Kalamazoo Sausagefests: Causes and Consequences Part I

Kalamazoo bars are notorious for being epic cockfests. If I had to pick out the #1 problem with the nightlife here (and many other places in the US), it’d be the gender ratio, so I’ve decided to dedicate a couple posts to delving deep into what has caused the cockfest problem, what it means for most guys, and how the issue can be resolved. Before I start, chew on these stats for a moment:

WMU undergraduate student population as of 2011: 20,054
Undergraduate males attending WMU: 10,154
Undergraduate females attending WMU: 9,900
Ratio of males to females: 1.03
Source: http://www.wmich.edu/ir/factbook/2011/enrollment/demoug.pdf

So statistics show us that the ratio of males to females at WMU is fairly even, although they are still a little odd considering that most schools in the US have more female students than males. Regardless, the WMU admissions office isn’t to blame for the fact that you walk into a penis party almost every time you visit a campus bar.

Kalamazoo Cockfests: an Overview
Take any specific girl at WMU who goes out 2-3 nights a week and observe her behavior in both daytime and nighttime settings. You’ll notice a difference that is practically schizophrenic. During the day, she’s timid, pleasant in conversation, and high on Adderal. At night she’s bitchy, arrogant, and drunk off a fifth of Burnett’s Whipped. Someone observing this social binary on the surface might call it an epidemic case of borderline personality disorder.

You’ve probably already concluded that the transformation of WMU girls from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde is due to the fact that, at night, she’s slapped on globs of make-up, fitted herself into high heels, and has drank herself into a self-deluded haze. Wrong. Those factors have certainly contribute to the problem, but the primary cause of this mass-metamorphosis is the the skewed gender ratio at night venues gives girls an unusual level of male attention

                                           Your typical WMU girl during the day…

                                             …and the transformation at night

So what, exactly, constitutes a cockfest? Technically, it’s any social gathering where there are more guys than girls. It is an environment where the girls are the de facto prized commodity and guys must actively compete against one another to bone them. Cockfests make an unattractive girl bangable, an average girl “hot,” and turn the attractive girls into bitches. Here’s my Sausagefest Intensity Scale (SIS):

1:1 = Normal. There is, hypothetically, one girl for every guy and there’s little or no social friction
1.1-1.3:1 = Manageable. Girls get gradually bitchier as it’s not apparent that they’re being fought over until later in the night
1.3-1.5:1 = Almost hopeless. You need luck or you must be a boss to get a girl to fuck you
1.5+:1 = Why are you wasting your time? Now even the ugly girls are acting like bitches

The following stats are not scientific. I’m not going to sit around and conduct demographic studies of bars for the next six months to appease the disagreeable nerds of the world:

Male:Female ratios of WMU bars on their “big” nights

Wayside Wednesday: 2:1
Y-Bar Thursday: 1.3:1
Grotto Friday: 1.6:1
Library Saturday: 1.4:1

                                           Eerily similar to Wayside Wednesday (click to zoom)

So why aren’t girls total bitches during the daytime at WMU? Check the first stats I posted above. The gender ratio on campus is practically 1:1. Girls’ egos are not inflated and you can socialize with them like they’re (somewhat) normal people. In Part II, I’ll give my solution for fixing the gender ratio gap once and for all.

Some content on this page was disabled on June 15, 2015 as a result of a DMCA takedown notice from Amber Stratton. You can learn more about the DMCA here:



Kalamazoo Nightlife Review: DayGlow

I don’t dance unless I’ve had three too many to drink on a particular night, but I went to Dayglow anyway because it seemed like it would offer a welcome respite from the Kalamazoo bar/club scene. I wasn’t sure of what to expect from “The World’s Largest Paint Party,” and all I had was YouTube videos of past events to use as a reference, so I did a little quick math in my head. I deduced that:

Electronic music+lights+large space+degenerate youth+(alcohol)^2+drugs+gimmick = unusually large shitshow
I tore the sleeves off of an old t-shirt, threw on a pair of basketball shorts, slipped on old shoes, then drove with a companion to Wings Stadium. I got there an hour early, which I think was 8PM, as I’d assumed that there would be a line stretching around the block to get in given the level of hype surrounding the event. I was one of the first people there. It then dawned on me that I was in Kalamazoo, where most kids don’t venture out at night lest they’ve each ingested a fifth or more of Smirnoff, Burnett’s, or Rich & Rare.
That said, I like getting to places a little earlier than the crowd because it affords me enough time to get a clear picture of a setting’s physical layout, which facilitates navigation in large crowds. Anyway, let’s move on…

