We knocked back jelly beans as black as our hearts, and then hit the town with our truth juice. Alright, so we’ve got hearts of white-gold, or at least platinum. Here’s the beat…

This Shit Is Bananas!

H&K loses another limb. Sources say that several things were still alive: German lip-syncing onstage, people bumping into each other, and the DJ booth, which saw Diamond Girl beatmatch, look stunning, and not need a hand or a knee.

Zombie Crawl on Sunday? Hot Fuzz comes out on the 20th. We can wait for it, so can you.

Shocking to us, Monday’s Popped! kick-off was smooth. People were well-behaved, the cake was frosted with what we speculate was actual butter, possibly Country Crock Extra Creamy, and we would have considered bringing children here, if we liked children. And how cool would that kid be if his birthday party was DJed by Dave P? Junior would be so chill. But in adult world, where we’re not as young as you think, when things appear drama-free, we get all suspicious and unaccepting. Just believe us when we say there was not much to tell of, other than strong sets from the bands, people we truly like, and a comedy act from Jersey Dan and Jim McGuinn. Kels managed to win a raffle by blinking her number at Dan or just being one of few people attentive to their tickets, and was rewarded with two gift certificates to The White Dog Cafe, which A) her family is too poor to have ever owned, and B) serves more than organic lettuce.

What Would Doyle Do?

In the words of Doyle, lovable keyboardist from The A-Sides: I don’t do too much that I’m proud of. Wiser words have never been spoken to us in a room full of drunk, attractive people. It was then that we decided Doyle had all of the answers, about life, and death, and what kind of beer to drink. Each week we’ll find out just what Doyle would do.

For a Klondike Bar?

Well, Klondike Bars are so yesterday. The question here is what would I do for a Choco Taco? You see, Choco Tacos make my heart melt. Especially when you get an overly fudgey one. I, with my special ability of X-ray vision, always get the most fudgey one. To answer the question, I would do nada for the Klondike and break legs for the Taco.

And since we’re all hungry now, what would you do if you woke up and found all of the mayoral candidates in your living room and only one of them was allowed to stay for breakfast?

My favorite Nutter moment would go like this:
NUTTER: I’D LIKE THE TURKEY BURGER
DOYLE: OKAY
30 minutes later:
DOYLE: UM, WE’RE OUT OF TURKEY BURGERS
NUTTER(with look of general distaste for me in his eyes): RIGHT
DOYLE: HOW ‘BOUT CHICKEN FINGERS?
NUTTER: I GUESS THATS WHAT I’M HAVING

But back to the question. Well, of course I would serve them my famous course of celery, cream cheese, and salt. I’m not even kidding (Ed. Note-didn’t think you were for a sec!). If you haven’t tried this, you are dead to me. This is the ultimate snack. Go out and get you some. Heaven, I tell you, heaven.

And Shit Is Still Banananananas…

Our inside guy reports that Popped! Night 2 at the Avant Gentleman’s Lodge wasn’t nearly as doomed as we continued to anticipate, thinking that Monday was a fluke stream of calm. Turns out that Tuesday was soft n’ gentle like baby shampoo. Still, we’re okay with the fact that we didn’t wash our hair with it.

But just as we were getting bored with the raspberry cream eggs and two bottles of omega complex in Lexie’s Easter basket, girl dropped two bombs. First, her weekend trip to PA Dutch Country in which she procured a concrete gnome:

“This may sound meaningless, but I’ve been looking for a gnome for a long time. I brought him home and I painted him. He’s beautiful. His name is Claus Gnomi. (You know what I’m talking about!) He is my new best friend, and, unfortunately, our friendship, and it’s temporal obligations, mean I have to leave Talkin’ Shit. I’m going back to Germany with Claus and we are going to write a Gnome only column called Sprechen Scheibe. I hope you can all understand. My time here with you, though brief, was meaningful and brought great relevance to my young life. Forever may Shit be talked in the great Philebradelphia.

And Kelly was like, “You call that a bomb? Are you going to write a novel called She’s Just Not That Into Your Shit? If this is a break-up, please tell me that you cheated and that the sex is bad.”

At which point Lexie sat her down and said, “Not really. I can’t Talk Shit regularly anymore, the most concise reason being that my night-life experience has changed from one of wide-eyed wonder to one of jaded annoyance. This makes for less than inspired gossiping. Plus, in Philly night-life years, I’m about 76; it’s high time I hang up my dancing boots and get some orthopedics so I can dance at the senior center. Sometimes I can even get a few pieces of Pick’n'Mix before foxtrot time.”

