By Jacob Katel
By Karli Evans
By Jose D. Duran
By Pablo Chacon Alvarez
By Kat Bein
By Abel Folgar
By Laurie Charles
Clubbed remembers when only die-hard drinkers stopped by this dive on Sixteenth Street. In fact one night he even saw something of a Yoko Ono event here that he'll call "Two Drunks."
Fist hits face. Drunk hits floor.
As for the décor in the new digs, let's call it Pop Art. Leopard-print chair fashioned like a stiletto shoe. The living-room-styled lounge definitely has a Warholian factory feel. But out on the comfy futons, Clubbed's newly acquired artspeak falls on the deaf ears of a local cabaret dancer who has popped in for a glass or four of wine (and it's not even free over here!).
She doesn't want anyone slipping her some intellectual tongue. She's more interested in arguing that she is not a sex object (Surrealism!).
Oh, well, time to shift back into sleaze mode.
Shut up and dance on the table, why don'tcha?