Normally I avoid Pat O Briens like the plague. But hey, you have to go at least once. Hordes of fake blonde, fake tan, fake whatever sorority girls with small noses and daddy’s money. Sucking back ‘canes and then 40 minutes later reeling from the onslaught of several well disquised shots of liquor hitting them straight in their empty little heads.

Entertaining to watch them throw up on their boyfriends and fight in the streets but I’d rather go for Rolling Rocks at Molly’s on Decatur or cheap bourbons at R-Bar.