The Bar

I just opened a fucking Sunkist and I’m so fucking excited about it. You should be too, because as we all know, Sunkist is one of God’s finer creations in this world. That has nothing to do with what I’m about to write other than the fact that I am now fuelled by the fruit of the Gods, and I can now open up a can of Awesomeness for each and every one of you. I can also talk to you about my massive amounts of fashion knowledge and knowledge of the sexes and our desperate grabs at the ones we find attractive. Should we jump into it? We should because I’m so hard I can’t contain it really ready to write for you all. Sit down and hold on to your toilet, its time to fly my pretties!

I’m a 20-something single person who like most, am actually frightened to death of the idea of first meeting someone online and then meeting up with them in real life. I mean, c’mon, they could be a psychopath killer. Hello Dee Snyder’s Strangeland.

So like everyone else, I do it the old fashioned way. I go to a bar and I see people there. Regrettably I don’t end up meeting many people because in real life the critic is quite socially awkward and shy. That said, I do do a lot of people watching whilst there, so eventually my balls will drop and I will have the courage to talk to someone other than the bartender. Until that day, I think my credentials are still sound. So take that, bitches!

Going to the bar is a fine experience that should be and IS experienced by most adults. Sometimes minors with fake ID’s can get into a bar, but only if they have their fake ID made by Javier. That guy is the best, but you didn’t hear that from me. Hell, I wouldn’t even know his phone number or anything so if you emailed me I wouldn’t have it or anything.. and most certainly couldn’t hook you up for a small fee or anything.. So don’t even ask!

Preparation

Preparing ones self for a bar is a tormenting experience. For a guy, we do this: We shower. I don’t know how many of you ladies out there realize how big of an inconvenience this is for us. We’d much rather stew in our own “natural” scent. Regrettably, it is a simple fact that there is really nothing natural about our stench. Something went wrong with the cheetos, corndogs, and motor oil. We’re not sure what it is, so we wash it off. And we do that for you, ladies. FOR YOU! Remember, selfishness is not in our genes. Much. So we take our time (which is like a whole 15 fucking minutes!) and get looking our best. This way we know as we arrive at the bar, we’re looking totally GQ.

Sadly, even though we think we’re looking GQ, the simple truth is, the only guys who really know how to dress like that are homosexuals. Since we’re going to a bar to pick up a hot chick, we’re obviously not a homosexual. This means we were better off wearing our cleanest pair of jeans (even though they’re really not all that clean) and our least wrinkled shirt. This is because, the nicest clothes we have are the ones that grandma is still sending us every year for Christmas. Now, though we all love our Nana, the truth is, she has no real fashion sense. That’s something we have to realize about all old people actually, while I’m thinking it. I don’t know what the age is that I’ll have to start wearing my pants around my armpits, but I’m not very excited about it. I’m sure its coming soon though- but the good news is, so is a nursing home. The bad news is, I’ve not procreated any little bastards to pay for it. Conclusion: I’m totally fucked.

From the dawn of time, there has been man, and there has been woman, and these two people wish to mate. They do not know how to meet, so another man decided to make a place where they could meet, and this place is called: A BAR. At this place of business you will pay to drink until the ugly ones are attractive, a desperate one finds you, or you throw up. Whichever comes first.

The sad truth was, originally, only men could go to the bars around town, which if you ever saw the movie Alexander, makes total sense. If you didn’t see it, you’re not missing much other than seeing Colin Farrell’s ball sack. I really didn’t need to see it either. I mean, really. And he just wanted to do nothing but stay in bed and make sweet love to Jared Leto all day. Oh by the way, he conquered a bunch of countries n shit. BUT WHO CARES! He was totally *sill-eee* gay. Like, full on Liberace gay. HE LIKED SHOW TUNES!

