AlphaBar: Y is for Yancy's Saloon

Wednesday, May 9th - 734 Irving St. - 8PM to Midnight

What up, AlphaBoooyyyyyyeeee!

I checked out our next spot for AlphaBar this week, Yancy's.  It's pretty fucking scary.

When I showed up, it seemed like a normal enough
place from the outside.  Then I noticed they call it a saloon, which was weird as fuck.  Because this is not the wild west, and we don't live in the 1870's.  I almost went back to my car to get a gun.  And maybe a cowboy hat.  But I resisted.  Maybe the name was just for nostalgia.

When I got inside, I didn't know what the fuck to do.  It's like a goddamned jungle in there.  Hanging plants are everywhere, and they may or may not be poisonous and/or have the potential to snare you and crush you to death like in Jumanji.  Either way, my advice is stay the fuck away from the killer plants.  After you get past the initial shock of feeling like you're back in the jungle in 'Nam, with the Cong hiding somewhere in plain sight with their unreal-fucking camouflage, you notice the lamps with the stained glass, and you think, "holy shit, maybe this WAS a saloon, but it got overrun by weeds and now the fucking VC are using it as a hideout."  That creeped me right the fuck out.  Like this place is lost in time or some shit.

When I finally calmed down enough, keeping my head on a fucking swivel and looking out for Charlie, mind you, I sat down at the bar.  I ordered a cheap beer and a decent whiskey, and was about to relax, when I noticed that they have some kind of crazy security monitor system going on.  Here's the scary-insane part: they show you what's going on in the other rooms.  And that shit is CRAZY.  This one room was entirely made of ice, and there were all these huge dudes in some kind of armor running around on the ice, but they've got these crazy fucking knives on the bottom of their shoes and these wicked looking sticks and they're fucking floating above the ice, slamming into each other and trying to kill each other with sticks.  I swear to god it was like some fucking ice version of thunderdome mixed with a gladiator fight from ancient Rome.  Then there was another monitor with these huge guys passing some kind of bloated animal bladder around and jamming it into these two nets, beating the shit out of each other to get it.  And those dudes could fucking fly!  There was another one with two guys with some kind of plush handcuff thing on just going at it, trying to kill each other.  It was unreal.  I don't know who gets sentenced to those death matches, or why, but you can bet your ass I kept my head down and drank my booze.  I don't want anyone watching me get murdered by some big scary motherfuckers on knife-shoes on ice.  Fuck no.

Just when I thought shit couldn't get any weirder, I see these weird pieces of artwork on the wall, and some guys are throwing shit at them.  They were like pretty sweet mandalas, with some kind of crazy clock writing on them, but with like twenty hours and no actual clock mechanism.  So I walked over to check them out.  As soon as I get there, I put my face up near one of the mandalas or dream catchers or whatever the fuck these things are, and motherfuckers start trying to kill me with little metal throwing arrows or ninja stars or some shit.  I had to dive, then some guy starts yelling, and I just fucking ran, man.  I got the fuck up out of dodge and I did not look the fuck back.

Now maybe this was a weird night at Yancy's, but my advice is this: keep your eyes open, order the cheap drinks, don't talk to anyone, and watch the fuck out for VCs and motherfuckers throwing metal shit.  And I don't know where they had the screaming crowds and the deathmatches, but stay the fuck away from that.  Then again, if you're looking for a ninja, VC, S&M torture, death match on television, creepy as fuck type of joint, get your ass to Yancy's you weird alcoholic psycho.  Also, come there next Wednesday for AlphaBar!

AlphaBar: S is for Swank - Wednesday, February 15th @ 8PM


Hey, guess what AlphaFans. It's another Wednesday in the worst year
of my life. You know what that means. AlphaBar. Again.

