Listen Here, Pukey Pants...

We've all been there.  It's a good night...  The beers are flowin', the drinks are endless, the shots keep comin'.  You don't even know what time it is because you are just enjoying the sweet sounds of Lil' Jon at the bar. "Shots shots shots shots shots shots."  (Because who knows the rest of the words besides the chorus.)

Then it hits you.  Barf.

Let's talk about your options.  You can find a garbage can.  You can run to the bathroom.  And, most likely you have bushes outside.  We'll call this a plethora of options.  A PLETHORA.


But, where do you upchuck?  ON the bar.


It's not just that you've expelled the contents of your stomach on my bar, you think you can hide it. You can wipe it off, blame it on the guy next to you, and try to convince me that it's not really vomit, but we all know it's you.


How?


It's this magical sixth sense I have.  It's my super power.  I can read your mind, but only when it comes to drunk hurling.  It's something right out of an M. Night. Shamalan movie.  (Plot twist!)

Listen here, Mr. Pukey Eyes, YOU HAVE PUKEY EYES.  Plus, that crunk juice you insisted upon having (since Lil Jon was so convincing, via the jukebox) has been recycled from your stomach to dribbling down your chin.


Now, here is where things get messy.  Literally and figuratively.  You puke, you clean.  I am not your maid, your mother, or a janitor, so get your barf off my bar.


You want to go Mt. Vesuvius on my time?  You better pull a serious Cinderella and learn to summon all the forest creatures to make things spotless because all the help you get from me will be a bucket and a sponge (and probably a kick in the butt to help you out the door) sans sympathy.  I'm not cleaning that up, but you better believe I'm going back to middle school rules.


Whoever spews it, shampoos it.

The Things Drunken White People Do

There is a stigma that all drunk people are just drunk people.  They all act the same: drunk.  Well, call me Christopher Columbus because I have discovered a new world.  It's called the land of drunken white people.  And they do really dumb things.

So, let's do simple math (because if you are reading this blog, you might still be a little drunk from last night).  Patrons go out to drink.  They drink alcohol.  Alcohol makes you drunk.  So, for those of you who need that even more simplified:

Patrons + Alcohol = Drunk

What we can assume is that if you keep at it, you will get drunk.  Yet, white people test this theory...  And take double fisting to a whole new level.  Not only is having two drinks in hand not enough, you must drink them both simultaneously.  My question is, "Do you not think drunkenness will happen?"  or "Can sloppy drunken white man not wait any longer to make an appearance at the party soon enough?"

I think the answer is similar to the same question Tootsie Pop has been using in advertisements, "The world may never know."





We continue our journey through the night, pounding beers (two at a time now, because that is what 'all the cool people are doing') and now we are drunk.  Dancing is the next thing that white people gravitate towards.  (Because sober dancing is 'not what all the cool people are doing'.)

Now, there are lots of white men who can dance:  Justin Bieber, Justin Timberlake, so obviously if your name is Justin, you have a fighting chance.  Neither of these two guys' names are Justin.

The paradox is that it is usually to an Usher song.  "Yeah, watch me pop-and-lock like Ushaaaaaaaa."  And the picture to the left is what happens.  A man who looks like he is wearing a back brace and a man who looks like he is pooping.

Not only have these two gentlemen sandwiched this streetwalker in between themselves, but I witnessed her getting whiplash from all the humping they were bestowing upon her.

I like to call it "sex with clothes on" because white men (other than the aforementioned Justins) think this is actually dancing and if she didn't have on at least that little spandex skirt which barely covers her business, I would have to call Maury Povich to find out who her baby daddy is.

(SIDE NOTE:  Night at the Roxbury is cool to laugh at, not to imitate.  Humping a girl between you and your friend is just that...  Cool to laugh at.)

Progressing through the night, we've seen double fisting at it's best and attempting to make a pancake out of a harlot, so now the tough guy phase happens. The skinniest, nerdiest, most beanpole-looking men with names like Eugene think they are MMA fighters.

Why?

It might have something to do with the the copious amounts of Mad Dog in their system, but, hey, I don't judge.  Well, except for when you are this guy:

Other than this being an amazing butt shot of the police officer, this photo shows what happens when beer muscles happen.  Let's follow simple math again:  Drunk man puts random people in a headlock.  Drunk man gets kicked out.  Drunk man tries to punch sober bouncers.  Drunk man gets arrested.  Even more simplified:

Drunk man + Drunken antics = Rap Sheet

"Absolutely, sir, your khaki pants scream real gangsta rep."

If this situation were back in middle school, he would've gotten an atomic wedgie topped off by a swirly.  And, quite frankly, I am amazed the officer resisted.  Kudos to you Officer Rump Shot.  Kudos.

I dare you to prove me wrong.  And when you don't, I have my smart phone ready so I can post about you on this blog.