It was easily the horniest party I’ve been to in a while. At least as horny as the time I walked in on a Korean orgy while on vacation in Rio. There was about an equal gender ratio and, unless you were really ugly, the majority of girls were willing to grind on just about any guy’s semi-erection the entire night. A few of them were also willing to exchange saliva and grab your genitals. There was a gradation of attractiveness and behavioral freakiness as you got closer to the stage, with the ugly, sedentary people in the back, and humans of normal appearance in the front. The exceptions were exhibitionist whores who danced in the back to make sure that somebody paid attention to them.
Every fifteen minutes or so, a machine would jizz paint on the dry-humping hordes below. I actually liked the paint because it had a cooling effect on your body. As you might imagine, even with little clothing on, dancing around hundreds of people indoors is like sitting around inside your car with the windows up in summertime.
There were drugs abound. More than a few joints were passed among Dayglowers, lots of crazed kids were clearly off MDMA, and I observed my fair share of coke-sniffing in the bathrooms. This was all in conjunction with the rest of the crowd who, needless to say, were drunk.
I remember sobering up about a half hour before the party ended, looking in 360 degrees at the manic mob before me, laughing, then walking out. That said, I enjoyed the parts of Dayglow I remembered.

Why Kalamazoo bars fail

The reason behind the quick failure of most of campus’s commercial establishments, particularly those in West Pointe Mall, can be summed up simply: high maintenance costs driving owners into closure. Even the bars seem to die and spring up like dandelions. Out of the five bars on campus, only Y-Bar and Waldo’s have been around for any meaningful length of time. Grotto and Library are relatively new, with the latter being only a year or so old, and I think Grotto was only opened as early as 2006.

Sadly, the telltale signs of commercial failure are already looming above Grotto and Library. Grotto has glaring maintenance problems, evidenced in the poor plumbing that plagues it week after week, while Library’s gotten so desperate that they’ve started a “teen night,” with all the MIP and serving-to-minors risks that brings with it. To make matters worse, Grotto’s been dropping its prices while Y-Bar has raised theirs.

                                          What Library looks like Friday nights. Owner is on the right.

So what’s the problem?

*Deep breath*…

It’s that campus bars are trying to do too many things at once. In a place like Kalamazoo, where citizens aren’t exactly bursting at the pockets with dead presidents, you need to limit your establishment’s mission to serving one type of client. When you build a swanky, aesthetically pleasing (and costly) place like Grotto, that’s intended to function as a restaurant and a “nightlife” bar at the same time, you’re not going to bind a single demographic to your establishment. That’s a losing formula.

When a chain competitor, like Buffalo Wild Wings, is showing UFC fights and making a killing off its $59.99 pay per view purchase in the form of food and beer sales, Grotto and Library are serving drinks for stingy college students at $2.50. When Y-Bar is inspiring a shitshow with their DJ, Grotto’s whimpering by with weak, family-friendly garbage playing off their jukebox. As an anecdotal example, I recently picked the brain of Wayside’s manager (the balding Asian dude) and the subject of the profitability of the Wednesday college night came up. He said, and I’m paraphrasing here:

“What do you think? We’re serving drinks for one, maybe two dollars at a time. Do you think that’s making us money? No, we just about break even, and we scrape even closer in winter when we pay for heating.”

                                          Wayside manager pictured here (w/ bouncers)

Mind you, Wayside is one of the oldest, biggest bars in Kalamazoo. So old that my 60-70 year old relatives used to party there in the 1970s, so they know a thing or two about staying afloat in this town.

Even Y-bar is relatively old, having opened up in ’98. Wondering why Y-Bar does so well it can raise drink prices while other establishments flounder? Because it only has one identity: shitshow. They don’t serve food, don’t televise bloodsports, and aren’t schizophrenic with their mission. They focus on doing the dance club thing the best they can and they have a  loyal social bloc that goes in a few nights a week because of it. Grotto and Library don’t have loyalty because they’ve done the opposite. They want to be pizzerias and night spots and social hubs all at once. There’s nothing special about them, and that’s why the only way they lure people in is with cheap drinks. Lower your prices and those clients are yours.

So if you’re going to open a bar on campus, what should your strategy be to ensure long-term profitability? I’ll sum it up in a few steps:

1. Know your role: Have a vision. Who will go there? College students. What do they want out of your establishment? To get fucked on the cheap with their friends. Don’t try to serve students, professors, and their parents all at once. Pick a target demographic and stick to it.

