by Rob Corddry
[Ed. note: You may know today’s writer from The Daily Show, Hot Tub Time Machine, and Childrens Hospital. He’s Rob Corddry, and we asked him about the douchiest bars in the country. Not that we frequent them or anything.]
Weymouth, Massachusetts: The Sports Page I don’t think this bar still exists, if it ever did. It was called the “Sports Something or Other” and it was filled with guys who used to punch me in the face in high school and now seem to have more of a reason to do so. Why did I think being in a movie with Ashton Kutcher would lend me any street cred with these heavy-fisted people? I have fond memories of high school and relish the moments when I run into someone I spent so many formative years with. Except the face-punchers. They can go to hell. Address Unknown
Bronx, New York: Yankee Stadium Why? Why do I go? Why do I go wearing Red Sox gear? Why did I go on “Sock Day”? Why is it so easy to take one sock, shove it into the other sock and beat Red Sox fans with it? Why did they get rid of “Small Bat Day”? Scratch that last question. Was answered before I finished saying it. If I had to pick the douchiest part of Yankee Stadium it would be the bar across from section 214 that sells foam fingers. Douches. Go Sox. 1 E. 161st St., Bronx
Austin, Texas: Any Place on 6th Street Austin is too cool for this sh!t. Burn it to the ground. E. 6th St. between N. Congress Ave. and IH 35
New York, New York: Cabin Down Below Let’s be perfectly clear: I have nothing bad to say about this bar. My review is more of a review of myself. I am a douche when I am here and everyone hates me. I was looking for a nice intimate place to hang out with my friend Jason and this place was exactly that until every beautiful, interesting person in New York City showed up 10 minutes later. I immediately got balder and my clothes more ill-fitting. I lost the ability to communicate and could not wait to get back to my hotel and masturbate, imagining all the tall female customers who are great dancers laughing at my copious pubic hair. This bar makes me a submissive douche. I feel like I owe it an apology. 110 Ave. A, East Village (212-614-9798)
Los Angeles, California: Bar Brix Just kidding. I love this joint. And I hope the fine people that work there who ply me with wine and thick, delicious pork appreciate that a plug is a plug regardless of the title of an article. I feel as comfortable here as I do in my own living room. And I’m in love with the bartenders. Even the dudes. I want to make love to this place. It would never laugh at my pubic hair. Go to Bar Brix. Try the pork. 2442 Hyperion Ave., Silver Lake (323-662-2442)
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“Amen” to the 6th street reference of Austin. Austin IS too cool for that shit!
Austin is not “too cool” for that. Just because there is a percentage of young people in ironic clothing going to bars that were converted from houses doesn’t mean there isn’t a bigger population of people not associated with that lifestyle. The bars on 6th provide all the awful, nasty fun that you can have while fitting in with every race, gender and creed. The previous statement may as well delcare that “Austin is too cool for anything other than white kid activities.”