Reviewing Miami and then some. Gratuitous vulgarity included.

Boy Writes Los Angeles: Supperclub

So last weekend my sister was visiting LA and my cousin took her to a bar in Long Beach, Mai Tai Bar, where the night ended with six people getting shot. This week I was visiting and wanted no part in that, so I said “take me to a classier joint.” The result was Supperclub, and while no one got shot, shit still went down.

Before turning into your typical boots ‘n cats “we close at 2 AM because in LA we’re pussies” club, Supperclub is a restaurant. I didn’t get to experience this because I got high and ate at some Italian restaurant in Marina del Rey. There were some elements I liked about the place, and some I didn’t. The first annoying thing was the way they set up people with bottle service. They have some couches on the side of the wall which you stand on, and they put the bottle on the “floor” (which is a couch cushion.) In other words, more liquor ended up on people’s shoulders and pant legs than inside their faces.

I didn’t get to experience this because I got high…

What I did like was how whenever you ordered a bottle of champagne there would be a lady who came down from the ceiling, suspended by wires, and hands you your bottle of champagne while staff members hold up sparklers. It’s like they’re saying, “an angel is descending from the heavens to aid you in your quest to get drunk. May your evening culminate with intercourse and your morning begin with regret.” It’s awesome.

What does that look like?

I was able to snap this quick photo.

Enough about that though, let’s get to the good part.

My cousin’s friend knew a promoter who set us up alongside his table in what I call the “busted quadrant”, since there were a lot of unfortunate-looking ladies in the tables adjacent to us. We’re having a good time and I get the urge to relieve myself of urine. I make my way to the restroom upstairs, piss, shake, hygienize, and stop on my way back to the table to talk to a pretty girl I saw. I only lasted a few lines of banter before her two plus-sized friends come and protect her from the evil penis-wielding menace I apparently seem to be to them. Defeated, I proceed to return to my people. But when I looked into the distance where they should be, it’s as empty as my soul.

I get there and my cousin says, “some guy smashed our bottle over some dude’s head.” Upon further investigation it turns out one of the guys with the promoter was minding his own business having a good time and he bumped into some dubious ruffian. The dubious ruffian gave him shit about it, because he’s dubious, and it led to a push. The push led to a push back, and the dubious ruffian thought the logical progression was words > shove > bottle over the fucking head. Luckily the guy blocked most of the blow with his arm, but it messed his wrist up.

What a goddamn scumbag. Who is he?

Here he is being led out by security.

After the dandruff settled we were given a new bottle which they emptied out to about 3/4, because they’re assholes, and we continued our night. That’s when some Mexican guy tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention. He didn’t say a word, instead he started motioning to some girl he was with. He pulls out his wallet and begins taking out cash. I’m wondering WTF is going on, then the girl grabs me by the neck and starts drunkenly yelling in my ear. She talks to me for a bit and I humor her, but she’s super trashed and not very attractive. Then she asks, “do you have any coke?” I said no and she pressed. Then she asked if “that guy over there” (my cousin) had any. I told her probably not considering he’s a cop. So she did what anyone would do when told someone is a cop, she asked him herself. I know LAPD are crooked as fuck, but do you really think he’d SELL you the coke he stole from the stash house they raided? No, they sell directly to dealers.

After the dandruff settled we were given a new bottle…

Then she started yelling in my ear again and in one of those lean-ins she started to kiss me. Her breath smelled like discarded stem cells. For fear of Mexican superherpes I pushed her away and some other dude who saw that came up to me and pushed me. What is it with these fucking people and starting fights? I didn’t bother pushing back since I’ve read a thing or two about how getting hit over the head with a bottle makes you “cry” and “bleed”, and I wasn’t in the mood for a period.

We could only party for a little while longer because like every club in California they close at 2 AM. Oh, I just realized I was there with two cousins and I didn’t really differentiate. Whoops.


So where the hell is it?
  • 6675 Hollywood Blvd
  • Los Angeles, CA 90028
  • (323) 466-1900
  • supperclub.com
  • Supperclub on Urbanspoon
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4 Comments to Boy Writes Los Angeles: Supperclub

  1. Just got neutralized…

  2. Sue

    Lol. There’s no place like home.

  3. Belinda

    Damn! You were in L.A. ans didn’t tell me?!

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