Yeah, ya just never know when you’re gonna eat the bar and when that ol’ bar might just eat you. Here in Charlotte we’ve got Lebowski’s, a pub that pulls its gusto from the greatest of all Dudes. Unfortunately, the only common thread between the film and the pub (aside from the lame list of Lebowski-themed caucasions) is the cosmic loneliness and desolation that the dude abides. No fucking rolling, no fucking nihlists, no fucking porn stars, and no overly abusive language. I do think I noticed a tumbleweed follow the last girl out the door and on into the night.
