Welcome, Swinger. Stride on into the Dead Lounge. Now, this genre may be different things to you, dear patron. It may be the cornucopia of neo-neon kitsch favored so by the late '50s, lined with leopard skin. It may be barco lounges, cigarettes and cocktails, seen through a haze of smoke and suppressed sexual zeal. It would embrace the late '50s and early '60s, where that man in the shiny suit was probably single and that woman probably divorced. Meals were hamburgers, fries and a shake, or roast beef and potatoes, or shish-kabobs. Automobiles were spectacularly American, with giant fins, while roadside diners and gas stations sported Jetsonesque towers with stars and halos, celebrating an ideal future that never came. Mischievous Tiki gods ruled a world of pleasure, filling us with the feverish need to mambo to a sensual tropical beat. It may even touch upon the ersatz French lifestyle, with poetry, deadbeats, and black turtlenecks and berets.
Well, no matter what Lounge period appeals to you, any of them had dead people in them. Where do those dead people go for a smoke, a swinging tune and maybe a sip from a blood-filled cocktail glass?
They line the barstools, sipping cocktails both conventional and lethal. They talk in low, sultry whispers. They lay their problems on the bartenders. They fill the dance floor, writhing to a fabulous sound. They enjoy the diversions of a billiard table and dartboard. They relax with a calm cocktail and converse. They go to Sarco's Blood Bar & Grill. So can you. You're welcome here, fellow Lounge Goth.
Polarbeast's Extremely Eclectic Musical Pick of the Evening:
This Lounge and all the furnishings, musings, colloquialisms, psychedelia, and stench of death herein are Copyright © 1996-2004 by ArcticChaos and Friendly Morbidity Ltd. All Wights Reserved.
No imagery contained within these pages may be reproduced in any manner without sitting and thinking really hard about it first, or if you happen to have a particularly potent charm against vodoun curses.
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