It’s not fair: Williamsburg gets all the drunkenness, while Bushwick is left high and Bud dry. So far, bars have barely followed the L-line migration to its rough, eastern edges. What, just because kids live in illegal lofts in an industrial apocalypse they don’t want to blow money on cheap beer? Disposable income must be wasted somewhere.

So why not the Wreck Room? This newish Bushwick bar (one of several brave drinkeries dipping theirs taps into the Morgan/Montrose-stop area, including Kings County) sits on a bleak-at-night (and day, for that matter) stretch of Flushing Avenue. It’s nestled beside a plumbing-supply shop and across from the neighborhood anchor eatery Life 989. Bedford Avenue this ain’t.

But the bar’s location, combined with its design and drink selection, earmarks it for serious post-collegiate debauchery. The stone-topped bar is big enough to park a school bus (well, at least a short bus), and happy hour lasts until 10 p.m. Tall boys of Coors Light and Miller High Life run two dollars ($3 other times), which is pretty damn close to corner-bodega pricing. Shots of Jack, Jim and Jose are also three bones, and you can add canned beer for two more singles. The Wreck (You) Room, evidently, takes its name seriously.

But the title is not only a nod to inebriation. Two pristine pool tables beg hustlers to rack ’em up. Walls are lined with the front and rear ends of Oldsmobiles and Chryslers. The scant sitting options consist of eight car seats, complete with arm rests. It’s a carbon copy of the auto chairs at Williamsburg’s Trash Bar. And like Trash, the Wreck Room is a performance venue. Bands and DJs burst eardrums in two rear rooms (one features a small stage and a vibrant, tropical painting scheme). The sweaty merry-making is eagerly soaked up by the expected crowd: younger Williamsburg émigrés with fashion sense and few concerns beyond their next drink.

Early in the week the crowd can be meager, with a handful of customers sucking down Coors Light, playing tabletop Pac-Man or shooting pool. But weekends (which include Thursday) find sardine-can crowds. Waitresses rush willy-nilly to crack open tall boys, the unofficial house beer. A few weekends ago, for instance, Wreck Room was so crammed with overheated dancers that my glasses fogged up the instant I entered. And they stayed fogged up for the next three hours. Why should I have left?

If you’re at the Wreck Room, you’re at the Wreck Room. In the area few after-dark alternatives abound, save for loft ragers and the occasional concert at the Office Ops and Asterisk performance spaces. This is, in my opinion, a good thing. Abundance is a paralyzing agent, which is why I avoid the bar-stocked East Village like it’s a subway bum with newspaper-stuffed shoes and a bad case of the DT.

Yet the Wreck Room is not all Miller High Life happiness. The jukebox is the bartender’s iPod. Woe be the customer’s ears if the drink slinger is in a death-metal mood. Speaking of the servers, I’ve had several wildly clashing experiences. One evening, when the bar was bulging with a disco-boogying masquerade party, I promptly received my Coors cans with a smile, no sass. Another low-key Thursday evening, when there were fewer customers than members of the Beatles, an ironic-T-shirt bartender sparred with a patron, culminating in the customer slamming the front door on his way out.

“I told him he had to give me a tip,” the bartender complained to us, exasperated. “I shouldn’t have to tell him to give me a tip.”

Uhh, no. No server should ever ask for a tip. It’s a gratuity, not a right, as most Americans believe. And besides, why complain to us, the people tipping a buck on canned beer? Shit, give me enough time, and I could train a dog to open a beer with its teeth.

But, eh, so be it. When buying a couple-buck beer, a little asshole attitude is a small price to pay for a small price. Wreck Room may not be a destination bar, but when the DJs spin and the bands bash—and the party scene is in a lull—it’s hard, no, impossible to find a better bar in Bushwick.

Wreck Room

940 Flushing Ave. (betw. Everygreen and Stanwix St.) Bushwick, Brooklyn

718-418-6347