Bushwick Country Club is neither in Bushwick nor is it a country club, though there’s nothing stopping you donning your finest cricket whites for a night at one of Williamsburg’s most badass dive bars. They say it’s the birthplace of the Pickleback (Mcclure’s pickle juice and Old Crow or Jameson), but so do half the places round here. They can say what they like – they rack them up just fine.

There are complimentary cheesy poofs upon request. Do it. No shame in asking. They stick to your teeth, but that’s just what you need after a few Fernet Branca and High Lifes, paired at an outrageously cheap 7 dollars a round.

Photo booth strips of many merry nights line the walls, along with a lot of random crap - they sell pregnancy tests behind the bar, in case you’re curious. The two TVs play everything from the ‘non-stop kittens’ channel like cat porno, to eighties slashers. Get blitzed on coke slushies and Jim Beam then head outside for a round of mini golf in the backyard. Score high on the PBR windmill. No joke.