Hungry for a slab of beefcake? No one could accuse Dick's Cabaret of false advertising -- the club's got plenty of its objectified namesake, bobbing in the bare air beneath rippled six-pack abs. Like their cultural kin the Village People, the dancers at Dick's Cabaret fit a flurry of fantasy roles, performing as sailors, construction workers, cowboys, and whatever else tickles their, uh, fancy. Dick's boys are hard workers, too, performing every day but Monday, when the club is closed. A warning to would-be lascivious lushes and tipsy tippers: Dick's Cabaret doesn't serve liquor -- hard or otherwise -- and no alcohol is permitted on the premises. It's a good thing the shows are so intoxicating.

Okay, so Postino's a little metrosexual. It's the patio that's not a patio, the couches swiped from an old issue of Real Simple, and those little cocktail tables where you're crammed right up beside some couple making Nick and Jessica eyes at each other. The ambiance is perfect for you if your favorite mag is Marie Claire, but what about us Maxim, Playboy and FHM readers? Fortunately, when we get dragged to Postino by our significant others, there's always the compensation of the comestibles; i.e., some of the best bruschetta you'll ever eat -- dare we say it, manly bruschetta with a variety of toppings such as white Tuscan bean, ricotta with pistachios, crushed tomato basil or prosciutto with figs and mascarpone. Or you can go for a bowl of assorted nuts or big, fat Italian olives, both just salty enough to make you want another glass of Kiltlifter to drink as she sips her Zinfandel and talks about how much it sucks that Friends is off the air. Ain't relationships grand, fellas? Too bad the food's not as good when she forces you to go to Bed, Bath and Beyond with her.

Last call is a sad, sad song, at any hour. You're boozed up, you're having fun, and before you know it, the bartender is pulling your drink and kicking you out. There's nothing more hated than the bartender's mantra "you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here." Well, if you're in the vicinity of Farmer Avenue in Tempe, there's a party waiting. Just east of Farmer is Ash, the street that's home to Casey Moore's, a longtime favorite neighborhood watering hole. After the bar lets out on a Friday or Saturday night, it's common to see inebriated twentysomethings wandering the street, stumbling and laughing their way from house to house until they find something interesting. Our advice: You'll find it on Farmer, between Ninth and 13th streets. Somehow, there's always a party on Farmer. But be warned: If you're more into Hurley than hairdos, it's best you find your after-hours fun somewhere else. The hip kids might eat you alive. Readers' Choice for Best After-Hours: Mickey's Hangover

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