I hate dancing. It's not that I hate dancing so much, it's that I hate where
you go, to go dancing. The bowel shaking earthquakes of bass and the piercing
treble of an all too loud dance club make it impossible to think, drink
and talk. I might as well click a flashlight in my face with a ice pick
in my ear and an anvil on my chest.
So you ladies probably think, "Not my boyfriend. He's different than you." You think this
because you met him at a club. The reality being, he was trying to get laid that night and
he couldn't afford the really high class whores. Guys don't like going to those places.
They only go now to keep you from wining, and don't want you to go alone, for fear you'll
find a better liar than they are. They were just hoping they could just screw you for free.
Guys
and Money
Let's talk about the kind of money you drop at a place like this. I pay
$5 for a drink which is 90% 30cents worth of ice cubes, and try to make
my self hallucinate that this isn't really happening. I try to get drunk
enough so that I don't realize I just paid 10 bucks to be in the same
room as a bunch of sweaty strangers. I paid $5 for parking, $5 on drinks,
$10 for cover, $35 for this ridiculous shirt that you said brought out
my eyes, and tons of unknown vandalism charges that will be brought against
my car while we're inside. By the way, did I mention that I'm a cheap
bastard.
Music?
Let's talk about music for a second. It isn't music anymore. It's just
a hopped up drum machine. My friend screams at me, "LET'S GO TO THE OTHER
ROOM, I HATE THIS SONG." What song? This is the same floor banger I listened
to an hour ago. Why do they even bother having DJ's? Do they play requests?
"Hey we've got a very special dedication going out to a lovely couple,
and for them I'm going to play, "Dance Mix Number 4." Replace these guys
with the Drumulator 5000 and let it thump away all night like two kids
after the prom.
Guys
= 0 Decibels = +20
I really feel sorry for the poor clod who goes to one of these places thinking he's going to
meat someone. He'll have better luck walking with a white cane down a busy street at
rush hour. At least then he won't get slapped for copping a feel.
What's it all mean
I know what you're all saying right now. "My guy's different. He likes goin' out with me." Oh yeah? Well what do you think we talk about when you women go to the bathroom in a crew. The next time you want to go out, just cut your guy some slack. Come by my place. The
drinks are stronger, the music thumpier, and it's only a $5 cover.
A guys gotta make a
living.
Suck on that!
