The Naked Guy

You heard it here, folks. If you ask me what the best bar in the city of Chicago is, without a doubt, and without hesitation, I will tell you The Liar’s Club. Let me give you a few reasons why:

1. Take a look at this picture. I mean the place looks condemned for Christ’s sake. You know that if a bar has a façade like this, then it must stay busy on reputation alone.

2. They have the best music/DJ’s. I know the Friday and Saturday DJ’s by name, and they not only play awesome stuff on their own, but they play most anything I request. If you were by the DJ booth around 12:30 last night, you would have heard this exchange:

Me: I’m going to leave it up to you, Kevin. Do you want to play Chains of Love by Erasure or Billy Idol’s Dancing With Myself?
Kevin: I’ll play them both, man.

What’s crazy too is that they will blare heavy metal music out of nowhere. Everyone will be done dancing to Justin Timberlake, or whatever, and then Mother by Danzig will kick in.
You’d think that would clear the floor, but people dance away and sing to their friends, and sing to people they’ve never met, but could tell are cool because they know the words to a random song like that, or some other terrific song.

3. They have The Naked Guy. On any given Friday night, when you hear It’s Getting Hot In Here by Nelly, look over to the end of the bar for a guy who looks like a mix between Kevin Spacey and the guy from Midnight Oil. The second he hears the song, he takes one last drag from his cigarette before extinguishing it, he takes one last healthy swig from his cocktail, and he marches out to the dance floor. It’s kind of like when Batman gets the call. The only difference is, I’ve never seen Batman strip naked and dance by himself, although for the right price I think Adam West might be willing to do a naked appearance and dance the Batoosie. As I was saying, the man who is simply known as The Naked Guy begins a dance that seems to be intentionally done in a way as to create an over exaggerated flopping motion. Girls circle around him and take pictures of him, while I dance with a hand blocking the view of the flip-flopping member. One night I struck up a conversation with The Naked Guy, and I said to him, “Say, Naked Guy, how ever did you start this fine tradition?” Evidently, someone dared him to do it a number of years back, and he has been dancing in nature's own just about every Friday night since. He’s also a card-carrying nudist, well, I don’t know if they have cards, or where they’d carry them when they’re naked, but he goes to nudist events all over the country. Through the course of the conversation I did get his real name, but to me, and the other loyal patrons of the best bar in Chicago, he will always simply be The Naked Guy. Here’s to you, Naked Guy. May you continue to flip and flop yourself to your heart's content.