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About: http://data.yelp.com/Review/id/tZSbamBHEFlSDRAvVsolAA Goto Sponge NotDistinct Permalink

An Entity of Type : rev:Review, within Data Space : foodie-cloud.org, foodie-cloud.org associated with source document(s)

Attributes	Values
type	rev:Review
dateCreated	2016-04-08 00:00:00 (xsd:dateTime)
itemReviewed	Vida Vida
http://www.openvoc.eu/poi#funnyReviews	0 (xsd:int)
rev:rating	1 (xsd:int)
http://www.openvoc.eu/poi#usefulReviews	0 (xsd:int)
rev:text	COME FOR BROS, NOT TACOS. As soon as I stepped foot into this restaurant (albeit accidentally) I thought "ok, not bad." I sit down at the less than half empty bar, expecting the dinner and post-happy hour crowd to stumble in. Oh and they did. Not just any crowd, but the pride and breed of the bartenders themselves. It was their kind, their people, their bros. The bartenders begin to have tunnel vision with their fellow brosevelts, ignoring me and the rest of the patrons. At Vida Vida, when not asking for your order, you can find the bartenders checking out their own biceps. Finally, I get my order in with my food. I'm hungry, so I order a lot...which apparently gave me bro-points. My order comes after 39 bro highfives with the bartender and his people. At this point, I'm surprised my dinner utensils weren't protein scoop spoons. The ground beef was as fake as the bartender's hookup stories. The soft tortilla shells were as dry as the bartenders spell. The queso made me miss my mom. The fish taco dissolved in my hands just like the hopes of me ever eating at this place again. You think that's the spicy salsa causing your ears to throb? No, it's the beat of the classic, authentic Mexican music from artists like Rick Ross and Drake molesting your eardrums. Internally fighting over how to proceed eating, I have to further battle "CHICKS DIG THAT BRO" statements being exchanged beyond the bar. This place is a gas station for douchebaggery. The only Mexican-like experience was hearing the hyena-like laugh from the bartenders and brobots I feel as though the bartenders and their species are one vodka Redbull away from a bench pressing contest. I'm never one to complain about profanity, but the bartenders shout obscenities as if they're Life of Pi trying to flag down a plane. I don't know whether to leave or to sit and observe, but I have to get my check...which is difficult under brocertain circumstances. I'm in a brohold. If you're in this situation, give your strongest flex to the bartender. That'll grab their attention. I finally leave, able to breath, and instead of smelling like a fajita, somehow I smell like the Polo Black cologne the bartenders bathed in. Instead of stars, I give Vida Vida one flexing arm emoji.......or 5 JagerBomb stars, depending on if you're a bro.
http://www.openvoc.eu/poi#coolReviews	1 (xsd:int)
rev:reviewer	David

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