The Four Dickheads You’ll Run Into At The Club

sweatshirtt7 years ago

Ah yes, the club. A place where drunken idiots congregate in an attempt to take the least hideous individual home. The inside smells of hot sweat and spilled bottom-shelf liquor. Strange but oddly appealing “music,” mixed with what sounds like a spoon getting stuck in the garburator, is played loud enough to give you brain trauma. If you’re sober, the club sucks. If you’re drunk, the club still sucks, but it’s easier to look past its shortcomings and piece together a pretty solid night.

From bathrooms with piss-covered floors that reek of puke to it taking ten minutes to get a drink, there are lots of reasons to not be a fan of the club. Arguably at the top of that list are the people. Some are good, some are bad, and some are ridiculously entertaining. Here are the four types of clowns that you’re sure to encounter on your wasted excursion.

1. The guy who drank way too much way too early

This guy shows what happens when you fall victim to the sweet allure of premature edrinkulation. At first, starting early always sounds like a great idea. The excitement of the night to come is enough to make even the most seasoned veteran sweat in anticipation, and lesser men give in. However, after the insane amount of pregame PBR and Four Lokos that this individual has eviscerated in half the time of anyone else, they become a human time bomb, waiting to get to the club to detonate. You can identify this individual almost immediately upon first seeing them. A sluggish, glazed-over look in their eyes accompanied by the inability to move like a normal human being is a dead giveaway to their condition. In his eyes, he’s the life of the party. In reality, he just spilt three drinks that weren’t his and is now proceeding to piss himself while starting a fight with the bouncer. Goodnight, sweet prince.

2. The guy who is obviously on something

At first, it just seemed like they were having a really good time. Bobbing and weaving with the music, mingling with strangers, etc. Then you realize it’s still very early and there are a grand total of six people dancing, one of them being this drugged-up bastard who’s overpowering the music with the sound of his grinding teeth. As the night progresses and the intensity of the club amps up, it becomes harder to spot these douchers. The night acts as a sort of camouflage for them. That is until you walk into the bathroom and seem them railing coke off the top of the urinal. From that point on, it becomes overly apparent who is and isn’t absolutely cooked out of their skull. You’ve never seen someone dance so aggressively and without reserve in your life. You almost envy it, but then you realize how stupid they look and stop. Through the liters of sweat pouring off their body and the rapid movements of their limbs, you wonder just how much more their heart can take before it just says fuck it and stops beating.

3. The bouncer who thinks he’s in charge of protecting the president

Adorned in a tight shirt and enough tribal tattoos to make Dwayne Johnson jealous, this Hulk of a man sits quietly until provoked. The only problem is that the only thing that doesn’t provoke him is tight shirts and tribal tattoos. You dropped your straw on the ground?

“Beat it, nerd.”

A piece of ice?

“Are you crazy?! that could kill somebody!!! You’re out of here!”

Any chance to impose even the slightest amount of authority on someone doing the most insignificant thing wrong is enough to make all two inches of his ‘roid-raged dick stand and salute. There is no appeasing his insatiable lust for control, but fortunately for the public he can’t be a power-hungry cop because he didn’t graduate middle school. Guess he’ll have to stick to this and mall security.

4. The suave, mature, successful businessman

Across the room, a man of average height cloaked in shadows and the silkiest goddamn suit you’ve ever seen sips on a dry martini. He spies a group of vibrant young ladies who are obviously enjoying their night. He then proceeds to pop his artificial hip back into place and make his move. Seeking to ruin their good time, he struts with the confidence of a much younger man, perhaps forty-five or so. Upon reaching the group, he greets them with a sly wink and begins telling them about his many, vast business ventures. Uninterested, the girls turn back towards their own generation. The man recedes back into the darkness. All according to plan, he thinks to himself as he assembles another dry martini on his own since it’s a fucking club and the bartenders don’t know how to make martinis. What does he want? Why isn’t he deterred by the constant rejection? Where’s his wife? All questions whose answers we may never know. But what we do know? He’ll be there every weekend, ridiculously overdressed and ready to scare people less than half his age into a state of raw confusion and panic..

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