NYCBP Blog

Were you at Doc Holliday's this past Friday night? I sure was.

I saw Alyssa, despite a turkey day hangover, once again make half the men there fall in love with her (I've been in love with her for years, so I don't count). I saw her admittedly redneck friend drinking a bottle of beer with her own coozie around it. I saw several Gen X-Y or whatever they are called dancing lustily to the half-century old but still fresh rhythm of Big Joe Turner's "Shake, Rattle, and Roll". I heard discussion about Austin and San Antonio and Long Island (two out of three ain't bad). I heard people singing every word to David Allan Coe's "You Never Even Called Me By My Name". I saw youngsters who maybe had real ID (I may be too old to be able to judge fairly) wildly swinging and singing to tunes which I had on 45's 40 and 50 years ago (and I wonder how many of them ever actually played a 45).

If you weren't there, I hope you did something lustful or useful. Yes, times are tough, but Doc Holliday's ain't exactly the Waldorf-Astoria.

So stop on down when you can, and tell 'em, yee haw, Eddie sent ya!

Who can resist Alyssa? Who wants to resist Alyssa? If there were such a thing as goddesses, she’d be on their membership committee.

But you don’t have to be a god or a goddess to get trashed or smashed with her. She works three times a week at Doc Holliday’s: Tuesday days, Thursday nights, and Friday nights.

Now you have no excuse not to go see and worship her – unless, of course, you’re already locked in hell.

(Above photo by Eddie Goldman)