to, so let's be on our way.
And we're off. Another nice night in New York City. Hard to believe that last week we had an earthquake and a hurricane tropical storm here.
Anybody else find the name, "My Daddy's Pizza" kind of creepy? I don't know why, but I do.
Speaking of creepy, the name of this store should be "Pedophiles R Us."
I walked by the bar twice because there's no sign, just this marker on the wall.
Here's the entrance. Let's check it out.
There's a long hallway and this is a dark place.
There's several lounge pits on the way to the bar. Here's one of them. The photos will be a little on the dark side, since I don't want to pop flashes in a dark place like this.
Here's another lounge area.
There's a square bar in the back of the club.
I chose a seat at the back of the copper-topped dark wooden bar.
A view of the bar from my perch at the bar.
And I found out they have a special swizzle stick drink here. It's called the Queen's Park Swizzle and here's Enid, the pretty and friendly bartender serving it up with a great smile.
Houston, we have a swizzle stick! And it's metal! Nice.
Here's Joshua with Enid who was also tending the bar. Everyone here is really friendly.
As you can see, it's a well stocked bar.
For my second drink, Enid suggested a Vieux Carre, which includes this huge block of ice.
And here's the finished product. It was delicious and loaded with booze.
The check and the swizzle. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
The Swizzle Stick Collecton so far. Thanks to all who have contributed. They're prized possesions indeed!
Four Forty’s
North Dallas Forty
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