A Letter From Your Bouncer

StuffFratPeopleLike13 years ago

Photo © CoreTrace Corporation

Dear Asshole,

Yeah, I’m talking to you. Don’t act surprised. I’ve seen you in this bar for the past 4 years, and that’s extremely surprising because according to your ID, you’ve only been 21 for five months. How peculiar.

Don’t think you’re anything special just because you got in before with a fake ID. There are so many factors that go into whether I let you in or not. Remember those times I just briefly glanced at the year, and not even on your face? You could have gotten in that day with Al Sharpton’s driver’s license. That’s about how many fucks I gave.

Your odds mostly depend on my mood, and that sucks for you because I am a bouncer and thus I am almost always pissed off. It’s hard to be the only sober guy in an establishment full of sloppy, wasted, degenerates. I am bored as hell, and it is cold outside, and I’m not allowed to drink or smoke on the clock.

All of these things stack up against you. Sure, you might be 21 now, but make one wrong move in the bar and I will literally carry your scrawny 6-inch-inseamed ass to the curb. Wrong moves include, but are not limited to: dropping a drink, yelling in a hostile tone, fighting, looking at me the wrong way, and hitting on a girl I would like to penetrate.

It’s a losing battle champ, just thought I’d let you know the ground rules. And oh yeah, if you think that isn’t fair, guess who is always going to win that argument? The 6’6” 240 pound employee, or the drunken asshole who can barely remember where he lives? Newsflash, fucker, my word is infinitely greater than yours. It.is.fucking.law.

Am I abusing my power? Maybe, but you little fraternity shits are like the Industrial Revolution of fake ID acquisitions. Every year I see more and more baby faced kids with 21+ ID’s and enough extra forms to get their own passport, Social Security card, and an autobiography written. What am I supposed to do about that?

And whose ass is on the line if you get snagged by an undercover when you decide that standing on a stool and chugging that long island in all of your pre-pubescent glory is a good idea? Well, you first of course, because you’re the asshole in the situation, but I also eat shit for letting your scrawny ass in the door. I could even be arrested right along with you. Trust me, you little fuck, you do NOT want to be stuck in the same jail cell as me if that happens. I’ve been to jail, and I fucking know people. Can’t you tell from my tribal tattoo? From Polynesian to English It literally translates to “Haver of Murder.” It gets a little muddied in translation, but you get the fucking idea.

So what can you do? How about you wait until you’re 21, or just get a fake ID that actually matches your own ethnicity and is within a six inch range of your height. Then once you’re here, don’t be a little high and mighty scumfuck and think that you’re Jesus Christ himself the moment you set foot into this hazy dive bar.

Start a fight and I will beat your ass and leave you in a neat, bloody pile on the sidewalk for the police to pick up. You mean as much to me as the Canadian Football League.

But if you stay off my toes, I will completely ignore yours. That’s a promise. Feel free to get as close to an alcoholic coma as your little heart desires. But once closing time hits, you better get the fuck out of here, because I just want to go home and watch the MMA fight I DVR’d.

Fucking Graduate Already,
Your Local Bouncer