I review Harry's Last Call a bar in Phoenix where I met up with my exgf and her new Baby Daddy

The first thing you should know about Harry's Last Call in Phoenix is that your pussy ass should not go there. This is a REAL dive bar and not a FAKE dive bar that caters to your hipster irony. If you bring in any of that fucking hipster attitude into this bar I will help the homeless guy nursing his Bud Light on the stool next to me kick your ass. We will leave you bleeding, and the homeless guy will take a piss on you, and someone may cut you. AND THEN YOU WILL GET AIDS motherfucker.

I am just saying. 

I am not going to take your side, because this is not your place, and you have been warned. If you still want to go there the pool table takes quarters and it costs 75 cents a game.

The beer is cheap, but that is because the draft does not work. It just tumbles out at the bartender (my exgf so take your fucking hands off her) and spills all over her and she will ask if she can get you a Bud Light bottle because she hates fucking with the draft.

The bar looks deserted as you drive in. There are no cars outside. But that is typical if you are at a real dive bar as opposed to the fake bars you drive to. Real homeless people and drunks and so can't afford cars, or they never learned how to drive, or they have 6 DUI's so the cops took their license and their vehicles away. So it is no real surprise that the bar has 7 people milling around the front entrance.

I askew using the back entrance because I have no idea at first if this is the bar I am supposed to be going to, or if I have ended up at the wrong bar. (A dirty bar with homeless people and crazy Native Americans who guard the entrance.)

I know some people like to make fun of the fact that Natives drink a lot, but you will never see me do that. Probably because I am one fourth Cherokee. Anyway, I don't think Natives drink that much. I am pretty sure that all the Natives I see drinking in bars are not really different Indians, but the same Indian guy. Because everywhere I go I see the same drunk Native dude on the stool closest to the entrance.

He never sits with his back against the wall. And he always invites me over to share his warm small pitcher of beer. He winks at me and when I walk over he pulls out his pocket knife. He does that trick every time. Then he winks at me again and complains aloud to anyone who will listen that he needs to find the Indian bar on 16th street and he needs money for another drink.

Mostly I ignore him and hope he really does not want to kill a fellow Native American. I have no idea what they do in his tribe, but my tribe does not kill the Red Man. Just whitey.

When I approached the entrance I noticed a girl who I assumed to be the bartender. I look closer at her and I realize that she is my EXGF. She is standing next to a rather tall and goofy looking half-black dude who I can tell from his myspace profile must be the exGF's newest baby daddy.

It is not very often that my appearance somewhere will startle people, or make them jump. By my showing up here does. My Ex looks likes she is ready to swallow pills. Her eyes are jumpy and she excitedly runs at me to introduce "baby daddy" to me. Home boy gives me a hand shake and I tell him it was nice to finally meet him. I tell him that I bet he has heard all kinds of shit about me and he says he has heard only, "good things." he says "nice things" like all begrudging like somehow it is my fault that I am nice guy and he walked out on a woman with two kids and no job.

I keep wanting to tell him to stay away from the white women, but mostly we don't talk. He offers to play a game of pool with me. He wins the game, but only by one ball. We both take a long time to finish the game and he admits "that we suck."

I order a couple of beers from my exgf. She stays busy talking to her customers and she stops by every once and a while. I tell her how I think the bar is unsafe and she confides to me that she bought mace.

" I have no idea if mace would even work against the brutes in this place." I scold her.

I play UFO and Trapeze on the Internet Jukebox. just for shits and giggles I play some Kelly Clarckson. Some drunk comes in and orders a drink. He pays in quarters. He says he was "just in a fight and the cops are on their way here. " At least the cops are coming. I think to myself.

The cops show up and they are being cool. The cop does not walk into the bar. He stays out on the front entrance like he and the homeless vermin who inhabit this bar have some kind of special agreement. He just asks to talk to the guy who was in the fight. The guy drinking the jack and cola walks out calm and cool. He doesn't even put up a fight.

In my pocket is the lottery ticket I purchased for this weeks drawing. I am potentially worth 186 million dollars. I should leave before something happens and I get stabbed. The baby daddy is most likely upset that I am here, but he has not started anything with me. In fact he seems cordial and shit. I guess it true what they say. We are polite to strangers. Cruel to those we love.

I showed up to the bar at 10. It was midnight and I did not want to wait around all night if baby daddy was going to be there. He would make sure the ex lived through the night. She was not my responsibility anyway.

I stopped by another bar on the way home. I should have guessed by the name "Cruising 7th street" that the bar was a gay bar, but since I don't know a lot about gays -the way you do- I had no idea until it was too late that I had stepped right into the gayest bar in town.

I had to use the restroom. I know going to the restroom in a gay bar is not the brightest idea, but the whole reason I stopped at the bar in the first place was because I had to go pee. Cruising has two bars separated by rest rooms. After locking the stall door and peeing I heard what I thought was singing from the other side of the bar.

It turns out there where a bunch of drag queens Lip-syncing to music full of double entendres.

A few of the drag queens tried hitting on me, but I guess they did not try very hard. I ended up leaving after the drag show (which consisted of one dude with a stuffed bra singing over the radio and getting tipped a few dollars by a couple of horny gay guys) finally ended.