2. Don’t spend money on expensive property or aesthetics: I’ve never gone to a bar on student night thinking “Wow, what an awesome wallpaper design! I can’t wait to come back here to drink shitty beer and smack the asses of passerby females”! I’m certain that you could purchase a 30x50x15ft dungeon, get a DJ, serve $2 drinks and people would line up around the block to get in. Not only that, but kids would assign it qualities like “charming,” and “hardcore.”

3. Be creative: Creativity does not mean spending money. It means using what is available to you in novel, unexpected ways. If there was one aspect of the nightlife market to exploit in Kalamazoo, it’s this. Managers are unimaginative and do the same things week after week. Have something as simple as a themed night once in a while and you can easily gain notoriety on campus.

Western Michigan University NIGHTLIFE Review, Part III: The Library

“Hey brah, where ya’ headed”?!

“The Library, man”!

“But, brah! It’s Totally Trashed Tuesdays, and we just brewed up 40 wasabi-gerbil anus burners to celebrate Steve’s dad’s vasectomy”!

“Nah dude! Not that library, the other Library”!!


*group laugh*
I’m certain the preceding dialogue accurately narrates what went through a geezer bar owner’s head moments before he decided what to rechristen the smoldering remains of the former Firehouse. Great business sense there, really. There’s nothing like a silly gimmick that patronizes your patrons. 
Library is like a compact version of Wayside: it’s got a classic beer-and-wings sports bar vibe with hardwood floors, booths, and low-hanging ceiling lights, but also services the inclinations of Saturday night’s drunk, horny freaks with its dungeon of a dance floor. The contrast between the bar concourse and the dark abyss nearby emanating dubstep thumps is probably similar to the defining line between purgatory and the first level of Hell. Upon walking into Library, it may come as a surprise that the interior is fully-lit, and that idiosyncrasy is its distinguishing factor when you compare it with other W. Michigan Ave bars like Y-Bar or Grotto. You can actually see people, which I think explains why the venue is so prone to turning into staging ground for fisticuffs and multi-party brawls. Affording drunk dudes the opportunity to make incidental eye contact (“You lookin’ at me, bro”?) is akin to lighting a match in a closet packed with buffalo farts.
I’ve laid witness to a diverse array of battles at Library; some of which have the potential to one day be re-enacted on the History Channel or, at the very least, serve as inspirational fodder for a match on Monday Night Raw. Library has been host to race wars, bloody stomp-outs, and the instance where I saw a recently knocked-the-fuck-out kid slump face-first into bathroom piss-water. Not that these scenarios reflect positively upon the establishment, but I’d expect a little more class out of a venue that charges me a whole two dollars for cover.
Speaking of which, it’s an unnecessary hassle just to get through the door on Saturday night: two photo ID’s and two dollars. Do you know how long I’ve got to rummage in my pockets to get all of that? For a place that services a fucking “teen night,” why are they so paranoid about underaged rascals sneaking in with fake ID’s? Oh, I figured it out: the ID check is actually about making sure you’re in college. Like Y-Bar, they’ve concluded that restricting their clientele to college students is the optimal business model, as we are more docile and have a vast pool of financial aid money to blow.
While I’ve got my reservations about the entrance policy, I will admit that it really does influence the crowd that shows up. It’s the same social cohort that Y-Bar lures in, except guys have exchanged muscle-shirts for plaid and girls don jeans instead of skirts. Expect a male: female ratio of about 1.5 guys for every girl, which is a technical sausagefest but decent for Kalamazoo.
On a brighter note, at least the girls who go to Library on Saturdays are attractive.

Library is notorious for understaffing to pinch pennies. Even with four full-size bars, getting a drink takes ages unless you opt to hit up the “cash-only” bar, which would be more aptly named the “tax-exempt” bar. However, only geeks and tools whose parents still check their banking statements carry cash, so I too often find myself waiting for drinks for about as long as it would take a sumo wrestler to finish a marathon. Would it really kill them to staff one more bartender at each bar?
That said, the bartenders are amicable enough when you finally reach them, even though they serve up rail liquor swill with a misplaced sense of pride that I don’t quite understand. To contrast, I actually get asked whether I want Jameson or Jack when I order at Y-Bar (if it’s early in the night).

Library’s bar concourse (the lit area), doesn’t have music, which I like because you can actually socialize. The dance floor, on the other hand, is an alternate dimension where half-priced drinks and a mix of top-40, dubstep, and old “classics” have hypnotized clientele into flail-humping sex-zombies. I will admit that I don’t spend much time on Library’s dance floor so I’m not going to pass judgment on the DJ’s music selection.

