Men Who Try to Trick You Into Believing the Turkey’s Nest Is Closing.

There are many who think that all traces of “old” Williamsburg have vanished. But there is, alas, still one alcoholically-oriented port in the storm: Turkey’s Nest on N. 12th and Bedford. Unless, of course, the bar’s owner duped you into believing that the sign outside the door while they were revamping┬áthe exterior was real.

The "joke" sign

The “joke” sign

While it’s all well and good to maintenance a sign–especially when you’re trying to keep up with the bouge quality of Williamsburg–it’s a horrible thing to trick loyal drunks into believing that their prized margarita-filled Styrofoam cups could become as much of a thing of the past as a Lena Dunham-free Greenpoint.

Men Who Pretend to Text at a Bar.

It’s hard, in these modern times, to act naturally. That’s why pretending to text or do other shit on your phone has become the new natural. If you’re not touching your phone constantly, you’re obviously some sort of Elliot Rodger type. Because to be alone in a bar automatically makes you a weirdo and/or Rohypnol-carrying rapist.

So alone.

So alone.


The non-dickless thing to do, however, is to just sit there, like the fearless man you could only dream of being, and not touch your phone. This means that even in the most pretentious of Williamsburg bars, including places like Dram or Roebling Tea Room, you must refrain from fake texting/checking your phone if you want to give your nether region dick-worthy status.