Where was I? Oh yes, we were talking about how gay it was that only men could go to bars. So along came some time later where women could go to them too and then you didn’t just go looking for Jared Leto in each bar you went in. No! The time had come, you could seek out the opposite sex. Straight men all over the globe celebrated by knocking back a few cold ones with their buddies, and going out the find the elusive and mysterious woman! And they could, in each and every bar, they could find one and they could go home with them. Why?
No, it wasn’t because the bra-burning liberal chicks hadn’t won the freedom of bitches globally. No, it was because they were all whores. For a price you could have a good time with any woman you met, because she was for sale. And it was a glorious thing. This time in the world is actually know as “The Golden Age of Bar Hopping” – It’s a fact, look it up.

Then came the Femme-Nazi movement of women’s lib. and Bra Burning.

Men worldwide celebrated by throwing back a few cold ones. Why? Because not ALL WOMEN COULD GO TO THE BAR! AND!! They weren’t wearing bras! This means, you no longer have to pay for getting laid. Kinda. I mean, normally you gotta at least buy her a drink so you can slip her a roofie get to know her.  This posed a new problem for men. We could not longer go to the bar however the fuck we wanted and expect some girl to give us play for the right price. We must now try and dress nice and have manners to land the chicks. This did not sit well with us. It is this point in history we call “The Great Depression in Bar Scenes” It was a sad period. But then Queer Eye came around and showed us that we could dress like a fag and nail the ladies and STILL BE STRAIGHT! The problem was, no straight guy watched Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, and therefore, we’re still all fucked, but not literally. But thanks Nana, I still love my sweater you bought me!

Now that the history lesson is over, I think its time for a smoke break. Normally I would take  my laptop outside and smoke and type, but its snowing like a bitch out there and I don’t want to have to retype all this if I fry my shit. So, I’ll be right back.

Alright I’m back. Sorry that took longer than I expected. I also cracked a new Mt. Dew and devoured a corndog. No where were we? Ahh yes, we’re getting to the good stuff. Modern day. Lets recap:

• Men suck at dressing themselves
• The movie Alexander sucked
• Whores cost money
• Lady Gaga has a penis

That about sums it up. Oh! And Sunkist is great.  So there’s a place where all the inbred swine of the earth comes from, and regrettably I know where that place is. I lived there once, but I am not from there. So get that out of your head. When you go to a bar, you see these people, and you find yourself saying “Where did this fuck even COME FROM??” And yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. And I know where those fucks came from. I’ll teach you now.

Grand Junction, Colorado.

This is the worst place imaginable. Now, how this said retard you meet in a bar actually came to that bar where you have had the displeasure of making their acquaintance.. I cannot say. But that dark hole you swear they climbed out of before showing up at the local pub is in fact a real place. You should never go there. Ever. It’s the scariest place imaginable on earth, and I won’t go into it any further, but trust me. These asshole retards you meet are from there. Promise.  All of them.

So you go to the bar, and you’re hoping that history will repeat itself, and you will meet someone perfect. How is this history repeating? Well, thinking about the good ol days of legal prostitution and bar maids just has you hopeful.. and why not? Thinking positively can bring wondrous things!

So off we go, either dressed by grandma or in dirty wrinkled man clothes. We haven’t combed our hair exactly, but we ran our hands through it, which is pretty close, right? But we have showered! And we go there with the ambitions of meeting the modern day Beer Wench. This is not a Halloween bar either, so we’re not talking a costumed honey, we’re talking the real deal. Does she exist? Well goddamnit, she’d better, and we’re gonna find her!

The sad news is, she does exist, and we do not find her. Instead we get locked into conversation with an no toothed fat girl from Grand Junction who is really digging us. We’re not that desperate are we, self? Oh HELL NO, self! Good, because I was worried, self! I wouldn’t bone her with YOUR cock, self, much less MINE! Good. *Phew*

