I really, truly don't want to spill the beans. No, I really don't want to tell you about the 24(?) ounce beers for three dollars. Or the ashtrays that get more butt than the Jonas Brothers, even after this bullshit "Smoke Free Philly" nonsense. You don't need to hear about the great selection from the classic jukebox, or the fact that the entire bar will sing along if you choose the right song. I can't tell you how many glasses are smashed on the floor each night, and how much the crowd gets riled up in the glass menagerie. I'll keep mum about the huge long island iced teas that, for 9 dollars, will make you slip off your barstool. If I tell you, you'll go. And if you go, it won't be the cool ass, tight knit bar my friends and I know and love. If you go, maybe Oscar's will turn trendy; maybe they will up their prices and clean the bathrooms and start carding at the door. But if you read this review and find anything I just wrote even remotely enticing, I guess I can count you out of the yups around Center City; shit, maybe we could even get a beer sometime.