my rant about douchebags.

after the other night, i've come to the conclusion that i am not the kind of guy that "goes out."

by "going out" i mean to a shitty douchebag-ridden bars.

by bar i mean this:


by douchebag i mean this:


i'll always be a pub guy. no stupid bro-fights. no retarded stickers-still-on-perfectly-flat-brimmed-hats, ty cobb would kick your ass right now if he saw you wearing a baseball hat like that. no obnoxiously loud music that makes you feel like you're inside of a sub-woofer. no retards dance-raping girls. no plethora of hairgel and so much AXE that if you lit a match it'd look like the hindenburg inside of this 4-people-per-square-foot hotter-than-gorilla-balls probably-fire-code-violating bar. no shitty dress restrictions (no hats?! are you fucking serious? no hats? you're going to make me remove my hat after i've been lying around in my boxers watching superbad and then my friends suddenly call me out to go out somewhere? i'll remove your fucking trachea, so fuck you marine-corps-dropout-looking douchenozzle.) no standing-room-only. no overpriced guinness or jameson. no douchebags. no stupid girls (well that's nearly impossible.) and lastly no stupid cliques. just good drinks with good music.

ladies and gentlemen, the douchebaggery transcends both genders. oh yes, girls can easily be huge douchebags as well. for example, i was about five under at a shitty bar in a shitty bro-ridden area and went out to go have a cigarette. a fairly cute girl comes up to me, i can totally tell she's not interested in me and i can already tell by the way she was talking to her friends and the way she was walking towards me that all she wanted was a cigarette. so she asks for a cigarette and fakes an irish accent with me and trying to fake flirt with me. then i hear her talking to her friends with a normal accent. then she pulls the same shit with somebody else. to her friends she was like "see, i told you i can get one...i know, it's the charm." you want a cigarette? just ask for a god damned cigarette. i'll give you one. friends? my conclusion, she's a douche.


95% of the people in that bar were douches. 0.25% was me, 2.75% was cool and probably in the same situation as me, and the other 2% were probably dead in a corner from alcohol poisoning.




origin of the shitty college bar:
You know those little college bars that everyone goes to even though they are really sketchy and shitty? I wonder how the hell those places get opened. How do they even get a loan to open? Maybe the conversation goes something like this:

BANKER: What can I do for you today?

DEUCE (your average college bar): Well, I'm trying to open a bar, and I'd like a loan.

BANKER: Hmmm. Why don't you tell me a bit about what you're trying to do?

DEUCE: Of course. First and foremost, I'm looking to attract college students to my bar. Students are a great market. They're all willing to pay eight dollars for a shot of tequila and, for some reason, they all prefer to go out on weekdays.

BANKER: That's pretty weird. Why are they going to want to come to the Deuce? There's several bars around town that are much closer.

DEUCE: True. I think my business model's going to be a smash, however. For décor, I'm looking to replicate what my uncle's basement looks like. Here's our blueprints.

BANKER: 2500 square feet? That seems kind of small.

DEUCE: Oh, yeah, that's our old blueprint. We're actually looking at about 1000 square feet or so. We think the students would really like it if they had to cram themselves into our bar. I'm talking about three people per square foot of dirty linoleum and every other person's going to be holding a cigarette, which will make moving around pretty difficult.

BANKER: Sounds dangerous.

DEUCE: Oh, that's nothing. We're going to put dartboards up all over the fucking place and hire 15 guys to drink Old Style beers and throw those darts as hard as they can at the wall. If one of those students wants to buy a beer, he's going to have to dodge a fucking dart storm. Kids like that extreme shit.

BANKER: Really.

DEUCE: Tried-and-true. In addition to our dart throwers, we're going to rent a bus every night and drive around to 7-11s and pick up whoever's inside–they have to be real greasy, though. We're going to pay them to play pool every fucking night for five hours at a time. They're going to think that they're pool champions and they'll take the game so damn seriously. Everyone at the school will think it's hilarious that there are people that go to the Deuce to play pool.

BANKER: This is all very interesting. Tell me more about the atmosphere of the bar.

DEUCE: Well, to be able to deal with just how grungy the Deuce looks, everyone's going to come into our bar with a starting BAC of .25. This is going to make our job a lot easier. For starters, we found a bunch of wood from an abandoned construction site–it's about two years old and looks like its covered with shit. I'll be honest, leaning up against the wall will be fucking disgusting. All those dart throwers are going to be chowing down on gum and when they're done, its either going to go under a table or onto the wall. With all the mixed drinks that are going to spill on to the wall as well, the walls are going to have the consistency of Skol-scented flypaper.

BANKER: God. I just threw up in my mouth.

DEUCE: Really? Then I probably shouldn't tell you about our bathrooms. Attending the Deuce will be more-or-less equated with binge drinking, so, naturally, there's going to be a lot of vomiting. We don't want people puking in our bathrooms because, hell, we're not cleaning them up. I thought the best way to keep people out of the bathrooms is to make them absolutely revolting. Here's our vision:

Half an inch of standing fluid (50% urine, 25% water and 25% Bud Light) is going to surround the toilet, with little brown specks in it. Don't ask. We're going to make everything in there sticky as hell, and there will never, ever be either soap or paper towels in there. Damn! I almost forgot: we're going to hide a dead rat behind the sink, just in case someone gets curious, and each mirror is going to be streaked with all kinds of bodily oils.

BANKER: And you really think they're going to like this?

DEUCE: Like it? These fuckers are going to love it. We're going hire a fleet of cabbies to go solely from the Deuce to campus, but every single cabbie will be totally illiterate in English. All the students are going to mistreat them, thinking that the cabbie doesn't understand them.

BANKER: Bastards.

DEUCE: Oh, no, this goes both ways. The cabbie's going to change the rates for every trip. Sometimes, there's no starting rate, other times, it'll be eight dollars. And the cabbie will take a different way back to campus every time. Students, if they look out the window, will never have a fucking clue as to where they are until they see the IHOP. And it will be the ugliest fucking IHOP ever built. For all this, the riders will pay a minimum of $15 per ride.

BANKER: This sounds like quite an experience.

DEUCE: You have no idea. For the next month, whatever clothes you wear to the Deuce will smell like body odor, cigarettes and stale beer. The only memory students will have of the Deuce will be that damn smell. They'll black out everything else, because, really, there's no good reason to remember the Deuce.

BANKER: I feel like I've got a pretty good understanding of what you have in mind. Is there anything else you want to add?

DEUCE: Well, I've already hired everyone. Me and the 15 carnies that I hired to tend the bars are real excited about–

BANKER: What are carnies?

DEUCE: Carnies? The people who operate the rides at fairgrounds? I'm pretty sure it's a rule that they have to be missing teeth and have weird body hair. And they're the surliest people fucking ever. I'm going to have these people tend the bars, y'know, to make sure that everyone's uncomfortable when ordering drinks.

BANKER: Huh. That's novel.

DEUCE: Yeah, we're all pretty excited about the whole thing. How are you feeling about that loan?

BANKER: I'm as good as sold. The loan's all yours.

source: http://www.collegedrinker.com/2008/02/05/the-origin-of-your-shitty-little-college-bar/


jesus fucking christ. never again.