This is something that yours truly experiences on a regular basis. All the honeys are into strong muscle guys. Unfortunately, dr. cr1ck3e does not have big muscle like physique. In fact, we are really quite puny. I will tell you what else, there’s a thing bitch idiot girl I saw at the bar the other night. This girl covered 3 whammies in one move. It amazed me that God would allow such idiocy to have legs. But it gets worse.. she had procreated. So, the story reads as such: I’m at the local pub with my mates. In walks this hoe, and she is wearing the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen. Sweat pants and gay boots known as Uggs.  It did look fitting on her, as she was probably the biggest piece of white trash in the bar. This gives me a small chuckle, because, even girls can’t really dress themselves sometimes. I like to imagine this girl taking her time deciding which pair of ugly worn sweats will best fit her Uggs. I won’t lie. I tried to get a picture of it, but I failed, it was too dark and I didn’t want to alert her to my actions with the flash on my Black Berry. This picture you see is the closest I could find. So, back to the story.. here’s how it plays out in my brain which makes me giggle. “Imma find a new baby daddy to-NITE! Oh. maw. gawd. No one will EVER deny my hotness with these perfect pants and boots!”  Then to further make herself look like the flaming retarded Grand Junctionian she is, she then STUFFS HER PANTS INTO HER BOOTS!

I do not understand this fashion statement. I’m not sure what brainiac thought this idea up. First off, let me instruct you ladies. If you’re wearing them thinking its awesome.. its not. Uggs are not attractive shoes. Do you want attractive shoes? WEAR SOMETHING ELSE! Fucking flippyfloppies are better looking then these retarded boots. Secondly, if you’re going to wear these retarded eskimo fashion rejects, then may I suggest you wear them on the INSIDE of your pant leg. Why? Because they’re fucking ugly. Now, to go further, NEVER wear them with fucking sweat pants IN PUBLIC! I can picture a time when wearing sweats and uggs is acceptable. You just had mad wild sex. You want to have cigarette. You put on sweats and uggs, step out on the balcony WHERE NO ONE CAN SEE YOUR LEGS and you smoke. This is acceptable ugg sweat pant usage. All others are unacceptable. Capisce? Again, I cannot fathom what would make a woman want to wear this out in public, but it happens. I’m not sure who’s idea this was or who made it popular, but that person is a total fucking idiot and should probably be tossed off a cliff and fed to rabid dogs. Then their remains should be catapulted at the Uggs factory so they can make a nice pretty artistic splatter on the exterior wall of that place. Maybe right by the front door. Fuck, man!

FUCK!

So, I’m not through with this social reject trying to find love in a bar. Oh fuck no. So she’s obviously oblivious to how retarded she actually looks, but shall I up the ante? Well let me give you a time line of events. Hoe shows up at bar. Its like 11:00 PM on a Saturday. She also has with her, I shit you not.. A baby. A FUCKING BABY! Now, fortunately for baby, dr. cr1ck3e has been banned from smoking in said bar, else I’d feel even more sorry for this kid. Seriously, who takes a child into a bar at 11 pm? Why is this kid still awake? My folks never let me stay up passed 11 pm when I was little and look at how I turned out!!

Ok, so that’s a bad example.

But really, if you need to go to the bar to find a new baby daddy, at least leave the kid in the car with the windows cracked. Here’s a vital lesson that needs learned. A man does not go to the bar looking to become a baby daddy. Ever. Sometimes it happens, sure. I mean, we were drunk, you were drunk, and I’m sorry but my real name is not Garcia. Good luck. Wait, what? Oh so, get a fucking baby sitter twat, no one wants your baby here. I feel like shit for cussing loudly around it, or I did before that next shot of tequila got to me. So the moral of the story is, if you’re white trash, you will wear uggs with your sweat pants tucked into them, and you will bring your baby to a bar at night. But the simple fact is that you should not. If you need to go to the bar, get a fucking baby sitter or stay at home, skanks.

This was my experience last Saturday. So needless to say, the search for Mrs. dr. cr1ck3e, phd continues. I’ll know when I see her from across the bar, and I know it’ll be love at first sight. That’s right, we are a hopeless romantic at heart. She’ll look at me with those beautiful eyes, and I will look at her, and we’ll know we were made for each other. Don’t worry, my love. I will continue looking for you, and you keep doing.. that. God I love you.