Sunday, March 2, 2008

Clubs of the night kind.

(Disclaimer at the very bottom Also, if you see red x's where pics should be, just hit refresh. It's funny that way)

A few nights ago on my best pal's birthday, I was forced to go to a club. And the DJ was horrible. He must've been on acid in a K-hole (google it). He kept spinning noise. No, really.  I mean, it was noise. A sort of on-beat warbly noise repeated incessantly.

I mean, are you supposed to dance to that? Or meditate until you reach Nirvana right there in the middle of the gotdam dance floor!? Maybe one of these druggie scenster /hipster posers might say, "Hey, this guy's cool because he spins weird noise and no one else spins weird noise."? Yeah, dude you're a fucking winner alright.


(Above: druggie / hipster / scenester posers you all know and love.)

Ladies, please stop by and give this guy a calloused handjob and say it's a gift from the bartender and a small crowd of vertical corpses. This bloody lamer deserved a fucking medal of honor for his display at jockeying his discs.

(See what they become after they're infected with "Noise" and coke?!)

I mean, if you're a DJ at a nightclub like that, fucking spin some shit to make the party people dance and be merry. This guy couldn't make a zombie move toward bloody brains from a freshly cracked skull of a super genius. He could get a bunch of epileptics* together and flash a strobe light while playing that bullshit, film it, send it to me first class mail and I'd still think it was special effects. *(No offense to any epileptics, of course. That's serious shit.)

So we left that club and went to another. It was disco night and this place was full of desperate chicks in slutty dresses looking to get laid and overweight gay dudes doing splits to "I Will Survive". I was not happy.


(No one is as overweightly gay as Pulitzer Prize-winning blogger, Perez Hilton, shown above.)

So I'm surrounded by sweaty, obese **homosexual men staring at me from every angle. I felt like they were infrared beams from S.W.A.T. snipers ready to take the shot. **No offense to homosexuals, either. I fight for all people's rights**

I just wanted to have a drink and talk with my friends and generally be left alone. I hate disco, too. (But not more than "noise".) Some desperate girl is trying to see if I'm gay or not because I'm dressed stylishly eccentric, the way I always am. Hey, if you want to think I'm gay because I don't want to talk to you, then believe what you will. I've got too much class to tell you it's because your dress is so tight your body hairs are looking like varicose veins underneath. You need to donate that blood to people who need it. (I'll leave out the picture of the veins.)

Plus our pheromones don't match.

And that severe case hyperhidrosis of the armpit. Maybe I should buy you a drink to cool you down? It'd be my pleasure. Bartender, some water please. No, tap will be fine. Yes, I know it's a FEMA-level drought here in Atlanta. But this is an emergency. This girl has lost all her hydration through her underarms and might slip on the floor!

Needless to say we made a quick exit.

So my best pal's new girlfriend makes the most brilliant decision. She takes us to this seedy karaoke bar in the Asian part of town (Buford highway for my ATLiens). And I tell you, I'd never karaoke'd before, but this was more fun than I've had in eons. Dude, four words - "Smells Like Teen Spirit."

no, I meant this one...

(No offense to zombies, epileptics, scenesters, hipsters, cokeheads, gays, lesbians, Negroes, S.W.A.T. snipers, Kurt Cobaine's corpse (be it undead or not.), Jockeys, Sweaters of the sweating kind and people with varicose veins)