The local Juggathological community was abuzz this afternoon following reports of rare exotic Juggalo sightings in downtown San Francisco. Although their natural habitat includes tents, trailer parks, and wood paneled basements, it is not uncommon for the male Juggalo to wander into more populated areas when methamphetamine supplies run low. Following the scent of Faygo and foraging for joints and titties along the way, the Juggalo, or Ninja as he is sometimes known, may be heard rapping about complex scientific topics such as magnetism or crying out in a series of repetitive wooping sounds. This tiny “gathering” (as a grouping of this species is called) was first spotted outside of Zeitgeist by PD Bird, and later documented marching towards City Hall. Note the sharply contrasting facial markings on both ninjas, and the shiny Hachetman medallion on the specimen on the right. Yes, this is truly a glorious day for Bay Area white trash watchers.
I've been trying to figure out why these were even there in the first place. There wasn't any weird tag sale or anything, so I'm struggling to put it together, but these are my best guesses:
- Man misinterprets invitation from unusually chatty friend to go “hit the slopes” in Dolores Park.
- It's 80 degrees out and people's brains are being boiled.
- Hot new look for summer: missy-matchy with the weather
Anyway, if you did lose a pair of vintage Rossignols, they can most likely be found outside the Carl's Jr on Market5.
That there is the $3 curried pickled egg plate from St. Vincent which, according to Chronicle food blogger Michael Bauer, is so good and technicolored, “you'd swear you were on an LSD trip.” From eggs.
(That said, the rest of the menu was apparently pricy and not that awesome, but the portions are “as if the restaurant were situated in a logging camp in Montana rather than in the heart of the Mission.” But, whatever—those eggs will make you trip balls, bro.)
Medjool, the recently shuttered bro bar and famed rooftop patio drink spot, is slated to become a distribution center for the noted terror drug known as marijuana.
According to a plan circulated to neighbors by the SF Planning Department, the so-called “medical cannabis dispensary” (to be called “Morado Collective”) will move into the front half of the building. The remaining second half will be left untouched as a restaurant space, scheduled to become Beretta's new Argentinian-influenced concept “Lolinda.”
Given that two Mission District pot clubs have been shut down in recent months (including the Shambhala Healing Center, just one block north), our tipster, Jonathan, doesn't believe that the building owner actually intends to open a pot club. He theorizes:
This isn't [Gus Murad's] plan at all; he's putting this up for approval so it'll be shot down, as part of a longer negotiation for something else. We weren't going to approve your Marina-crowd tapas bar, but since the alternative was a pot dispensary, here's a rubber stamp.
While that's entirely possible—after all, Gus Murad has been known for his planning antics in the past—it seems as though a lot of work has been put into the potential dispensary. According to an interview in the SF Examiner with the operator of the club, Eduardo Morales, “the dispensary would be part of a 'pharmacy and respite care' complex for the gay Hispanic community,” with a portion of the revenues going towards the HIV/AIDS prevention non-profit AGUILAS.
No word yet when they plan to open, but the Planning Commission is set to review the application on August 16th.
It looks like the Mission's beloved Pedovan (which can typically be found parked within a few blocks of the Precita Park Playground) has been upgraded with a flurry of mushrooms, butterflies, mystical fog, and a unicorn to round out the mobile mural. Anyone know what's going on with the 9/11 Freedom Isn't Free/R.I.P. 2Pac 4EVA side?
When Mark Zuckerberg started turning up at Mission bars such as El Rio, The Royal Cuckoo, and pseudo-dive bar Dolores Park, we kinda dismissed it because everyone goes to those places. Then he acquired Instagram, making us scratch our heads just a bit.
But last night, the 35th richest guy in the world was spotted slamming drinks at the notably cheap and filthy dive Phone Booth and making a 2:30am Farolito burrito run. Which begs the question: was Mark just trying out his billion dollar toy in its native habitat, or is he attempting to rebrand himself as just a regular ol' Mission hipster?
See, he actually drove 45 minutes north from his fancy Palo Alto HQ to hang out at a bar known for its questionable indoor smoking policy and access to shitty last-call coke dealers. That's not to say we don't like The Phone Booth, because we do. But to claim the place is a “destination bar” for people coming from out of town is a bit of a stretch.
