Bingo Loco
Continental Club
12th St, Oakland
February 1, 2025
In a world of compartmentalized, individualized gaming, why not fuck around and find out what the “world's only BINGO PARTY” looks like? Promising to be full of “Mountains of confetti showers! Hilarious hosts that will have you on the floor laughing! Dance-offs and lip sync battles! And so much more!,” Bingo Loco made its Oakland debut — these nut jobs operate internationally, yes — at West Oakland’s historic Continental Club.
Though the event was in line with much of the venue’s current programming, the ghosts of jazz legends past may have felt a type of way about the antics that were to ensue. Or maybe they’d have liked to join in, too.
A full house left us wading through packed table after table to reach the merch man-cum-referee to acquire the all-important numbered sheets of paper, and, in a loco-ized twist, pulsing styrofoam rave-rods emblazoned with the loco logo. We were set to play, if only we could find a seat. A couch with limited visibility of the stage, where host Broseph Joe Brody reigned for the night, would have to do. Thank goodness the sound system lacks no power.
If anyone was unfamiliar with the game— were they?— Brody gave a quick rundown, then got into the nuts and bolts of what made this loco. Aside from the lights, confetti, and action, of course. Flanked by a giant pink plush sloth and dressed in neon pinks and blues, Brody maintained his ultra-high-energy persona throughout the night, his love for the number 69 and 2000’s music repeated ad nauseum. We later learned that the copious quantity of RedBull he’d consumed, a sponsor of the event, was partially to thank.
Brody hopes winner Carolina will wash the dildo before use.
Three rounds of tiered games began, with the first two winners of each game then pitted against each other on stage in additional competition; here prizes were not simply given, they had to be won twice over. These high-stakes endeavors included a chugging contest, a rock-off involving a small pink guitar, a grandmother, and Chappell Roan’s “Hot To Go,” and a dance-off, with luxurious prizes such as a disco ball helmet, crystal dildo, and Justin Bieber cutout.
Brody’s number selection came by way of a digital screen encased in pink plastic — while the glowing red numbers were easy to see if you’d missed his call-out, something was lost in that transition from the analog, the jangle of the numbered balls, the anticipation. Instead, we just got more 69 jokes (“dinner for two,” as he likes to say) and kitschy song choices (ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” played for the number 17, how novel!).
Contestants get a-twerkin in hopes of winning…two canned beverages.
Prior to arrival, I’d wondered how three rounds of bingo were expected to run for three hours. But two hours and and two rounds in, I’d been numbed by the noise and the body heat, imaginary vuvuzelas pew-pew-pew-pew-pewing in my head as I filmed a twerk-off involving that oversized sloth, then a barrage of bad throws at a garbage can fashioned as a solo cup in hopes of a karaoke machine. It was time to call it quits, potential for prizes be damned; getting out before the crush of my fellow losers was win enough.
