Rudy's Red Sign

Piggy

the view from Rudy's

Another Friday night of probing the underbelly of NYC drinking establishments resulted in Judas losing his cell phone, a run in with a mysterious guy named Al (who Judas has described suitably in the previous post), and me blacking out.

I started out the night with $22, which lasted me for three bars before I had to hit the ATM. First, I met Judas at Rudy’s, where red lights and red vinyl duct-taped booths emit some kind of dark energy usually reserved for nightmares.

The ladies here were pretty darn good. Very high huckle factor here for 6:30.

There were also a few Weekend at Bernie’s candidates from Hell’s Kitchen sipping Bud Light through straws.

We got the money booth right in front of the bar, where we had a perfect vantage point to watch the bouncer lift up various girls against their will, like some misogynistic King Kong in a plumber’s outfit.

We downed two pitchers of Rudy’s Red, which is reminiscent of Brooklyn Lager, before saying adieu and moving on to Holland Bar and Bull Moose.

I was not acquainted for long with Bull Moose, which seems to be a generic dive centered around playing pool. Judas and began talking, which soon degenerated into me giving a philosophical pep talk about the order of the universe. That’s a clear sign of boredom.

Next we hit, Port 41, which is right across the street from the Port Authority Bus Terminal. Here I met John, the retarded carpenter. Judas and I challenged him to a game of Big Buck Hunter and wiped the floor with him. After my victory uber alles, I chatted up a sexy Latina barmaid putting music on the jukebox. I talked her into playing a bunch of Stones songs. Then I talked to a metal head about mid-80’s Metallica songs. After that, Al introduced himself to us. He spoke in short sentences in a low tone. And he would reveal few details about himself. I could say the guy had all the calm composure of a dude who was plotting to steal one of your kidneys. After taking a snapshot of the whole motley crew at Port 41, we bolted with Al in tow.

Next we went to Why Me?, which was pretty much what I was asking myself as Judas bolted to frantically look for his lost mobile phone. This left me and Al mano-a-mano. At some point it became clear that Al was trying to hustle me into buying drugs from him, but I wasn’t going for it. If it ain’t free, ain’t for me.

After that, Judas reappeared and we decided to call it a night. Then came the blackout. Not sure how I got home, but I assume I took the E to Queens and transferred to the G to Greenpoint. That’s my educated guess. I could see on my mobile phone that I made a few phone calls to various people at 4 a.m. that I have no recollection of. Must’ve been eloquent conversations on my part.

My advice after a night like this is don’t plan to do anything special the next day. Just take a hot bath in Epsom Salt.

Huckle Factor - Rudy’s - 4 (quite a high number of girls I’d give “the buck” to), Holland - 1, Bull Moose - ZERO, Port 41 - 2 (if we count the bartenders)

Split Lip Factor - I know Judas thinks it’s unlikely, but I feel it’s certainly possible to get your ass kicked for minor infractions at all of these places, especially towards the end of the night when everyone’s really loaded. Rudy’s - 3, Holland - 2, Bull Moose - 3, Port 41 - 3