Saturday: half-off drinks. Beers are $2, a double-shot is $4. Unfortunately, the deal ends at midnight which, once again, highlights the miserly nature of the establishment. 

I would say that Library rivals Y-Bar as the top nightspot on W. Michigan Ave if it weren’t for the profound level of penny-pinching that has ruined service there. That said, Saturday nights boasts a cool crowd, so I’d recommend it as that night’s place to be.

Kalamazoo Cockblocking

An unfortunate part of female social conditioning (in America, at least), is that many college-aged girls feel that they possess the imperative to vociferously cockblock any and all guys that their friend might even consider fucking when they go out. Girls in Kalamazoo do it with impunity and always with a hilariously corny bitch-flair (“Nice try,”) that tempts you to call her out on the fifteen extra lbs of cottage cheese teetering on her waistline.

Before I begin this discussion, I’m going to define what a cockblock is and isn’t:

NOT a cockblock: Girl you’re talking to is obviously uninterested in your shitty “game” and/or disheveled appearance. Friend or another male suitor swoop in to “save” (relieve) her of you.

COCKBLOCK | verb /käk-bläk/: 

1. When a jealous or misguided female makes a forcible attempt at extracting another female from an interaction with a male suitor that the friend is interested in.

2. When a jealous and/or opportunistic dude interjects himself, uninvited, into an interaction between a guy and a girl, where the girl is obviously interested in the guy she’s talking to. His intention is to divert the focus of the girl from the other guy and onto himself.

In general, there are three main types of cockblockers, which I will list in no particular order:

Cockblocker Type 1: Reformed Slut Rita
Rita had daddy issues growing up and little self control. Upon arriving in college as a lithe, naive freshman at the ripe age of 17, she used her newfound freedom the best way she knew how: fucking anything that moved.

Rita quickly realized that, in the real world, actions carry consequences. The squandering of her social capital as a result of slutting out the first semester of college left her at the fringes or excommunicated by the Welcome Week social circles she was a part of. Back home, she became known as the high school virgin who went on to participate in a 5-man gangbang with a bukkake finish in the third week of school. In Kalamazoo, she’s known as just another chick who got fucked by five dudes at the same time.

By the time she turns 21, the ass-reaming she committed on her reputation (and the ass-reaming committed on her) has become a bygone memory. All that’s left now is scar tissue, extreme paranoia, and occasional bouts of irrational behavior. Rita now has new circle of friends within which she has unilaterally assigned herself as the resident mother-hen because she believes being a fuck-up qualifies one to give advice. To “repent” for her past, she assumes the mantle of Pussy Police, relentlessly cockblocking any guy that comes within a five foot radius of her friends.

How to handle: Buy her shots until drunkedness brings down the ramparts of her maternal facade and the slut within is unleashed. She will eventually skip off to find the guy she saw once in lecture in Psych 101 to “catch up.” More experienced Ritas have already relapsed one or two times back into slut-mode and will require craftier measures to neutralize.

Cockblocker Type 2: Unattractive Ursula
Ursula is the opposite of Rita in that she has spent her first couple years of college with few or no sexual experiences. This is not because she possesses self-respect or discipline, but because she resembles the aftermath of that time Satan got wasted and accidentally fucked a wild boar in the fourth level of Hell. Ursula descends from an affluent, probably east side, family and is thus an entitled brat who thinks she deserves a decent-looking guy even though she clocked in precisely 4 hours in the gym all year, 3.5 of which were dedicated to flipping back and forth through her iPhone.

Her entitlement also means that she will not accept any of her friends attaining what she cannot, namely a decent guy. Because Ursula is probably a virgin, the “slut” label she can slap onto her friends sticks like industrial-strength adhesive.

How to handle: Give her attention. Ursula wants to feel as pretty as her hot friend, so engage her as much as you do the girl you want to fuck. Gradually withdraw attention from Ursula until you can finally communicate with the hot friend in peace. That said, Ursula will eventually catch on and cockblock you anyway.

Cockblocker Type 3: Scavenger Steve
This is probably the shittiest Kalamazoo cockblocker because any moral pretense is thrown out the window. Ursula and Rita can at least claim that they’re saving their friend from an imminent hit’n quit, but Steve is trying to, in Jersey Shore vernacular, “commit a robbery.” Fortunately, Steve is usually the most scarce of Team Blocker’s line-up, but you ought to beware of him nonetheless.

