Fun At Bars

Fun At Bars

I actually made a point of dressing down, so as not to fool myself that I was going to get any pussy tonight. I don't even want to TRY. Beer and chicken wings, that's all.

Christ, I really have caved in to my miserable masturbatory fate, haven't I?

So I'm sitting at the bar, enjoying some stupidly hot sauce on some anemic wings that even Tyson wouldn't inflict on the general public, drinking Guinness. I vaguely hear a guy down at the other end of the bar talking to a woman, but I don't pay any attention to it. Or to the TV, which is broadcasting some shit on ESPN. I give a fuck for sports, after all. Actually, I don't one bit. I couldn't give a fuck if the Bengals beat the Motherfuckers, or whoever they're playing, or if some asshole with a golf club gets it in the hole before I do, or who ends up in the wall on turn three. It's not that I have anything AGAINST sports, mind you, I just don't CARE. Which apparantly makes you some kind of social LEPER in this backwards-ass excuse for a nation, because after all, the big tragedy of 9/11 was that football had to be cancelled. There's actually idiots in this country who think like that. Even the WOMEN care too much about sports, and that fucking frightens me.

Anyway, I hear a loud THWACK, and look over to see the guy holding his face while the woman stands up and starts yelling at him. By the way, she's not bad looking at all, but she still comes off like something from a bad Springer outtake. I bet that's not her real hair colour, is all I'm sayin'. Nothin' like a ten-dollar blonde to remind you where you live.

The guy looks to be...uh...twice her age, now that I think about it. She's probably 30. This guy looks like he's about to collect Social Security. Am I gonna be hitting on teenage girls still when I'm 90? Probably.

She yells something like "You prick!", another guy starts walking towards them from across the room, and immediately I see a few bar employees with that "time to call the cops" look on their faces.

The new guy says "Tina! Are you all right?" and the old guy just starts drinking again. Big fun on the bayou is about to ensue, I can just smell it.

"Kick this guy's ass, Tony! You fucking pervert!" and she thwaks him AGAIN. This time he looks pissed. Now the bartender is trying to calm them down, reaching for the phone at the same time.

The old guy, obviously liquored up beyond repair says, "If you don't want to get hit on, don't cme to a fucking bar, bitch." And she hits him AGAIN. He's still just standing there taking it, which shows how much you can take from somebody when six gallons of Jager are involved, I guess.

The other guy gets in the old guy's face and starts yelling at him. "What the fuck are you doing, asshole! Leave her alone!" By the way, this guy is a big thick-necked jock-head-looking assface who probably watches ESPN 12 hours a day. You see these fuckers everywhere in the Midwest.

"Tell your girlfriend that if she doesn't want to get hit on, she shouldn't come to a fucking bar dressed like that." Me, I understand the basic idea, but she's dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, not exactly "I'm a whore, fuck me now" apparal.

"Just because you're in a bar doesn't mean everyone is trying to hit on people," Thick-Neck says.

That's when I started laughing.

So did the guy two seats from me, some 40-something scrawny guy with a beer that looked like bat piss ina glass.

The guy turns around in what could have been some film-approved slow motion turn-of-the-head. "What are YOU assholes laughing at?"

The other guy shut up. I raised my glass. "You!"

Thick-Neck Jockstrap took a step towards us. The old guy hits him on the head with a beer glass.

That's when the fight started. Me and the scrawny guy both looked at each other, slammed down our drinks, and got the fuck out. We laughed our asses off all the way out, said goodbye, and drove off. Last I saw, the old guy was half-dead on the floor while the woman was cheering Thick-Neck on like it was some kind of tournament.

Welcome to Ohio, boys and girls.

Love,
Dougie
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I was on myspace and just had a friend request from a STUNNING 25-year old blonde who actually WASN'T trying to get me to her webcam page. For once. I ignore all those. Yeah, I'd like to see you naked, but if you're asking me to be your friend and all you have to offer is a fucking webcam page, I don't care. I can get my porn elsewhere. Believe me, I KNOW that I can. I often DO.

Anyway, she's fucking hot as all hell, but is probably a 48-year old truck driver, Hell with it, I added her anyway.

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Just had a fun little chat on myspace with a fabulous little brunette vixen that used to be here on tblog, named after my favorite rum, who is really into cars. Hadn't talked to her in eons. It's kinda fun to exchange goofy innuendo with a chick you KNOW is never going to fuck you, but is a lot of fun to talk to. I really like her. By the way, I don't link to or from here and there because my myspace page is far more sedate than the wackaloon shit I write here and the people I actually know are more likely to find me there, but if you look around and know who i'm likely to have on my friends list, you can find me. I also have some killer Twin Peaks music on my profile right now, since Badalamenti has his own myspace page now too.
------- Just spent a while on Angelo's page, now I want to finish this big fuckin' glass of bourbon and go watch Fire Walk With Me.

I just put my favorite picture of a fabulous young redhead with darkly fascinating green eyes on my desktop, and it's starting to bug me that she started writing me again but seems to have once again disappeared. i know you're out there. Talk to me, baby. Come on, I'm a thousand miles away, it's not like you're gonna lose anything but the time.

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