We were debating on whether or not to post anything about the bullshit Amateur Night II we all suffer through while the Philistines rock hard with devil horns hanging off the deck of Fat Tuesday’s on South Street, yelling at your 12-year-old sister to flash her boobs so they can throw beads bought at the dollar store. We live in Philly, not New Orleans, Rio, or Venice, no matter how much you want it to be, Slick.
We at Phoodie suggest you do the right thing this year, and get yourself some Zatarain’s Crab Boil, drink something rummy (but NOT a fucking Hurricane), smoke a stogie, and hang with friends and family. Because, really, that’s what marathon partiers do when the frauds are getting loud and grinding up on underage skeezers.
While we’re not officially religious folks here at the HQ, we are spiritual, and this is definitely a time for gettin’ all pious. Take the night off, we’re gonna allow it. In fact, we’re rubber-stamping that shit with approval.
And for those of you who will migrate to South Street to recreate the notorious 2001 melee, know Philly has a new image now. Our food and drink grew up a little. Maybe you should, too. Oh, and get the hell out of our office.
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