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![]() Free Space It's bingo night at the California Clipper
Johnny Bingo, the California Clipper's resident muscle, checks IDs at
the door, and force-feeds bingo cards. If you don't play, you obviously
haven't been here before.
Monday at the Humboldt Park bar means Bingo Night, as local
clientele--from the hip hipsters to the low loungers--gather to connect
five, or make a "Z" pattern, an upside-down cross, a straight-edge
"X" and anything else callers Steve Spataro and Steve Sowely suggest.
They sit upon the Clipper's stage barking their I-19's and B-4's,
getting raucous laughs and hollers whenever the O-69 bingo ball makes an
appearance. "A classy crowd, a classy crowd," one of the Steves quips.
Game winners collect a brown bag of prizes from Johnny Bingo--a
mess of small plastic and rubber toys, from racecars to tiny brown
cowboy hats--and colorful bingo chips decorate the bar's floor,
evidence of drunken ignorance. The Steves, along with the rest of the
bar, smoke the shit out of some cigarettes.
"Did anyone cut out of work early today?" the pair asks the
crowd.
"I got fired today!" shouts back a bingoette from a booth. She
proceeds to tell a tall tale of being canned from a restaurant for
making an overly sexual comment involving manual manipulation to male
genitals. "I'm better off unemployed," she insists.
"Alright," a Steve continues, "in this game, you have to make an
`H' pattern, in honor of handjobs." The crowd enthusiastically
approves.
The first number? "B-9," goes Steve. "Just like our humor."
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