My, my, my, looks who’s back: C.R.A.P.
It’s your favorite story about butt-glory.
Something to bring you up and mellow when you’re feeling down and brown (and yellow).
It’ll make you laugh til you spit, ’cause you’re readin’ about shit.
Spit out your soup ’cause we’re talkin’ about poop.
You got it.
Not familiar with the drill, Bill? Well, it’s simple: ever wander around town and think, “screw going into H&M right now; I need to do a little S&M with the nearest toilet”.
You gotta dash to unload your ass and when you’re out and about in the city (of Philadelphia, at least), you need somewhere to handle your business.
And if you’re like me, you’re not setting up your tee-pee to T.P. just anywhere, and so The Kids…presents the latest installment of C.R.A.P.–where to go or not go, when your cheeks need a little Brotherly Love.
Let’s do this.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you……New Deck Tavern!
Allow me to set the scene for you. It’s Saturday night. We’ve just left a med-school parody show (don’t ask) and for most of the night, my butt was so full it felt like The Great Pumpkin from the Charlie Brown Halloween Special.
Periodically it’d gurgle something to me initially calmly (“hey man, uh, anytime you want to do this, I’m ready”) to agitated (“seriously dude, I’m startin’ to sweat here”) to downright despondent (“oh batman, pull the car over I’m gonna hurl”).
So by the time that I finally got out of the show it was “go” time. Fortunately we were all hungry (note: having an empty stomach while also having a full ass is sorta like rubbing your belly and patting your head at the same time) so we headed over to New Deck Tavern, a pub over in West Philly, pretty close to Penn. Once we got seated, I went to get seated. Here’s the review.
Cleanliness: Full disclosure: I knew that I was attempting to dump at a bar, so yes, I knew that the odds were against me. Particularly since it was Saturday night too. And it was after 3pm so the drinkers were probably out. Still, I thought, it was only 9pm, so maybe, just maybe the bathroom wouldn’t be shittinated (new word) just yet. Um, no. The bathroom in New Deck was a complete shitshow. Pale, dank-looking tiles on the floor, sweaty wooden stall doors, and, somehow always
the worst to me, wet, sploshy sinks. I gingerly pushed open stall door #1 (there’s only 2 there) and felt like I’d just opened Brad Pitt’s mail in Se7en. I gasped. No, really, I gasped. Don’t people cry when they do things like this to a toilet? I’m always mystified by such occurrences. It’s like the Tasmanian Devil came in after having chili. And lemonade. And a banana sundae. With corn bits. The stall did include an ass-bib, but clearly whoever had come through there before me must’ve mistaken it for a rib-bib. +2
Remoteness: The bathrooms at New Deck are located on a basement level like many bars are here in Philly. They’re perfect for making discreet phone calls, getting drunken handjobs and cigarrette machines. There’s even a payphone down there too. And it’s dimly lit so that the more imaginative bar patron can pretend that they’re entering Bruce Wayne’s secret lair instead of really descending into somewhere scarier, like say the backroom where they kept the gimp in Pulp Fiction. But still, you can slip in and slip out of there without anyone really noticing (twss). +6
Access: Well, getting aroundNew Deck on a Saturday night was relatively easy, though I’m guessing a lot of that has to do with the fact that the bar sucks. Seriously; one half of the bar was
playing Top 4o music, while the other half of the bar had TV’s playing Cold Case and The Ghost Whisperer on CBS. I haven’t seen that many mixed signals since The Crying Game. Anyway, I think getting to the bathroom there is relatively easy, mainly because:
- most people are urinating on their bar stool already
- “Farouk” and “Bones”, New Deck’s two ‘bouncers’ there that night, were too busy checking IDs and copping feels while talking to each other through headsets. Dude, he’s like right next to you. Stop.
- despite the actually pretty good music being played, no one was dancing. Everyone was too busy figuring out who just got ghost whispered or something. So the floor was basically clear.
So there’s no security, no key to ask for and no real barriers to you slipping off to the bathroom. It’s as easy as that. So it does at least get points for that. Unless of course Farouk stops you. +6
Privacy: Ok, so truth be told, the stalls have complete shut-in capability. With the wooden doors and a secure sliding lock mechanism, it was, in theory, one of the most secure dump spots you’ll see. In theory. In reality though, the stalls felt like I was on a pirate ship; cranky, creaky wet wooden walls all around you, and a guy in the next stall sounding like he was suffering from scurvy. On some of the graffiti’ed walls, there were even hash-marks either noting the number of times someone had played Mutiny on the Booty in that particular stall, or the number of ass-bibs
required to sit down. But yeah; no one’s going to see you making the stall your own personal poop deck. The stalls leave only a razor’s edge worth of vision to see through; at one point someone knocked as I considered hovering my ass over the seat, and so caught up in the pirate-ship feel was I, that when I squinted with one eye into the crack I said “Leave me be, ya scally-wag, or I’ll run you through with my poo and send ya ta Davey Jones’ locker!”. And then I shat myself. +4
Total C.R.A.P. score: 18
So there she blows you have it, friends. Stay away from the New Deck unless you’re ok with getting bottom of the deck quality. Set your sails for calmer waters, matey!