You hear worst bathroom in Orlando and everyone has an opinion. I know you guys are shouting out Will's Pub or the Court and Central dungeon shared by Cleo's, Suite B and too many for me to list right now. Those are pretty foul, but I get paid for my opinion and those don't match up to the Trainspotting clone that is Chillers ladies room. And before you start berating me for even being in there, it was a friend's birthday, she digs that kind of stuff. 'Nuf said.

Back to the bathroom. There was nothing heavenly about what was at the end of this long hall that leads to this flooded marsh of feces. One bowl was clogged and another must have overflowed because I had to roll my pants legs up to my knees in order to walk around.

I know you guys are wondering why I even stuck around to roll 'em up. Sad part is I had to go so bad I wouldn't make it back down the hall way, through the club and out the door without causing my own flood along the way. So I sucked it up (my breath), dropped my pants and hovered.

Disgusting.

No, Sylvia Plath I am not. But I have no problem with tearing down the ones that try to be and suck at it.

Actually, no I'm not. But I'm a hell of a shot with a Nerf gun and I wouldn't mind taking out some good poets with one tonight. A water gun wouldn't be bad either. See me try as I judge the Second Annual Anti-Slam tonight, a game-show style parody of your typical run-of-the-mill poetry slam. It also benefits Orlando's Say Anything National Slam Team's vacation, I mean, transportation and board to this year's Slam Nationals in Austin.

It's at Will's Pub and since there will be beer there, that's all I really care about. Donations are accepted. The carnage begins at 8:30 p.m.

You know when you have a certain idea in your head on how something should be and when it turns out not to be true you're hell-bent on making it so?

That was my mood at Cleo's in downtown Orlando last Friday. Now, I love this bar and my friends dig it too. I've said it's reminiscent of Kit Kat... well sorta.

The plastic playing pool this particular evening was killing any cool vibe potential the place had going for it. (Now try to say that ten times in row... faster... faster!!!) The billiard area was like a casting call for "America's Next Top Model" and the tools panting over these shallow betties had more chains and rings on then a jewelry rack at Jared's.

This was not the crowd this place needed to be attracting. Sorry, I can be a bit of a hipster snob at times, even though I'm not a hipster. But Cleo's is perfect for that clientele and we got enough bars pandering to the yups in this town already, so my friends were in agreement that the current crowd had to go.

Before I continue with this story, I want to go on a little tangent real fast. At a recent DJ-off between two friends and colleagues, our very own Bao Le-Huu and the Weekly's Jason Ferguson, there was a category called "Best Song to Clear a Room With." I was on my third PBR tall boy so what they each played I really can't recollect, I think someone played The Carpenters... I'm really not sure, but what I am sure of is they both failed. NO ONE LEFT!!!

Why? (and go with me on this I'm getting back to the original story) Because it all depends on the audience. If either one of them blared death metal the room would had been cleared out in five seconds flat.

My boyfriend on the other hand, he knows how to clear a room. And he proved it within 45 minutes this very evening at Cleo's all within a touch of a button on a jukebox. Or a few.

Some hip-hop song that wasn't very good because I had never heard of it was bouncing out of the jukebox, off the walls, on to the pool tables and into my ears and that's when Casey (that would be my boyfriend) stepped in with $5. That's an hour worth of songs folks.

Now what he did next was even slightly punishing to our friends and I, but you know what they say, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few and we were willing to sacrifice ourselves for the benefit of this club attracting a cooler crowd.

What did he play you ask? Um, four David Allan Coe songs, followed by three Johnny Cash, followed by Tracy Chapman, followed by Patsy Cline followed by White Zombie.

Now some of you are like, hey I love Johnny Cash. And I understand that, as do I. This crowd, not so much. First song, you see them kind of startled, "where did the hip-hop go?" They're whispering to each other but still patient that this must be a blip on the jukebox radar. Then the second Coe song starts up and you can see they're busting into panic mode. About six of them are surrounding the jukebox, almost guarding it while shoving dollar bills down it's metal throat as if they could choke the song out.

Third song they sit down on the couches. They don't want to play pool anymore, they're sulking. This is awesome! One Asian chick wearing a piece of Brawny paper towel disguised as a dress tells some guy staring at her chest, "If it ain't hip-hop, I can't hang."

Priceless.

Now this actually goes on for close to 45 minutes. They really held out, I was impressed. They were bitching the whole time but that's entertaining so I wasn't complaining. What surprised me though was the song that turned out to be the final nail in the coffin that was their good time.

"Fast Car"??? Tracy Chapman was the one to clear the room. I thought for sure they'd be running for the hills when Patsy started belting out, "Walking After Midnight" but what did Tracy ever do to anyone?

Doesn't matter, they were out the door so fast they were tripping over each other. Now it was time to build up from the wreckage. My friend Paul said Mikey Cortez from The Spitvalves was DJing later that night so that's a good start. We finished up our pool game and left with "More Human Than Human" playing in our wake.