3809 Powerline Rd.
From the road you'll read "Soup" in big, bubbly, yellow and orange letters, but the name is Duck Soup, as in the 1933 Marx Brothers classic. Don't mention that, though. No one'll know what the hell you're talking about. The light on the first half of the large sign is out — a remnant from the bar's grimy dive past — but inside, it's far removed from those days. The bar is still camouflaged by a sea of little shops and warehouses, but it's no secret to the mod crowd that shows up every weekend decked out in fishnets and wigs. A red veil at the entrance dresses the small corridor with a touch of mystery. There's an amber glow on the pocked copper bar top, and a flashing red emergency light adds a trace of tension. Original art and beer posters flow together nicely as Aerosmith, Korn, and Smashing Pumpkins rumble loudly enough to elicit sing-alongs, but low enough to allow you to hear the amateur crooning. On tap you'll find Yuengling, Foster's, Bud, Bud Light, Miller Lite, and Bass. The Soup has a long and varied list of worldwide malty delights. Those of us who know the Soup well know it's famous for its pussy shots, devilishly sweet treats that will put you on your ass and have fun names like Phat-Ass and Fuzzy. My favorites are the Red-Neck pussy and the Uptown pussy — two opposites, I know, but I'm a complex guy. Thursday through Saturday, catch live punk and metal bands going nuts onstage and take advantage of the $20 all-you-can-drink wristband. There's a live DJ on Sundays and a pool league on Wednesdays. Duck Soup also boasts the longest happy hour (10 a.m. to 8 p.m.) seven days a week, which gets you half off on every second drink including top shelf and pussy shots. Ask about the club card, which buys you the first domestic draft of the night and gets each one after that for a buck. The Marx Brothers might not have been related to Karl, but he would surely approve of the proletariat-friendly Soup.