In the land of million-dollar megaclubs, endless bottle service, boob-job giveaways, bleached beaches, and cosmetically enhanced asses, everybody needs a drunk-and-dirty dive-bar reality check. And Mac's Club Deuce is so real that it's unreal. So hide your bloodshot eyes behind smashed shades. Escape the merciless subtropical sun. And enter the cool, lurid darkness of this 90-year-old South Beach boozing spot. The neon flickers. The beer gets spilled. The barflies fight. The jukebox doesn't stop. And happy hour almost never ends. Every day from 8 a.m. till 7 p.m., suck a bottleneck (Rolling Rock, High Life, Corona) and slug shots (Bushmills, Jim Beam, Tres Sombreros) at two-for-one prices. In exchange for six crumpled singles, the bartender will slide a cold drink into your hands and slap a casino chip down as credit for the next round. And here, there's no shame in drinking till dusk or beyond. Watch tales of murder, drug busts, and home invasions on the 6 p.m. Action News, and ogle the pink naked lady on the wall kicking her high heels and waiting on a mate while lying face-down, ass up. Bark at the old fat dog as he licks the floor, weaves between the barstools, pokes his nose in the trash, and sniffs the toes of a sexy 50-something amputee with perfect platinum-blond hair and a dirty martini in her remaining hand. Steal a casino chip from the ancient eye-patched and tatted gangster who just staggered across the street for a taco break. And count down the seconds as a crooked hand crawls across the dirty face of Mac's glowing toxic-green clock.