R.I.P: Sharkeez

In my continuing efforts to rid my life of all things asinine, I present to you the next installment of R.I.P:

Behold, Sharkeez-- a Tijuana knock-off bar that has actually become so popular for perennial frat boys and party tramps that they actually keep making more of them.

I'm not the only one who's tried to lay Sharkeez to rest for the critical survival of the human race. You know who else gave it a shot? God. God actually tried to smite Sharkeez.

One of these Whorehouse Training Camps spontaneously combusted in the middle of the night a couple of years back, which seemed to me a divine foreshadowing. And God said, "it is good."

Unfortunately, God didn't factor in that Sharkeez must've fucked a Gremlin sometime in the late 80s-- nowadays, you pour water on one and *poof!* another dreadful little nightmare pops up. And the fate of mankind rests once again in the hands of neanderthals who like to drink shots from a plastic syringe and head-butt each other.

I was lured into one of these for the LAST TIME yesterday, you hear me? Last. Time. I walked in there for Happy Hour and walked out with a missing dignity and a full 17 minutes closer to my expiration date.

To illustrate my outrage, here's a quick hit list of reasons I'd like to give the owners a swift slap in the mouth after my horrendous trip to Sharkeez:

1. It's called Sharkeez.

I mean, really? Something about that "eez" really punching up the profit marginz? Waz "Sharkey's" or even "Sharkees'" just too classy for you? Nothing sayz passing fad like a bar with a lame name and an even lamer intentional misspelling. But you post-undergrad Peter Panz just keep showing up in drovez, proving me wrong. And it makez me just want to euthanize you all.

2. They sell a drink called a Donkey Punch.

Do you people even know what a Donkey Punch is? I mean, really visualize a Donkey Punch for a couple of seconds (that is, what you think a DP is, since you all know Goddamned well no one you know has ever done it) and then look down at your drink. Do you want to drink a whole bucket of liquid named after a brain contusion and a contracted sphincter? Whatever, have fun.

3. They hold shouting contests for free booze.

4. There are more flat screens per capita than a Circuit City Best Buy.

5. They host regular Flip Cup Tournaments. Seriously.

6. Their Shark Attack requires a minimum of three drinkers and very closely resembles Jungle Juice (refer to inaugural R.I.P post)

7. The place is crammed with the best our gene pool has to offer (see above and below) relentlessly and shamelessly propositioning each other:

7. They have breathalyzers in the bathroom.

8. The bartenders and wait staff wear sports jerseys.

9. Every item on the food menu was fried in the same vat.

10. Perfect strangers play grab-ass to and from the coed bathrooms and proceed to text each other about this very meaningful experience on their iPhones for the next 30 minutes.

(11. Because ours go to eleven.)

G'bye, Sharkeez. I'd like to say I'll miss you, but clearly I won't. Call me when you decide to host a Donkey Punch tournament, and you just might see me around.