Happy Birthday Hard to Come By

Wednesday was Stout’s birthday. So Siege and I took him out to the Works to have a few drinks, look at some girls, have a few laughs – you know, the usual birthday celebration that real men do. Real men. And we had a good time. That’s one of the main reasons we like going to GameWorks is because it’s typically totally douche-free. They only allow 21 and up in the bar itself, so there’re no 17- and 18-year-olds hanging out being retarded and thinking they belong at all. It’s a cool place, and it’s got some soul. They serve good cold beer and the bartenders are pretty.

So anyway, we hung out there and closed the bar down (they close at 11. I know. Gay.) so we rolled out to Nick’s to maybe shoot some pool and have a couple more Cold Ones before we called it a night. And that was where we made our mistake.

Now see, I have trouble ripping on Nick’s too much, because, well, I live about a quarter-mile from there and it’s a really convenient place to hangout. I’ve been there many, many times over the years, and I quite like the place. They have about ten pool tables, dart boards, good music, karaoke on some nights and a lot of sports on the screens. The 4×3 tube television screens. Yeah, hey, welcome to 1985 boys, time to get some new TVs.

Anyway, I also met my insipidly hot wife there. Shrug. I mean, it’s not that bad of a place. But now, I have to sing a different tune. Lately, it has become a Douche Repository. And I mean it when I say that. Well of course I mean it. Why else would I say it? Why did I even write that? Whatever. Every single dude in there (barring one) was a total douche, and needed his ass kicked in a heavy, bad way. Seriously. Everyone there is putting on a show. It didn’t used to be like this. But now every guy walks around his pool table with a kind of strut, his almost-muscled arms flexing as he walks, thinking he’s God’s gift to women. And you can see him looking peripherally at the other people to see if they’re looking at him. And every girl in there is a little attention-starved whore trying to make sure everyone there thinks she’s the hottest thing going. Which none of them are.

There was one guy there besides us who wasn’t a total worthless douchebag. He was a slightly overweight black dude who had his shirt untucked and was just playing pool. He was the only guy in there I would have had a beer with. Every other dude in that place thought he was so cool it just made me angry. Every one of them needed to catch on fire. Including the incredibly overweight hambeast girl who kept carrying the little bitty midget girl piggyback all over the bar. Yeah, it was that ridiculous. I shake my head. Good lord, people, just shoot some pool and stop pretending like you’re on a damn stage and the whole world is watching you. Because – well, we actually are, but it’s only to laugh at your idiocy.

Funny, no one in there thinks anyone else is worth looking at. So no one’s ploy at impressing everyone actually works. When you’re all losers, you’re all number one. That’s why there are so many fights there. And you know how I feel about dudes who think they need to prove something with their fists. Yeah. Major rolleyes. Okay so you can kick my ass, right, but can you beat me in a game of chess? Yeah, I’d rather be me then.

So I’m pretty much ready to nuke that place from orbit. I’ve never seen a hive of scum and villiany like that place has become. And they all need to erased so we can start over with a fresh bunch. What little faith in humanity I had begun to restore by sitting at Works for a while was crushed and stomped on, followed by a good vinegary piss on it, then covered with a soft, steaming pile of corn-infested hog shit. Why, oh why, do I keep going out to places expecting to see humanity improving? Why do I keep expecting people to stop acting like douche nozzles and start caring about each other rather than trying to compete with each other? I know, it will never happen, but that dream did not die with Kinetic Kim. I have to keep trying, and keep believing I can make a difference. Now I know how she felt though, trying so hard every day, and going to bed at night knowing that the apathy of people will set back in by sunrise.

It’s all worthless. Not enough people care and no one wants to change it. I try every day to make someone feel good about themselves. I compliment someone every day. And I mean it. I don’t just make some shit up. While, yeah, I probably really don’t give a shit about your earrings, the butter troll woman who’s wearing them does, and my compliment is therefore sincere, because I really do want her to know that they look nice on her. Or that I really am trying to make her feel good about herself. Because how long has it been since she had a sincere compliment? “Those earrings are just amazing,” I’ll say. Then she almost cries, “That’s so thoughtful! Thank you so much; you’ve just made my day.” And then I’ll nod my head, the elevator dings, I walk out and say, “Yeah, now go lose some weight and you’ll feel a lot better about yourself.”

Yeah, no, I don’t really say that. I mean – I’m not the best human example of tact and humanity, but I’m not that bad. But I have definitely given up on Nick’s. I can no longer stand to see the bottom of the barrell just feeding off the negative energy from each other. Anyway, yeah, happy birthday, Stout!



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1 Response

  1. Stout says:

    Yeah, it was a great night. By the time we hit Nick’s, my brain was pretty fuzzy so I didn’t really give a crap about all the douche bags hanging out there. I will admit, that we need to find a different place to hang out. (When we’re not hanging out in the Space Bar, that is.)

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