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I haven't had fun here since I was way underage and was just thrilled to be in a club. It's dark and cold in this basement space that attracts an army of young queens with the same shark-finned haircut. This is the place for people who have never lived in a bigger city and believe that they're the royalty of like, Limelight or Studio 54. You will get major bitchy attitude here from everyone including the aging bartenders who are holding on, desperately, to the hotness. I've never encountered ruder people who resemble hustlers. The thing that has always amused me is the dancefloor with it's barnyard fencing and chain-link wall. It makes it appear as though a bunch of chickens are dancing to Madonna. If you want something that resembles the mega-club experience, atleast go to the Eagle instead (better yet take Jet Blue to New York or Chicago). Also: they have the nerve to charge a cover, even on nights that there are, seriously, no more than 20 people dotted in the large space. I do have some dignity.

If you are a post-modernist novelist with a taste for filth, this is the place to spend all of your free time. It has, unfortunately, cleaned up its' act a bit over the past few years, but it still retains most of its' original raunchy flavor. This is the place where I once had my underwear removed with my jeans still on by a married man, made out in the women's bathroom with both Mr. Leather and a man who turned out to have false teeth, and have participated in a supermodel walk-off with a chubby guy wearing stilettos and a baseball uniform. The best time to go is either Friday or Sunday Happy Hour. And I recommend shots of "Rocket Fuel" along with your 1 dollar skunked draft. Sundays in the summertime are the afterparty for the bar's very own softball team, The Missfits. You will see a mix of hot daddy types who take the sport seriously, and toothless queens who look like they may not live through the night. It's a spectacle of skid row meets blue collar and everyone is drunkenly friendly. Easy to get laid here in the most memorable and sloppy of ways.

Lucky's is a must-stop for anybody visiting Pgh and looking for a true anthropological taste of the city. It displays, in patrons and employees, the gritty, yinzofied nature of Pgh gay life. This is the haven for sad alcoholics and young party people alike. The best night to go is usually Sunday night. Because it attracts a crowd of people who love to hump, drink and do drugs, Sunday is like the last hoorah of the weekend. There is nothing glamorous here. This is the gay offspring of steelworkers, and they love to party HARD. If you wind up @ Club Hot afterwards, and then @ someone's hotel room to do drugs and mess around with a hustler, you've done it right. Picture John Waters' Baltimore to have an idea of the taste level. One time, on New Years Eve, I found myself there staring at water pouring from the ceiling and onto the cold cut "buffet" below. The owner was screaming and ran upstairs to find the women's room toilet had overflown. I swear to god: Nobody ever replaced that food and I saw several people eating it later on in the evening. Have Fun!

I went on a Saturday night and was first surprised by how large the space is. Think 'firehall' when it comes to ambience. An idea popped into my head while I was there: 'Pittsburgh's only rollerskating disco!' And if promoters with a sense of fun existed in this town, then that idea could be well on it's way. Even if it was just on Fridays or something. Awesome. I was disappointed, as a dude, to find that the crowd was mostly lesbian and old guys but dotted here and there I actually saw some unfamiliar and gorgeous faces. Who are these super-cute guys that hang out with lesbians? That mystery alone has me wanting to go back. Other than that significant bonus, the place seemed typical of Pgh. And when you have a huge space like this, it seems spookily empty when there are less than 100 people in attendance.