The No Malice Palace is one of those desperate contradictions that just begs to be exploited–exploited by a punk like Mr. Hipster who has nothing good to say about anything! But seriously, they got Malice in spades in this place. Hoards of young twenty-somethings line the thin space like matches in a cardboard box, struggling to avoid falling down the steep stairs or losing a kidney after being pulverized by the wooden bar. The weirdest part of the whole experience was watching the groups of young women descend the stairs to some secret room hidden in the wall next to the bathroom. We didn’t actually see where they went, but other women in our group claimed the women’s bathroom was empty, and we didn’t see any portals to the 4th dimension or anything. All we do know is most of these women, and some smart-ass looking dudes ascended the stairs with glassy eyes, runny noses and some very overactive jaws. Smack ‘n Coke anyone? Watching these youngsters rot their brains and viciously drain their spinal fluid was about the only entertaining thing going on in this joint, unless of course you call fighting for standing room, waving cash to get a drink or listening to semi-literate post-teens talk about the price of weed a good time. [MF]
197 E 3rd St.