But it can't be all that, bad right? Oh sure. Everything's just
fine. We'll all go to the bar and everybody will tell me how it could
be worse, and at least I'm still rich and famous and I'm a stand up
guy. Sure. But the next thing they say is always, "Boy, did you see
Eli throw that pass to Manningham? He's a real champion!" And then,
when they think I'm out of earshot, it's "do you think he's gonna
retire? Will he ever throw again? Is he past his prime"

It's not like I'm not dead, guys. Just a little injured. I mean, my
neck feels great! See look, I can shake my head and turn left and
turn... left. And my arm's still a cannon. Here, watch me throw this
beer bottle. Five bucks says I hit the kid with the beard at the end
of the bar.... Okay, well that girl looked like she had a beard.
Kind of.

Hey, look, I'm not ungrateful. Football paid for my education, it got
me on the cover of sports illustrated, it took me to the top of the
world. And I even won a super bowl and a super bowl MVP award. One
super bowl. And now Eli has two.

I'm so proud of him. He's a pretty good quarterback. I mean, he's
got a great offensive line. And Brandon Jacobs is a beast. And that
D-Line, boy, they're good. They sure gave Tom Brady what for, if you
know what I mean. I have to admit, I did like watching that handsome
jerk get hammered by Eli's teammates. But boy am I still sore. I
mean, y'know, emotionally.

I mean Eli's great and all, but could he take a terrible team from a
small market and turn it into a perennial championship contender? Did
he throw for 50,000 yards and 4,000 completions faster than anyone in
NFL history? No, but he squeaks into the playoffs at 9-7, slips by
Aaron Rodgers in his worst performance ever, gets a lucky fumble in
overtime against the 49ers and then waltzes into the Super Bowl. He
didn't have to get by Troy Polamalu, or the Ravens D, or Belichick's
blistering offense. Now he's probably gonna start doing American
Express commercials. Man, and the Tyree and Manningham catches? Are
you kidding me? And I thought Tim Tebow got lucky.

Anyway, we're going to Swank, which is a great bar. It's kind of like
a more successful, lucky younger brother. It didn't really put in the
hard work, but it's still a good bar. And I for one, am going to get
shit housed and, er, rest my neck. Well, at least I'll have a couple
beers. Maybe I'll even break out the old throwing arm.

AlphaBar: R is for Republic

The Republic - Wednesday, February 1st @ 8PM

Hail! Friends, AlphaBarians, Countrymen, lend me your beers!

Long has it been since our fair state was ruled by a senate of the best men, representing the needs of the masses. Nay, since Titus Matthew Sullivinium returned from his conquest in the North and demanded to be made consul for life, we have suffered under the rule of one man. It was a mere formality when he seized power and donned the laurel wreath, ere four long years past, and henceforth, the people of this AlphaRepublic have suffered under the autocratic rule of a despot! Caesar, indeed! Since that time, our wants and needs have been catered to only at the whim of this farce of a government. What little aid and security the government has provided has been overshadowed by the unquenchable thirst for flesh and mead Caesar's soldiers exhibit as they storm through the agora and take what they please, be it women or wine.

I beseech you, my fellow Alphacrats, let us not kowtow to this rapacious bigot who clothes himself in lambskins, but bears the teeth of the jackal. I tell you now, he is a fiend! Forget his destruction of the Beta Hordes from the South and the Upsilon Emirate from the East. His past victories were bought with the lives of our sons and brothers, but served more to line his pockets than promote peace. And now, he thinks he can buy our love with drink. Drink!

I implore you, AlphaBrothers and Sisters, do not attend this brigand's bi-weekly bacchanalia. He promises drink and music, but at what cost? Our children's bellies will not be filled by the promise of prizes and awards to be given at the end of the year. Yet, as in all things, this false Caesar thinks he can buy you off as he has bribed and flattered so many enemies into complacency. But what does he do once his enemies are sated? Murder!

My friends, the Beast has scheduled yet another of his sapphic orgies for Wednesday, February 1st. But we will not be there! No, friends, we will be attending a clandestine meeting of our own, and plotting the downfall of this consul of lies. And where else could we go, but Republic! That last bastion of sanity in a world gone mad with lust and rage.

