New York’s hottest club is: [makes the noise of an insect flying by]
Description: Written and directed by James L. Brooks…
This place has everything: Backpacks, sea lions, Ron Wood, a rental car filled with bottled water, my best friend Joel, plus a special appearance by evil celebrity chef Wario Batali.
Wario Batali? He’s just like his brother, except he doesn’t wear Crocs.
New York’s hottest club is: [shuts eyes, widens mouth, says in a nasal voice:] Hellooo
Description: The whole thing is hosted by cross-dressing founding father Jenjamin Franklin. And if there’s a lighting storm, he’ll tie a key to the end of it. No, honey, not his kite.
This place has everything: Raffis, yeti-cabs — pedicabs driven by yetis — slowpokes, a woman with nowhere to turn. Just for the 4th of July, they’ve got a special display of Jewish fireworks.
Jewish fireworks? The ones that go peewwww-ehhhhhh.
New York’s hottest club is: [in a deep voice] Jelly Bones!
Description: Located on the Lower Upper Side, this random home invasion is the creation of legally drunk clothing designer Nick Nolte and Gabana. As you walk in, you’ll be handed a glass of champagne — or is it piss?
This place has everything: Slurpies, mushmouths, litterbugs.
Bonus: Don’t worry about security, because it’s guarded by an army of hobo-cops.
Hobo-cops? Homeless Robocops.
New York’s hottest club is: [crouches like a cat, hisses twice]
Description: Located in an abandoned whitefish factory in Little Israel…
This place has everything: Ghosts, ghouls, goblins, my son! On the dance floor, you’ll find both guys from Wham! wearing a two-man horse costume. Spoiler alert: They’re both in the back.
Special guest: Have you heard of Blacula, the Black Dracula? Well, they have a Jewish Dracula.
What’s his name? Sidney Applebaum.
Bonus: For a healthy snack, hit the bar and have some Fraisins — raisins that look like Frasier! Or try your luck with the Human Pinata.
Human Pinata? It’s that thing of when a Mexican midget eats a lot of candy, and then he dances until he throws up.
New York’s hottest club is: [in a British accent] Maaaaary!
Description: Opened in 1997 by missing Florida woman Lisa Martinez, this club is currently going 90 miles per hour down the West Side Highway.
This place has everything: Charts, graphs, Powerpoint, a guy who still thinks Jamba Juice is good for you. And if you liked Russell Crowe in Les Misérables, you might want to hear Jasper the gorilla pass a kidney stone!
There’s even a password! The last words of murdered blues legend Sweet Willie Walker: “My wallet?! Yeahhhhhhh, right!”
New York’s hottest club is: Your Mother and I Are Separating
Description: Don’t be fooled by the charred Red Lobster sign out front; this club is a burned-down Red Lobster.
This place has everything: A shake for breakfast, a shake for lunch, a sensible dinner, those shoes that nurses wear — and you can dance the night away to the sounds of Donald Duck having a Vietnam nightmare.
What does that sound like?
New York’s hottest club is: [pursing his lips and taking a picture of himself] Selfieee!
Description: Based on the novel Push by Sapphire, club promoter Joseph Gordon-Fisherman opened a Soho hotspot located in a haunted diaper.
This place has everything: Chutes, ladders, the outdoor concert from a Zoloft commercial. If that’s not enough for you, you can hit the dance floor with a human fanny pack.
Human fanny pack? It’s that thing of when a midget hangs around your waist and holds your passport in his mouth.
And finally, New York’s hottest club is: [in an Al Pacino voice] PANTS!
Description: Located on that fake street from Seinfeld, this bedbug bridal barn finally answers the question, “Y’all ready to play the Feud?”
This place has everything: Hopscotch, double dutch, Oogieloves, sling and mesh bladder implants, the table from Charlie Rose. And this weekend, I’ll be having my college reunion there.
Where did Stefon go to college? UTI. I even made the Dean’s List — Dean Cain’s list of homeboys not to mess with.
Bonus: The bouncer is a king-sized lesbian who looks like Phil Jackson. And the password is “SCOTTY.” And if that isn’t enough for you, you can hit the dance floor with a room full of human magic 8-balls.
Human magic 8-balls? It’s that thing of when you ask a question, so you shake a midget until he says, “Ask again later.”
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