the red eagle hotel - 111 victoria avenue albert park 3206 9699 9744

i can really only talk about this place from a bloke's view point. maybe it's a smorgasbord of hot flesh for the babes. try as i might, i can't put myself in their shoes and see that. you could always email us a let us know. frankly, i really don't give a fuck. this is my review and i'll say whatever i bloody well want.

the red eagle, albert park - not to be confused with the other red eagle in richmond which has earned the name spread eagle - i wonder why. also known as the place for pretty boys with their latest asslick hair jobs to stand around posing and flexing their pecs at anything that walks by without a penis. and i'm not just talking about a friday or saturday night crowd here. a late sunday afternoon will make you think you're in the meat section at coles supermarket, the only difference being that they're not checking out your firmness and freshness with their hands. i suspect that some are. red eagle is the bobby mcgees of albert park. now that's not to say there isn't some chick talent there. but as a bloke, you really can't go there with any chance of a pick up unless you are primped and permed and wearing you tight t-shirt and designer daks.

and what a lot of wankers work on the door. after queueing one sunday night for half an hour to get in to meet a bunch of friends (this should have been warning number one), i am turned away by some knuckle-dragging-moron - kdm - who probably struggles to read the shit on his cereal box in the morning. this, to me, just reinforces the fact that queueing for a beer, especially at the red eagle, is just not worth the effort or my time. and arguing the point just confuses the monkey with the blank clipboard (if he had had words on the board, it would just get all to cerebral for him to handle) and frustrates me. stupid stupid stupid.

kdm: 'are you on the list coz it's a private party?'
me: 'no, my friends entered your fine publicly accessible establishment 30 minutes ago for a beverage and i am just joining them. i can see them over there.'
kdm: 'mate, if your (sic) not on the list, i can't let you in. it's a private party.'
me: 'i assure you, my good man, there is no party, no list, and you'll probably find gloves would make your knuckles much more comfortable by preventing scuffing and scraping.'
kdm: '....?....'
me: 'never mind.'

and don't get me started on the fucking yager-whats-its-fuck. it tastes like ratshit. or what ratshit might taste like if you mixed it up with some raw sewerage and shoved it in a bottle. the only reason any dickhead would try some of this shit is if some gay-germyster chick in a crop top, complete with rock-hard pert nipples and an ass like a twelve-year-old, distracts you long enough so you've drunk it before you realise it. nice fucking product, asshead. all you need to do is employ thousands of underage, partly dressed chicks to peddle it for you and you're set. but i digress. the red eagle's only crime here is one of stupidity and that is understandable (see employee of the month above) if not forgivable.

one fucking point out of five from me for the red eagle. fucking hate the place. however, if you can ignore all the downsides (and have recently had a little brain nip-n-tuck) i'm sure you'll love it.

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