Steve is often socially awkward and/or physically unappealing, factors which compound his difficulty in starting conversations with girls. To compensate, he waits for somebody to do the work for him then drops into the conversation uninvited. Unfortunately, Steve is usually a guy you came to the bar with, although a random, feral Steve might also appear on occasion. Steve always has an amazing story to tell that’s sort of like the one he just overheard you talking about for the past five minutes, but three times better and it took place on Mars.

How to handle: Be a dick. Don’t even let him into the conversation. Just ignore the bugger and he’ll give up and go away. Yeah, it’s that simple. If he’s persistent, tell him, like a boss, to take a hike.

The sad truth…

There is no efficient way to dispose of a cockblocker. Like any bad behavior, it needs to be shamed in order for it to stop. The only way to do this is by calling cockblockers out, especially Rita and Ursula. How you choose to do that is up to you, but I can assure you that if you call out one cockblocker she’s going to think twice before doing it again. Maybe you won’t reap the benefits, but another guy probably will.  Think of it this way: if all guys everywhere unite to end cockblocking as we know it, we could experience a sexual renaissance in this city unlike anywhere else in America.

"I’m from the East Side"

I’m taking a break from my venue reviews to address a conversational thread that’s pulled nearly every single time I meet a new group of people at a Kalamazoo night spot. I’ll walk you through it:

Me: “…and then she told me to stop.”

Kid in plaid shirt: “Haha, I’ve, like, totally been there man, totally. Yeah, man, so where you from”?

Me: “Kalamazoo.”

KIPS: “Oh, yeah, that’s cool.”

*awkward silence*

Me: “You”?

KIPS: “Aw, I’m just from the East Side.”

Without fail, that woefully misplaced arrogance, by an unfortunately dressed dweeb, no less, lingers in the air like a taco-inspired meat fart. I usually end the conversation shortly thereafter. I’m not saying that every conversation I have with an east sider plays out like it does above, but it happens often enough for me to notice a pattern (and warrant a blog post). When I give you the courtesy of telling you the town I hail from, it’s only proper that you reciprocate. I know social skills aren’t everybody’s forte, but try to understand that your ambiguity is condescending and implies that I can’t point out Ann Arbor or Birming-fucking-ham on a Michigan map.

Maybe I’m being too harsh. Maybe it’s just that the east siders have learned from years of trial-and-error with legions of geographically-impaired west side yokels that they’re better off just keeping it basic.

So I believe we have reached an impasse: is it east side arrogance or west side boorishness that’s behind the tired routine I find myself in night after night? Either way, I don’t give a damn, just say where you’re from, okay?

Western Michigan University NIGHTLIFE Review, Part II: The Y-Bar

I’m not sure what the “Y” in Y-Bar stands for, nor do I possess a burning desire to uncover the truth behind the enigmatic letter, so feel free to come up with your own theories. The ironic thing is that the venue is not really a bar, but a dance club, so the owner(s) should consider a name-change.


I would say Y-Bar is easily the most loved and hated venue in Kalamazoo. The borderline ostentatious nature of the neon decor and its sexualized clientele will obviously arouse emotions of (self)loathing in reticent, sexually-undesirable geeks and affection in those who thrive on peacocking their physical wares and trying their hand at fucking the hottest thing moving that night. In my time in Kalamazoo, I’ve heard many dubious descriptions about the place, usually from people who’ve never actually set foot in it. One kid called it “for the fags,” another claimed that “it’s for fucking pussies,” and one other guy tried to tell me that the Thursday-night alcohol-powered shitshow was “nothing but douche-queers and sluts.” Okay, I can understand the animus towards the douches but, c’mon, there is absolutely nothing wrong with women who prefer their legs at obtuse angles.

Personally, I would describe Y-bar as the lovechild of a big-city club that accidentally dumped its load in an abandoned Midwestern warehouse one fateful, Molly-addled night. Y-Bar is the most honest place in Kalamazoo because you have the kids that actually run the Kalamazoo bar circuit presenting who they really are: upper-middle class kids from “the East Side,” Chicago, or some faraway country like Arabia Land or Domincanica. This place is about high-heels, muscle V-necks, short dresses, and button-down (non-plaid) shirts. I’m not saying that this is the club of America’s 1%, but it’s definitely a place for the 5-10%.

