(above: moriarity’s)
It all begins here, right where we left off. This dimly lit sports bar is the launching pad for the audaciously macho rocket, better known as the Apollo F- off! And once again, this dimly lit sports bar struggles to capacitate the iron muscle of Macho Monday. Maybe this go around, there’s a legitimate excuse. Could it be that: A) our numbers with associates surged forward at an inexplainably rapid force? or B) our crude, and explicit eating behavior expanded the average wing span of necessary elbow room? or C) Big Steve brought forward an undying appetite for bludgeoned liver aerobics? The answer my friend, would be D) All of the above. The city of Philadelphia has served us well, which is why we serve the city right back… with a vile display of food baby afterbirth.
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