HOLLA: Sexy Time At Sabrina’s

BY JAMES “WOOK” DOOLITTLE Bottom line — if the Inky had some balls, they’d let Casi G fill in for Craig LeBan, because let’s face it; Craig hasn’t inked anything as instantly memorable as Places Mutherfucking Casi G Has Eaten. My guarantee — a 3% circulation spike, directly attributed to the things Casi doesn’t want you talking to him about “in the real world.” Don’t look at me…he said it! Casi, my man, don’t be getting all redfaced over your linguistic expressionism. I know that ain’t how they throw down at Fluid, but c’mon…that Sabrina’s review is simply…Sproutastic!

So we walk up and first it’s really awkward. We walk into the first room and it’s really dark, kind of likeali-gphilly.jpg this blue dark room that is really noisy. I was so not having that shit. So I ask the waitress if we can sit outside which I find out is a 20 min wait and we should just sit in the dark room. Now I am not having that. Like when I go out I am paying for an experience. I want it all and yes that means, coffee, water, juice and for my ass not to be sitting in the dark. Then I start to look around and I see my South Philly indy peoples. I think they are a little more raw then the north sider’s because they were seriously representing them bad tattoos like it was no joke. And that angle haircut? How do you eat your food with that shit.

For the record, if Bobby D Abreu doesn’t plaster the quote “Shit was on some yuppie extremist you are not in Philly but straight chilaxking in Maine and you would smoke a blunt but your like 33 now. I loved it.” all over his marketing materials (menus, billboards, wait staff t’s, the Frank Rizzo mural), I ain’t ever ordering the Islander — medium, with a side of parm fries — ever again.


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