Reviewing Miami and then some. Gratuitous vulgarity included.

The Pub at Pembroke

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If I lived in the suburbs I’d demand more places like The Pub so I can drink until I forget I live in the suburbs. Who am I kidding, I’d drink no matter where I lived. I love the hooch.

I love the hooch.

I don’t always drive all the way out to west Broward for a drink, but when I do I prefer The Pub, and I rip off the rhetoric from a popular commercial in order to get my point across. I was there this past weekend meeting up with some Italian ragazzi bella that let me humor them for a couple of hours and demanded I write about this place, hence the honorable mention. This is what I’ve been relegated to doing; fulfilling demands/requests.

Haha, Orlando, you’re a bitch now.

That’s me.

Being an English pub means having dudes in kilts serve you liquor. Why? The Scots and Irish wear them, but I’m pretty sure the English opted for oppressing the shit out of kilt-wearers in lieu of letting their balls dangle freely in the wind. That’s probably why English men are so uptight. They keep their nutsacks taped to their inner thighs because it’s what proper gentlemen of the Crown aught do. Being an English pub also means lots of booze and godawful food. Fish & chips, bubble & squeak, bangers & mash; it seems like in order to make a British meal you just take two words that mean some other shit in The Queen’s English and put them together. Next week I’m having me some homos & buttsex. No, I swear, it’s not what it sounds like, it’s totally a British thing.

When we were there they had a Beatles cover band called “Across the Universe”, which I’m sure is a highly original name that no other cover band in the US uses. I made a joke about how someone should go up to the guy that’s supposed to be Lennon and shoot him, because I’m an asshole, but in reality they weren’t that bad. I did get to learn of a few songs I wasn’t aware were Beatles songs, so, you know, there’s that.

I made a joke about how someone should go up to the guy that’s supposed to be Lennon and shoot him…

The booze is typical, so no complaints, however I’ve gotta talk about the food. The rest of my party asked what the best dishes were and the server ran down a list of stuff. I asked her what the worst dishes were and she didn’t really hesitate to say fish tacos. So I ordered fish tacos. Let’s go ahead and give The Pub some honesty points because those tacos tasted like the ass-crack sweat from a Cambodian elephant herder. You’re probably wondering, “hey, Orlando, how do you know what Cambodian elephant herder ass-crack sweat tastes like?” Because I’ve been to the Olive Garden before. I don’t know if it was the fish itself or the demon blood they used as a “tangy” sauce, but there was something completely awful about them. But I ate them all. I’m a masochist.

I can’t recommend eating dinner here, but when it comes to hanging out and having yourself a good ‘ol drinking time, there’s no better place around.

No, seriously, you’ll be in the ‘burbs, there are no other places around.

So where the hell is it?
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