Love Is In The Air, I Can Smell It

If Valentine's Day were an Olympic sport, I could have handed out medals in all categories. The gold, silver and bronze medal winners were easy to pick out in a sea of brown (poop) medal losers. Some people used the holiday of love to day drink and ass out early, some thought it was an excuse to shamelessly try to pick up every woman in the bar, while others just lost their jacket, purse, shoes AND their date. Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of lovely couples out having fun and enjoying each other's company in a thoughtful and caring way, they just decided to go somewhere else I guess.

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Stuff and Junk

From now on I'm going to keep my drivers license, my cash and my credit cards in my underwear. Why might you ask? I'm not sure exactly, but if women can keep all that stuff stashed in their bra covered in boob sweat I don't see why I can't get a little junk funk on my forms of currency and identification. Take the girl from last night for example. I asked for IDs from the group of friends that came in and everyone got out their wallets and purses, gladly producing proper documentation, except for one. She reached into her shirt, under her bra and basically had to wrestle her left boob into submission to give up her ID, her warm slightly moist ID. Now, if I were to walk into an establishment and do the same thing, except pull it out of my underwear I would probably be asked to leave immediately and possibly have to register as a sex offender. (I'm not sure how that sort of thing works) At any rate, nobody wants to be subjected to that. It's an undergarment ladies, not a purse.

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A Shot Too Far

When communicating to someone that they are no longer going to be served an alcoholic beverage the reactions vary from person to person. Some take it well and other people not so much. Now sometimes, if someone is being a generally pleasant customer but is getting close to having enough you give them the pre-cutoff warning, like "Hey, I'm glad you're having a good time, but I think this is going to be the last drink I'll be able to serve you tonight. It's nothing personal, I just don't want to put you over the top." Generally, people appreciate the honesty and the heads up when this happens, not everyone, but it is usually well received. Now, last night, the guy that was given the pre-cutoff did not take it well at first. When my co-worker informed him that the shot he just received, which was his fourth in a short period of time, would be his last for the evening he said "Why? You don't even know me!" She responded "Exactly! If I knew you I would know how you handle your alcohol, but I don't, and don't want you to fall off your seat." He grumbled about it and went and sat with his friends. Not ten minutes later, what happened? Yup, the dumbass fell out of his chair trying to flag her down, then got helped out of the bar by his friends because he couldn't figure out how to get to the door. Sorry buddy, looks like we cut you off one shot short, at least you didn't fall in the piss trough.

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Go Home Apple Buddy

Here’s a helpful hint to anyone that gets cut off at a bar. GO HOME! Don’t lurk around hitting on girls, acting like a tough guy and forgetting that you got cut off multiple times, just go home. If you think that you are going to change my mind or try to intimidate me, you sir, are mistaken. And when you tell me you are a bartender at Applebee's and its okay like we’re friends or bros or something, you can take that assumption and shove it, very far, up into your lower colon with a big stick full of slivers. Have a sparkling day!

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Hard, Not Hard

In the immortal words of Neil Sedaka, “Breaking Up Is Hard To Do” and that is a fact for the demise of some relationships. If your boyfriend has Erectile Dysfunction and is addicted to porn this could create some insurmountable obstacles for a future with this person, now add in that this person also has been cheating on you, that makes it seem like breaking up wouldn’t be all that difficult of a feat to accomplish. Kick that dud to the curb, go out, get extremely drunk and be done with that. The fact that everyone in the bar knows exactly how you feel about all this could be considered too much information, or TMI as the kids say these days. For future reference, you might want to keep this sort of venting down to a few close friends and a pointed letter to mister sad wiener, stating that you hope he has contracted some sort of STD from one of his indiscretions and you never liked his broke dick anyway. Falling off the barstool did seem to lighten the mood a bit though, so thank you for that.

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