On Friday night, the shocking libertines of Trash celebrated their fifth anniversary of partying heartily. The resulting photos are not all safe for work. Unless you work at a truck stop hooker bar. Which we hope you do! Our photographer Nikola Tamindzic's gallery is here. After the jump, our correspondent Phil Oh meets and greets and explains the locals.

Five years is a pretty long time for anything to last in New York, much less a weekly Britpop party like Trash. It is in fact hard to believe the party is still going on—on Friday night, there was even a line of people 20 deep to get in. Maybe it's because they installed those fake-ID scanners at MisShapes.

DJ Jess insists it's the music that keeps them coming back. "I'm not saying its a good or bad thing, but people go to parties like MisShapes and Ruff Club to pose for photos. Kids come to Trash to get crazy on the dance floor," said DJ Jess as he pouted for Nikola, Nicky Digital, and Last Night's Party's Merlin Bronques' lenses.

The dance floor was heaving though, with a melange of Suicide Girl castoffs, twirling gay boys, and cross-dressing famine-victim go-go dancers.

"Not much has changed in the time I've been doing the door here, except longer lines," explained Brendan the doorguy/DJ. "We do get some more yuppie types in button-down shirts and chinos, but hey it's okay. You can't hate someone just for having a job!"

But I suppose it's kinda like the Odeon of weekly Britpop parties. If you're hankering for steak frites at Friday midnight, and you can't think of anywhere better to go, there's always Odeon. Except replace Odeon with Trash, and steak frites with singing along to Smiths songs. Anyhow, bad similes aside, we were hard pressed to find anyone though, who had been going to the party for five years. "Dude, I was like in high school in 2002!" said one girl. Oh... whiskey!

Jack, a lifelong East Villager, tries to check out Trash every couple weeks. "I look around, and these kids who are fuckin' weirdos and look like freaks, but deep down they have hearts of gold. It's not like some other spots around here where the girls are too cool to talk to you."

Right on cue, we were interrupted by a drunk Last Night's Party reject who offered to flash her tits if I would take her picture for Gawker. I wasn't in the mood for boobs, and anyway, there were perkier ones getting their photos snapped by Nikola in the bathroom, so I passed, not wanting to waste anyone's time.

Oh, this is where Jack chimed in, "If he won't, I'll take a look at 'em!" But you know how the story goes: no Nikon, no nipple. Jack was undeterred though, and explained how he's been known to take a few "dames" home to his $150/month rent-controlled apartment. Dames! Is that what we called drunk sluts back in the 70s? "It's all about getting your rocks off."

Whether its lollipops, face, or boobs, sucking seems to be an underlying theme here at Trash. Well, Jess and the crew certainly get props for keeping the party going strong for so long. Here's to another five years, I guess!