Unless he was trying to score some blow…
Our friends at The Roxie have a “teen-girls-gone-wild double-feature” going down this Friday, featuring the ultra-low-budget punk flick Desperate Teenage Lovedolls and the mega-uplifting skin-popper Christiane F., whose description follows:
It's the mid-1970s in West Berlin. You're a 14 year old girl living in a depressing high rise with your single mom. You sneak into clubs, listen to a lot of David Bowie and fall in with the wrong crowd. Soon you're hooked on heroin, your boyfriend's a hustler and you're walking the streets to feed your habit. Holy sheisse! Released to critical acclaim and with severe backlash from the West German government, this harrowing tale of youth gone wrong became an international cult classic as well as the standard anti-drug film shown in German schools. Based on actual events, Christiane F. stems from a series of articles published in Stern magazine that featured interviews with the real Christiane F. (Christiane Felscherinow). An early work by directed by Uli Edel (of The Baader Meinhof Complex fame) it offers a down and dirty glimpse into the lives the drug denizens that populated Berlin's Zoo Station at that time and includes a memorable concert scene with David Bowie.
If that sounds like your idea of a fun childhood/Friday night, like the relevant post about this contest on our Facebook page and, on Friday morning, we'll select someone at random to get a pair of complimentary tickets. Or go ahead and just buy your tickets now.
The other night I was sitting at home when I got a text from my friend Nivek* saying, “Hey wanna come to my friends house to watch movies and drink $3,000 worth of booze purchased with food stamps?” Naturally I was all like fuuuuck yeah! and I definitely did not let the fact that I’d just eaten an entire weed truffle get in my way.
Since it was raining, I left my two-wheeled not-a-car in the garage and headed out to catch the 33 Stanyan to the Mission. After a few minutes of waiting, the bus got to the top of the hill, and then stood there stopped for almost 10 minutes, which I thought was kind of bizarre. I could’ve just walked up there, but you know the second you start walking is when the bus starts moving, so I just stayed put and let myself get slowly soaked. Plus, I was trying to make a fun stoner game of counting how many drops of water landed on my head and I wanted to break my high score of 17.
Finally, the bus crept down the hill, I got on, and everything was going great for about the next 45 seconds. Then we got to the next stop and I hear the bus driver say “Don’t worry now, we’ll get you off here somehow.” Wait, what?
The doors of the bus are broken. They won’t open. The bus driver keeps restarting the bus and messing with the doors and oh my god we are trapped on this bus because the doors won’t open! It was sort of like being in a real life version of R. Kelly’s Trapped In The Closet, except instead of being trapped in a closet, I was trapped in a traveling metal fart coffin full of judgmental strangers.
This is about when I started to feel the effects of the marijuana food I’d consumed earlier. That’s right–I was high off the medicinal marijuana that was prescribed to me by a doctor to treat my anorexia. So there I was, suddenly high as fuck, and I could not stop laughing at the utter ridiculousness of the situation.
Everyone was staring at me because, as far as bus crowds go, this was a pretty clean, sane crowd. You know if you can’t spot the weirdo on Muni that means it’s you, and it definitely was me this time since I was sitting there cackling uncontrollably to myself while everyone else was pissed off about being stuck on a bus. It was me getting all the stares.
Now freshly paranoid about everyone looking at me like I’m seriously unhinged, I pretended to look at my phone so they would think I was laughing at something on there. It didn’t really work though because as I texted people about my crazy bus debacle, I kept thinking of more and more crazy potential outcomes of this situation. What if we run out of air before the bus mechanic arrives? What if someone goes crazy and tries to kill us all? WHAT IF THERE'S AN ORGY - that would be hilarious for the bewildered swamp of people huddled in the bus shelter!
Finally, after 25 minutes of wizardy, the driver somehow magically fixed the bus doors, and we got to wait another 10 minutes for the next 33 to arrive. It took me a total of an hour and fifteen minutes to reach my destination, most of which was spent trapped on a broken bus a mere 3 blocks from my warm, dry, snack-filled apartment.
I got off the bus, crossed the street, and got on the next 33 back to my house. That bus broke down as well. I walked the rest of the way home, made myself 27 goat cheese crostinis and ate them in bed.
This has been a story about the least crazy thing that has ever happened to me on Muni.
I turned a Missed Connections post from Craigslist into a comic again, to turn your uptown frown upside down.