There’s a reason that this Sixth Street rockabilly haunt is just as likely to be full of khaki-clad sell-outs as it is tattooed heavies in GG Allin T-shirts, and it ain’t the jukebox—even if it is the best in the city. No, the yuppies and murder junkies alike come in droves for the unashamedly greasy back kitchen, which defiantly serves up baskets of salty, dark-brown fries, foot-long hot dogs, and inch-and-a-half-thick burgers—sloppily garnished with spicy buffalo sauce and blue cheese, Serrano chilies, or avocado and bacon—like it’s never even heard of heart disease. Punk rock is about breaking rules, after all, and even though it makes concessions to the health-conscious with the surprisingly crisp “Politically Correct” veggies-and-cheese sandwich, this is the kind of place that would break a bottle on the surgeon general’s fat head if it had the chance.