And as Lexie wiped the glitter out of her eye, Kelly nodded and handed her the eye make-up remover pads. Love is love, but you never go to bed with that shit still on your lids. Will K find another IE or Y to fill-in? Count on it for next week, but remember: Lexie Lerro talks the Talk something fierce, we shit you not.

Crashing The Party With Conrad

Meet our Cap’n Rad. Sir Conrad and Kelly were classmates in elementary school in the dark ages of Fishtown. They parted ways, Kelly becoming a hybrid blogger/journo, and Conrad morphing into a model/Whole Foods Body team member extraordinaire. As keen scene instinct would have it, they found themselves grindin’ at the same local spots, livin’ the hot life blocks away from each other, and most importantly, talkin’ up a storm of Shit. Not to mention they could tell you exactly where you bought your outfit in half a minute’s time. Now that you know Mister is serious, witness his craft:

The day after H&K, I bumped into Allison Polans and DJ Solobuns (aka Ryan, aka the dude who did Thursdays at Sal’s before it was over). I found out Ryan is taking over H&K (something I’m sure the whole world knows by now). He’s like the king of things that are over. I wish him the best of luck. He was joking about calling it thigh high. (Or was he?)

Taco Tuesday at T Mom’s was packing asses, I headed upstairs to Regular Land. My new drink, thanks to my friend Jess, is a vodka tonic with a healthy splash of cranberry. Remember, people, you have to say healthy splash otherwise it tastes too much like tonic.
Jem and Bobby were bartending, Jem wearing the best outfit in the room; which when you think about it, should be the other way around. I guess Taco Tues. is more casual then I’d like. Sigh @ fashion in this city. Then out of nowhere bam, no really Bam Margera showed up with his crew (missing Ryan Dunn though, sorry ladies, apparently ladies are into him, that’s what I hear). Team Bam was a lot more mild then they like to think they are. Maybe it was the fiancee in tow? She is actually not ugly in person which I found interesting due to the fact that she looks like a horse on their show. Although I had been drinking; let’s say the jury is still out. They sat down right next to my crew and Bam stares at me throughout the night. Perhaps it’s because he’s been to my Myspace a bunch of times, maybe it’s because I was staring at him, possibly it was because I looked like a douchebag (my new style) and had a gigantic gold chain on. All I know is that Bam Margera showing up anywhere is a sign to hike it. Off to Bar Noir.

Despite hearing rumbling about different people going there (you going to bar noir tonight?) place was empty. They need a photographer stat, people will do anything to have their photo posted all over the Internet, viewed by fifteen people, five of whom are actually them looking to see what their photo looks like small on their friends Top 8. In fact, getting a photographer might be the answer to everything. If they had one at Fluid, I might actually go there (I joke) or better yet, the DMV or the dentist, the possibilities are endless. (Ed. note-Cue Jay Simplefly note-taking.)

But what’s the point of complaining, as soon as people start going there we’ll be complaining that people go there.

And that’s Conrad, y’all. 5th grade or bust.

Confessions On The Dancefloor

Lately we have not been loving the Sal’s, but we still care enough to stage an intervention on the hole before it becomes a mini-Katrina. A certain DJ reveals the latest monthly occurrence, in which Sal’s has several pipes burst simultaneously along with toilet explosions and upstairs flooding that leaks through to the downstairs bar.

“One time it was like an inch deep and was waterfall-cascading down those steps, really beautiful stuff! The water was “gasserized” and all this weird smoke was coming out of the water and people were running down the stairs covered in smoking water, screaming and shit.”

And the mystery only escalates during Broadzilla:

“Every Thursday, something insane/dramatic happens. Literally. For the last six months. Whether it’s pipes exploding or people having sex on the dance floor or whatever. When the party was first getting big this summer, the trannies caught wind of it and used to try to charge admission at the door. Oh, and it rains every Thursday, EXPLAIN THAT to me, please. I think one night nothing bad happened and we were all really creeped out at the end of the night.”

But dude has nothing but love for the place, and we feel that. You know what we we think? Mayor Street doesn’t care about party people. We are so there tonight, and we’re gonna bring our unicorn tub toys, some Mr. Bubbles, and maybe a blowdryer. Electric!

By the powers of Craig, we deem Albert Hammond Jr. hot wit out the Strokes at Jim’s.

Trendfucking: House Calls

We hear the Gore girls made some house calls, namely The Bedroom at The Agnew. Just wait until we get the Olsens in The Shower. Philadelphia will be dirty and clean all at the same time.

This entry was posted on Thursday, April 12th, 2007 at 1:18 pm.