About Us

Johnny’s Dive Bar isn’t just a spot—it’s a wild, half-crazed notion that somehow exists in bricks and booze. It’s the kind of joint you’re dying to stumble into but secretly wonder if you’ve got the guts for. Not because the tales about it are unhinged (though they are), but because they’re laced with this weird, warm vibe that hooks you. Those stories? They’ve spun into myths, and the myths keep fueling more stories—all swirling around Johnny’s Dive Bar. Don’t you crave a haunt like that? Just down the road, every Friday and Saturday night, it’s a full-on riot—locals and larger-than-life characters tearing it up together. We’re talking legends, not just neighborhood hotshots, but names so big they're plastered on marquees and glow in neon.

Johnny’s Dive Bar is the cure for all those poor souls who’ve never had a joint like it slumming around their block—a void they didn’t even clock until now. 

In the Beginning

Johnny’s Punk Rock Dive Bar & Honky Tonk VIP Extravaganza kicked off as plain old Johnny’s Bar back in the Prohibition days—a no-frills booze-slinging hole in [REDACTED]. Forget fancy decor; Johnny didn’t give a rat’s ass about aesthetics. He was all about pouring illegal hooch fast enough to keep the city’s wildest bastards coming back. Word spread quickly: this joint was unhinged, the rowdiest spot around.

Once Prohibition got the boot, Johnny slapped “Dive Bar” on the name and leaned into the chaos. The walls ended up plastered with pics of big shots—movie stars, sports heroes—who’d partied there in the shadows. They kept showing up post-ban, chasing killer cocktails, basement moonshine, and the promise of a damn good time.

By the ‘40s, patriotism was alive and well at Johnny’s, with cheap drink specials flowing for soldiers sticking it to the Nazis. In ’42, Johnny introduced the wildly popular “Fuck Hitler” t-shirt—crude, loud, and a total hit. They sold a metric shit-ton of those bad boys through the war and into the early ‘50s.

The Punk Rock Honky Tonk for the Ages

Music was never a staple of Johnny’s, preferring to hire a piano player for background noise. Then Johnny took a trip to Texas in ’48, got hooked on honky tonk, and a new era of Johnny’s was born, complete with live music to make your ears ring, spur-studded guitar players, and chicken wire around the stage to catch the stray beer bottle flung around in a fit of manic aggression. Johnny’s Dive Bar & Honky Tonk was born, and it was a certified shitshow—loved hard by guys and gals alike. To crank the madness, Johnny threw in a mechanical bull. Yee-haw meets barroom brawl!

The insanity got so outta hand that [REDACTED]’s city suits forced Johnny to shut down. That’s when the legend went underground. Johnny, with his, “I’ve got fuck-you money” swagger, didn’t need the cash—he just wanted epic nights with epic people. So he started bouncing from town to town, popping up under fake names but always with that unmistakable Johnny’s vibe. Secret handshakes and passwords guarded the door; no ads, just whispers. Celebs, sports legends, and regulars tracked him down anyway. Hell, even the King of Rock and Roll swung by, rode the bull, and roared, “This is crazy, man. I'm all shook up!”

Fast forward to ‘78: the Sex Pistols, those snarling punks from across the pond, sniffed out Johnny’s during their first U.S. rampage. After playing Memphis on January 6th, they allegedly hauled ass on a private plane to [REDACTED], Pennsylvania, and tore the place apart on the 7th—a secret gig so feral it’s still burned into the lore. Johnny and the crowd went nuts for Sid and the boys, and bam—Johnny’s Punk Rock Dive Bar & Honky Tonk was christened. Rumor has it Sid Vicious carved Johnny’s name into his flesh with a busted glass shard from the floor, pocketing that jagged souvenir ‘til he croaked in ’79.

Why the VIP?

The ‘80s brought cocaine, New Wave, and more debauchery. Strip clubs were popping off by the mid-’80s, so Johnny tossed in a stage for the titty-loving crowd. In ’87, he tacked “VIP” onto the name—Johnny’s Punk Rock Dive Bar & Honky Tonk VIP Lounge—because why the hell not? The decade saw the joint shuttered and reborn 19 damn times in 19 damn cities, each spot wilder than the last, and, with a secret Misfits show thrown in for good measure! Porn stars and jocks squared off in drinking contests, chugging—or soaking—booze in ways Johnny couldn’t even imagine how to crown a winner!

By the early 2000s, every freak and thrill-seeker wanted in on Johnny’s chaos. To rope in more lunatics, he slapped “Extravaganza” on the marquee—Johnny’s Punk Rock Dive Bar & Honky Tonk VIP Extravaganza was official. Flash photography? Banned. Too many elites and degenerates needed their dirty secrets kept. Still, whispers say secret pics float out there—Johnny with his A-listers, athletes, punk rock and roll stars, wild country and western legends, and adult-film posse. Occasionally one or two photos might be uncovered and posted on the official Instagram page if you follow and keep a close eye out!

Flash to Today

Johnny might be six feet under—or not—but his legend’s alive and kicking. Maybe he’ll resurface, swinging open new doors somewhere. For now, his spirit haunts the merch we sling and the odd pop-up joint near you. Raise a glass to the Dive Bar King.

Today, the Dive Bar empire has been left in the hands of co-custodians, Jack Griffin and Chelly, two bar flies hellbent on bringing the love of lounge and dive bar lifestyle to you, one t-shirt and trucker hat at a time. They got the idea from visiting various adult beverage establishments, wishing the place had that something extra that would make them special: A clean bathroom that you could possibly poop in, punk rock music, honky tonk music, a mechanical bull, go-go dancers, low lights, crazy times, and more. 

So, snag a tee, slap on a trucker hat, and bullshit your buddies about the insane night you had after tripping over some secret Johnny’s location. Spread the gospel.

Johnny's Dive Bar
Anytown, USA.