Lonnie's Western Room is the dingy gravesite for the hopes and dreams of rejected Nashville Star auditioners. From the moment you walk into this janitor's-closet-turned-karaoke-bar, you are assaulted with the coppery, blood soaked stench of aborted music careers and a purgatorial sound that can only be found here. And no, that sound you'll hear is NOT a screwdriver in a pencil sharpener combined with the anguished screams of Bobcat Goldthwait pulling rusted wrought-iron anal beads out of his ass (don't be discouraged... that was my first guess too). With the help of this experience, Lonnie's truly redefines the term "dive", as in "Jesus, I would rather DIVE off the high side of Percy Dam than listen to you sing another f*cking song."
The silver lining? The drinks are cheap, so don't be afraid to pound a few beers while you listen to the "cowboy noir" singing Jason Aldean songs so high that he sounds like Mike Tyson before puberty.
This "article faux" was brought to you by Stan Phagetti of The Daily Spectator, and I have popped this bar's comment cherry!
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