Crocodile

1540 N Milwaukee Ave
Chicago, IL 60622
(773) 252-0880

So, here's the thing: I didn't hate it. I thought I would. I was even looking forward to hating it. I haven't hated on a place in a long time and I was all set to chug a 64 oz. bottle of Ruby Red Haterade. But I didn't. The description is a bit misleading. I was expecting something out of a college fraternity house - you know, basement with mismatched (and filthy) couches, sticky (and filthy) floors, busted up (and filthy) beer pong table, cheap (and filthy) Jeno's personal pizzas, skanky (and filthy) townie girls of questionable age. I was surprised to not find any of this.

The place was bright and clean (for a fratty lounge). I didn't have to prop my head from touching the banquets for fear of catching head lice. The drinks were decent - although I, typically, only get bottle drinks at bars lest I catch a case of the herps thanks to non-washed re-used glasses. The pizzas were tasty and non-Jeno's. The booty was eye catching but I was much too sleepy to try to touch any of it.

Decent.

Two problems. 1.) The music. I was hoping for 90s rap/hip hop. I have been watching old episodes of Living Single recently and I miss _that_ NYC (not the homogenized, overpriced and boring NYC that exists now). I wanted some New Jack swing. I wanted to get my nails did with Coko & SWV. Instead I was subjected to droning monotone 'beats' straight outta Rockford. No. 2.) I was molested by a crackhead. To my assailant: you drug-addled, greasy-haired, halitosis-spewing methqueen...no one in my party had your F---ing backpack, lest of all me.!! I was too in shock to do anything to you at the moment but, trust, if I see you again, expect a karate chop to the Adam's apple.

But, not as bad as I expected, Crocodile.