graveyard tavern review
I walk into a cavernous dining room. The focal point is a gorgeous bar, which could only be made more beautiful by strapping Stephanie Swift clothed in latex fetish wear to it.
I sit down and notice the Graveyard Tavern has Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap for only two fifty a glass. Score!
Appetizers arrive. I had foccacia*, which was all right. Unfortunately it was served with some kind of ground up olive shit. I loathe olives. What the fuck happened to serving bread with regular ass butter? All this high falutin’ shit is starting to piss me off.
Entrees are served. Recurring Propeller Skies character Katt comments the shrimp scampi is not so tasty. I have eaten rocks that were softer and tastier than my overcooked and flavor free salmon. In contrast, my sides of garlic mashed potatoes and rice are decent, but not bursting with flavor like Gilbert’s. Recurring Prizzo Skeezy character The Beaver notes her sides are also good.
As a restaurant, the Graveyard Tavern is fucking bootleg. For the benefit of all five Propeller Skies readers, I will return and choke down a few drinks to ascertain its potential as a bar.
* Italian for five dollar slices of bread.