EPTAgainst my better judgment, I decided to drop by. I prepared perfectly, I ate a big bowl of vermicelli and took a nap. I even called one of my "friend' creatures and invited him join me in a "wing man" capacitance.
He declined. He has a girlfriend, and as an intelligent person, has absolutely no reason to go to a club.
So I jumped in my car and headed over, on the way a squirrel ran in front of my car.
"Great! I'll just hit this squirrel and swerve in to the divider and die and then I won't actually have to go to the club."
No such luck, the squirrel was just a leaf. Oh well... next time...
So I got there at about ten o'clock, and that's apparently very early, because I am the only person there. Okay... what do people do at these things again... hmm.. Oh yeah! They drink!
So I have to buy a drink which brings us to reason #1 to hate clubs.
A fucking drink costs $12.00. Yes, I know that it's a very exotic "asian pear drink" but that's stupid. Only an idiot or a millionaire would pay $12.00 for a drink. I bought three.
It occurs to me that if every one on the world was like me, then the clubs would all go out of business. Then all of the club-happy neanderthals wouldn't have any where to go... except there wouldn't be any club-happy neanderthals because every one in the world would be like me and I am too smart. The world would also be much better looking and more impressive in general.
So I buy my disgustingly overpriced "asian pear drink" and drink it. It tastes like a hawaiin punch. Okay, a couple people are starting to trickle on. There is an awkward dawdling 45 year old balding fat man wandering around very slowly. He's not getting laid tonight. He is my spirit guide.
Of course, after I finish that drink I am still not having fun. Shit, my DJ acquaintance hasn't even gotten here and I am already ready to leave. Fuck, I have to think of something fast...
So I buy a drink... -$12.00
Okay, now I have a drink in my hand. That makes me cool right? I might be even buy you a drink. I have money to buy things, it's all very impressive.
Okay, so I am just kind standing at the bar with my drink, looking awesome. When these two young ladies sidle up next to me.
Well okay, they weren't 'that' young. I think they were about 30 years old a piece, and I have to say they were quite fetching indeed.
So I catch their eye, and wave to them like an idiot. But to my surprise, they actually seem pretty excited about it. One of them pulls up her skirt and shows me the lingerie she is wearing under. Hmm... The other one puts her hand on my shoulder.
HOLY SHIT I AM GETTING COUGAR POUNCED THIS IS AWESOME!
Okay... don't blow this Charles. We just gotta play our cards right, this is already actually happening. So then we start talking, which brings me to the #2 reason that I hate clubs.
It's too fucking loud! This is the thing that pisses me off the most about these places. Ostensibly, you are to meet people there, but you can't actually talk to them or get to know them. It is actually impossible to make a real connection. No, instead, you are expected to wildly gesticulate towards your genitalia until you find someone with low enough standards or self-esteem to jump on your dick. If it doesn't work, hey, at least you're drunk, right?
The brunette cougar asks me " what do you do." I tell her " I do tech support."
"You do taxidermy! We're taxidermists too!"
...
No, "I DO TECH SUPPORT" I scream. But the dull monotonous tone of Lady Gaga drowns it out.
Okay, so constructive conversation is impossible. But of course, a club isn't a place where you meet people or talk to them. It's a place where you find a strange woman to take to the dance floor, and then grind your denim jeans against her raw skin, and grind your underwear against your denim jeans and grind your erect penis against your underwear.
It's a complicated mating ritual guaranteed to leave all involved confused and frustrated. Still, I am not completely closed minded. So I was pretty excited when the brunette cougar looked at me with wide sparkling eyes and yelped "Are you a good dancer!?!?"
Rather than try the surefire method and tell her "I used to backup dance for Timberlake" I attempt a more subtle (and honest) approach.
"No! I am a terrible dancer, but I will dance with you any way!" I then showed her my trademark dance, which I call "The Carlton"
Well, she gave me the look of a wounded elk, and limped off with her cougar friend, evidently my response was less than adequate.
Still, undaunted, I decide to press on! Since I know no one and am terrified of women, I now have no recourse but to mill around randomly waiting to sober up so I can drive home.
As I am walking around some gentlemen decide to waylay me. Without even realizing how it happened, I am quickly encircled by bros. I get a brief ego boost when I realize I am significantly taller than any one of them.
This brings me to the #3 reason that I hate clubs.
Fucking assholes. These guys start asking me to "whistle" and putting their hands up to their mouths like they are smoking weed.
I am still a little drunk, and I really have no idea what they're talking about, so I tell them "I don't know what you mean..." This repeats for a minute, with them yelliing wildly and excitedly...
And after about two minutes of this exercise they decide that I should "get the fuck out of there."
So I kind lower down on to my haunches, and gut check one of the guys with my elbow. Which of course, really gets every body upset, and before long we are all yelling and giving each other the finger. Amazingly, a fight doesn't break out, and the bouncers don't notice any way. All the same, I decide to leave.
So I spent a lot of money, didn't meet any one, damaged by constitution with alcohol and then almost got in to a fight.
And that is why I hate clubs.