Long have I waited for this day, my AlphaComrades. And when Caesar's blood is spilled in the gutters, the walls of our nation shall reverberate with the sacred words: Republic, Republic, Republic!

Buckshot Restaurant, Bar, and Gameroom
Wednesday, January 18th @ 8PM

***DRINK SPECIALS***
$2 PBR, Tecate, Black Star
$3 drafts
$4 well drinks

Hooo Doggy!

Howdy there AlphaPokes! Been a long time! Ol' Rusty here's been bidin' his time, but I couldn't pass up a chance to come see all my favorite cowboys and cowgirls at my favorite bar this side of Omaha! Buckshot! Boy, there's a great bar if I ever seen one. Let me tell you.

They got games, cheap beer, all the whiskey you can drink, and some kind of deep fried bacon wrapped goodness comin' out from the little 'ol kitchen in back. Last time I showed up, I saddled right on up to the bar with my horse. Bartender says, "Why the long face?" Hoooeeey! I just about jumped across the bar and slapped him. Goodness gracious! A man insulting my horse like that. Some nerve.

Anyhow, next time I showed up, they had a big "no horses" sign. If we'd a been in Omaha, I woulda stormed right in and demanded retribution. But here in San Francisco, I guess a man's gotta expect not to be allowed to bring his horse to a bar. So no horses. But like I always say, save a horse, and ride this here cowboy! Yeeeehaawww!

And horses drink free every Wednesday night. Well, not really, but good lookin' ladies certainly do! But seriously, I would love to see that danged bartender's face if you bring a big 'ol stallion inside. Just tell 'em he's a service animal.

She was a tall, cool drink of water, sitting at the end of the bar, sipping her drinks like she meant it. Whiskey. Rocks. No water. I counted four, but she had been there all night, looking like she was waiting for someone to pick her up. Not your typical broad. This girl was smart and she could handle her liquor. Twelve different chumps tried their luck. Twelve different chumps walked away, looking like their first puppy just got run over by a garbage truck. Poor bastards didn't know what hit 'em. But I was different. I was lucky number 13.

Of all the seedy little gin joints in all the seedy little towns, she had to walk into mine. Well, technically, I walked into hers. But I wasn't there to play games. And I wasn't one of those poor fools who couldn't pick up a dame if she was in a box and he had a forklift. They were about as likely to get lucky with that dame as I was to win the lottery twice on a Tuesday.

Not one to lollygag, I walked right up to her, turned to the bartender and said "two whiskeys, rocks." Then I turned to her and said, "what's a broad like you doing in a place like this?" That was when I noticed her throat. Her adam's apple was twice as big as my thumb, and s/he had the hands to match it. Sasquatch doesn't have hands that big and hairy. She/he said, "hey stranger," with a voice deeper than James Earl Jones with laryngitis after a three day bender.

Now I don't know if it was the smoke-filled room, the dingy lighting, or the eight whiskeys, but he was the best looking woman in that bar. And once you make your move, there's no going back. Thank God we were in the Castro. This was going to take some more drinks.

But I wasn't in that bar to pick up on loose women or pretty men. I was there on the job. The AlphaBar crew hired me to investigate every bar in the city with an L in its name. Well, they might have asked me only to go to the ones that started with an L, but I'm as thorough as a TSA agent on a muslim when I'm on the job. So I hit them all. And Lucky 13 was the best bar in that wretched little town. The best looking men, the strongest women, and the cheapest beer.

So we'll be heading down to Lucky 13 this Wednesday, packing that place like a Justin Bieber concert in a pedophile colony. And that friendly gentleman with the pouty lips knew the bartender, so (s)he got us some damned fine drink specials. I personally will be drinking more whiskey than a tribe of Indians who just finished a death march. Here's looking at you kid.

Wednesday, November 9th @ 8PM
Lucky 13
2140 Market St
between Church St & Sanchez St

Pics are up from the Kozy Kar!

Had a turn out of around 120+! Good work guys!