Of course, ensuring that the bar stays 5% means that the owners have had to apply a few preventative measures to ensure that the “undesirables” stay the fuck away. Over the summer, a common grievance among many of Y-Bar’s patrons was that the bar had gotten “too ghetto,” which is, of course, code-name for the fact that there were:

a. Too many black people
b. Too many poor people
c. Too many people who are both black and poor

Y-Bar’s management, ever receptive to their clientele’s sensitivities (something Grotto ought to take note of), instituted a couple of reforms to ensure Kalamazoo’s vagrants and vagabonds stayed on their side of town, namely:

1. Instituting an exorbitant $15 cover charge for anybody without a college ID, $5 for people with non-Western (read: community college) ID’s, and…

2. Raising their prices. The “drink special” night at Y-Bar isn’t really a night of drink specials, and they’ve sneakily raised the price on every drink by fifty whole cents in the past couple of weeks. It’s almost cheaper to bring your own coke into the bathroom and shoot a few bumps.

Basically if you can’t afford college (or afford to go into debt for it), you’re too poor for Y-Bar. Stay the fuck away. I mean, I do understand the problem with allowing chumps with shitty neck tattoos who sell brick weed out of their grandma’s house to enter a “classy” place like Y-Bar to lasciviously stare down (rightfully) frightened sluts but, hey, maybe there’s a really sweet poor, black kid out there who’s ready to make some rich white girl’s dreams come true. *cough*

Thursday at Y-Bar is, quite literally, the best place to get laid in a Kalamazoo venue that doesn’t start with “Deja” and end with “Vu”. It has its off-weeks but, when it’s on, it’s on. You won’t find the sheer quantity of horny, attractive women within Y-Bar’s walls anywhere else in the city, and it’s one of the only places that can actually boast about not being a total cockfest (most of the time). My personal record for achieving a Y-Bar hook-up (with a stranger) is roughly 45 minutes from the moment I walked up to her to the moment my un-lubed meatrocket was at the precipice of her gaping love-funnel. My companions have accomplished insta-hookups at Y-Bar in similar times, so I believe I possess statistically significant data that verifies the thesis of this paragraph.


I have nothing bad to say about Y-Bar’s service. It smells normal and the staff are amicable enough for me to feel like I’m not walking into a warzone. The bouncers take their jobs a little more seriously than the dudes at Grotto, as they’re really strict on the driver’s license/college ID presentation combo at the door, but I’ve still gotten to cut some pretty epic lines just for knowing them. They’re also really protective about the venue: I once saw them manhandle some kid WWE-style who tried to destroy the tiki torches they light in the summer months. One bouncer put the poor kid in the Boston Crab position and demanded he tap out before allowing him to leave the premises.

The bartenders are all female, with the exception of maybe one guy on certain nights. That said, they’re excellent. No shitty attitudes, they’re all attractive, and you can tell that they actually care about doing a good job. I credit the manager for this one, because it’s clear that he’s adamant about running a quality place. Even on a busy night, the bartenders will have a drink for you in no less than three or four minutes, which is saying a lot given the sheer number of bodies that crowd around certain sections of the bar.

If you’re a douche, Malaysian, or a boss, there’s bottle service available. However, the only people I’ve ever seen take advantage of it are douches and Malaysians, so it’s probably not even worth it unless you’re keen on making clear your 5% status and cannot be seen waiting at bars for drinks like the rest of the peasantry.

Finally, I want to give a shout out to the space heater that the Y-Bar management set up in the smoking section. I like an establishment that gives a damn about whether or not I hypothermiate when I wear a V-neck muscle shirt in February.


Y-Bar actually gets a DJ, which means that their music is as good as it’s going to get in West Michigan unless they decide to import Tiesto. I’ve even heard a few of the DJ’s sneak in some underground shit every once in a while, and I like that. That aside, expect to hear a weird mish-mash of remixed hip-hop tracks with an occasional shitty song or two by Enrique Iglesias or Chris Brown to make sure the playlist isn’t too masculine.

The dance floor will be invariably packed on Thursday and is usually pretty full on Fridays. It takes up roughly half of the club’s square-footage and also includes a stage for you to dance on if you’re an attention whore. If your internet connection is on the fritz at home, you can always come to Y-Bar’s dance floor Thursday night to sear some quality, live softcore porn into the back of your retinas before going home to rub one out. It’s better than nothing.


The shittiest prices in Kalamazoo, by far. Like I’ve said before, their main special night (Thursday) isn’t even a special night. It’s $3.50 per drink which is actually more expensive than the $3 that Grotto charges on the same day. You really gotta buy that 5% status, guys!