San Diego - San Diego - Dick's Last Resort

After spending about twenty minutes on the prowl for a parking space, my friend and I began our night at Dick's Last Resort Restaurant (619-231-9100, 345 4th Ave.). We were greeted at the door by a bouncer that looked like a Sasquatch with no hair and whose feet were the size of cinder blocks.

As I walked in the door, I was immediately assaulted by a barrage of sensations, not all of them pleasant. The place holds true to it's namesake by providing customers with a large interior that looks like a honky-tonk bar that has been simultaneously hit by a tornado and a tidal wave of beer. The floor was decorated with an assortment of flyers, napkins, and ambiguous organic objects and through a crowd of drunKarl customers, I could see a stage with a rowdy band that includes scantily clad female singers that looked more like go-go dancers.

I walked to the bar and waited patiently for the bartender to ask me what I wanted. After a few minutes of trying to beckon to her telepathically, I was startled when a young man stumbled up next to me and shouted "Red Bull." The waitress immediately handed him several cans of Red Bull. I turned to him and asked, "Does that really work?"

His response: "It does if you work here."

With that, he turned and walked away. I decided to try this tactic, turning to the bartender and shouting "Red Bull," and to my surprise, she immediately approached me and I ordered my drinks.

My companion and I soon found a vacated table facing the stage, and we sat down and began to sip our drinks. I noticed that the band was doing an excellent job of covering the theme song to "Moulan Rouge," and amused myself by watching the drunKarl gyrations on the dance floor for a few minutes.

My reverie was interrupted by a middle-aged gentleman who had a ponytail that looked like a raccoon. He was wearing a faded paisley short-sleeve button down that was tucked into khaki pants and he was leaning over, talking with a young Asian girl.

They stood up and I watched as they began to dance together in a manner in which I imagined giraffes might if they were capable of standing on two legs for a prolonged amount of time. Gradually, his hands descended from her waist to her bottom, where they clamped shut around her cheeks. And here I was thinking that they only did that in the movies.

I feel that this was pretty much indicative of the spirit that resided within Dick's Last Resort. We finished our drinks and it was time to go. The bartender sent me off with an amiable "you want to settle your tab and go? Well, get the hell out of here!"