My Friends

Arrow Up

Arrow Up
Arrow Down
,
  • Mon
    22
  • Tue
    23
  • Wed
    24
  • Thu
    25
  • Fri
    26
  • Sat
    27
  • Sun
    28
David Mitchell Sep 22, 2014 The author of Cloud Atlas and Book Catapult creator Seth Marko will discuss Mitchell's new novel, The Bone Clocks, about a fifteen-year-old psychic girl trying to solve multiple mysterious phenomena. Ticket price include a copy of the novel. 48 other events on Monday, September 22
 
Check 1, Check 2 | Music & nightlife
Band plays live for first time in 20 years
Concerts
Bands coming to town and just-announced shows
Film
New indie from Lenny Abrahamson tops our coverage of movies screening around town
Editorial
Lying signature gatherers add to undemocratic referendum process

 

 
Log in to use your Facebook account with
San Diego CityBeat

Login With Facebook Account

Recent Activity on San Diego CityBeat
 
Home / Articles / Music / Nightgeist /  Enrique on Imperial Beach’s Honey Ko
. . . .
Wednesday, Dec 08, 2010

Enrique on Imperial Beach’s Honey Ko

This week, Enrique experiences a one-armed bar fly

By Enrique Limon
Honey-Ko Honey-Ko
- Photo by Enrique Limon

The Enrique Experience Longing for an exotic vacation? Then leave your passport at home (along with all your other valuables, for that matter) and head to Imperial Beach’s Honey Ko (1436 Palm Ave.)

“FBI, buddy!” a regular named Charlie yelled in my face, holding up the thumb on his right hand as if it were a gun. His left arm was missing, and, at that point, so was my sphincter control. In the commotion, he managed to fall off his barstool, and though helping him up would’ve been the proper thing to do, after noticing his wet shorts, I just left him there like a turned-over roach.

“He loses balance ’cause of the arm,” bartender Rosy explained as she served up some pretzels from a jar labeled “pork rinds,” which I immediately stress-ate.

An outdoor sign dubbed the dive “The place to go,” but I guess I was there on an off night, as the aforementioned salty gimp and I were the only patrons there.

“Drink, drink, dance party,” a flashing LED scroll in the corner instructed. Next to it, several likenesses of the Santo Niño de Cebú, a Filipino representation of the Child Jesus, kept watch.

“He for good luck,” Rosy affirmed. One of the few porn claw-machines to exist outside of East County also calls this place home.

“Guys always get the dildo,” the barmaid said in her thick Pinay accent. “They go crazy with that.”

By then, Charlie was contemplating eating a banana he’d acquired from God-knows-where, but opted to point and laugh hysterically at it instead. He then bumrushed me, started screaming oddities, cracked himself up and began foaming at the mouth. Clearly, Santo Niño had taken the day off.

In an effort to create a diversion, Rosy nervously dashed to the juke and played Toby Keith and Willy Nelson’s insta-classic, “Whiskey for My Men, Beer for My Horses,” along with a slew of boot-in-your-ass sort of jams.

“You know, this is the perfect place for parties,” the Thrilla from Manila boasted. Apparently, it’s also the perfect place to be scared shitless. She then recounted her decade-long adventures working at the now-defunct Whirlybird down the street.

“I left my soul there,” she mused.

She then paused and, alarmed, noticed Charlie heading toward the back of the bar like a banshee.

“No!” Rosy yelped. “He gonna go pee-pee in stock room again.”




 
 
 
 
 
 
Close
Close
Close