The Baranof (8549 Greenwood Ave N) is kind of like the Swiss Army knife of gritty dive bars. It has everything you could possibly need: dirt-cheap Rainiers and freakishly strong Jell-O shots, greasy hangover hash browns, grumpy bartenders, leering older men, and dust-caked nautical-western decor.

It's the perfect place to feel alone, even if you're surrounded by other barflies. So slump yourself into one of the Baranof's booths and commit—this is your Worst Thanksgiving Ever. Accept it.

This dank Greenwood hole-in-the-wall opens at 6 a.m., so drinking can start at the crack of dawn. The bartenders have seen countless other loners like you, so they won't judge.

If you drunk-stumble into the joint around dinnertime, you can still have a miserable Thanksgiving dinner (racist uncle not included—thought we can't be responsible for the barfly sitting next to you). One bartender confirmed that the joint would be serving up turkey for dinner with a side of all-night karaoke—because what's better than being serenaded with drunken renditions of Dolly Parton's "Jolene" while feeling zonked out on tryptophan? (Well, many things, but beggars can't be choosers.)

Order yourself a drink. Even if you feel like drowning yourself in well whiskey, do not order a double. Seriously. Baranof bartenders will laugh in your face if you try. (Happy fucking holidays!) If you're more of a cocktail person, keep it simple—like one liquor and one mixer simple. When a friend once tried to order a Moscow Mule, the wry-looking bartender asked, "What in the hell is that?"

Read the full feature How to Have the Worst Thanksgiving Ever (On Purpose)