I'm missing something here. So often I hear passionate cries of 'dude, let's hit the fuckin' Judgey!' When someone proclaims this, all those around me will whoop and holler and dance a jig, much like those hat-wearing, pantaloon-sporting gold-diggers of yesteryear when they had struck gold. So many of my mates get excited at the prospect of going to Judgement Bar, seriously.
What the fuck are you people doing? What justifiable reason is there for the Judgey to be so hot right now? It's full of gross young men wearing aesthetically inappropriate garb and quoting Swingers, not sure whether they're being ironic or just retarded. Occasionally some indie rock kids turn up to discuss whether Brodie Dalle is a sell-out or not. Sometimes, in rare moments of glory, the guitarist from some inner-city indie group will turn up for a beer. Awesome!
I concede that maybe I'm missing something. There must be some reason why so many of my fun-loving brethren adore it so. Maybe I've just gone on the wrong nights. Maybe there's a certain charm - a predictable je ne sais quoi - to hanging out at such a terrible non-event of a pub, and I'm just not getting it. Maybe there's a secret, ludicrously fun hidden room within the walls of the Judgey that everyone at the Judgey knows about except me. But I doubt it.
The whole thing confuses me, like the ending of Donnie Darko. Except Donnie Darko was good.
(Originally not published in The Brag as part of the Under The Bar column because it apparently antagonised its target market. Pssh!).
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