Thirsty Beaver is a generally wretched establishment, but if you were to rank saloons based on how strong the smell of fog machine is, it would have to be near the top. On the few occasions I've graced the Beaver with my presence, broad clouds of mist have silhouetted the figures on the dance floor, and for brief moments, the ladies owning the tile resemble the ghosts of the '85 Bears defense, their massive shadows swaying and pulsating to the sounds of the urban top 40. Moving away from the dance floor, the Beaver is a fine establishment at which to brush up on one's pugilistic bravado. Four bits earns you three strikes upon the hated speed bag, and if that doesn't satisfy, you may choose to rain blows on the fellow at the stool next to yours for no extra charge. read more