License to Tase: These Jokers Could Use a Jolt

Posted: June 1, 2011 by divebardiva in Daily Ramblings, Viva La Douche

Okay people, once again I have a jam-packed day, followed by two days of work, a day off and then a work weekend. In other words, this bitch is about to be tired, so let me regale you with some humor and get my ass to gettin.

As our loyal readers know, Wild West weekend has a tendency to bring out the best — and worst — of everyone. Bartenders and servers have to put on their A-game and bring it like it’s never been brought. Customers are also bringin a little something … and it’s quite often something I’d like to return for a big-assed refund.

Here are a couple of letters to people who I encountered this weekend.

Dear Drunk and Sloppy,

I wait on you a lot. I try not to judge that you are a constant drunken, sloppy mess. I mean, it’s my job to wait on you, and I take that job very seriously.

However, when I’m out with friends for a night-on-the-town (where people are waiting on me and I’m looking super cute), I don’t want to deal with your drunken shenanigans. In fact, although I would rather not even speak to you, ya sloppy mess, I try to be as tolerant as possible.

When you came up and hugged me, I let you. When you came up and hugged me three more times, I gritted my teeth and tolerated it. But when you went in for a 5th hug — and consequently spilled a pint of vodka and orange juice all over my new sweater — I was forced to grab your face and push it away as hard as I could until you stumbled off.

I thought at that point you would take the hint and leave me alone for the remainder of the evening. My mistake.

I pushed you off me three more times before you started to think of it as a game. After a while, your drunken manhandling crossed the line. Actually, it crossed the line much earlier, but I was trying to have a good time and not unleash the bitch. Sometimes I just don’t have the energy for it. Unfortunately, you gave me no other option than to grab the bitch by the bra straps and unleash her like a plague on your drunk ass.

I leaned over to talk to an old customer of mine (who I absolutely love). He was getting ready to leave, and I grabbed a napkin to write down our blog URL because he wanted to check it out. When I leaned up off my bar stool, I felt a hand in an area we shall call my … ummmm … hoo-ha.

I was ready to snap and determining my next course of action when I leaned over to give my friend a hug goodbye. And there it was. Your hand so far in my business it would have made my gynecologist jealous.

I whipped around and informed you that if you touched me EVER again, I was going to drop you like a bag of dirt. And I meant it. You may be bigger but I have two advantages: Cat-like reflexes and the fact I do NOT hit like a girl. I have been told that being punched by me is a similar to being kicked by a horse. I’m a little proud of that fact. (I’m not gonna lie.)

I really didn’t wanna to hit you. You’re not a bad person, just annoying and sloppy and drunk and stupid. Thankfully, my good friend Platinum showed up to save the day — and your ass.

He and his roomie have been good customers for years now, and I absolutely love them both. Great tippers, no drama, and they have bought me more than a few shots in my lifetime.

For the rest of the night, Platinum played goalie. Anytime your drunk-and-sloppy self got anywhere near me, he intercepted. It wasn’t pretty, and I’m sure by night’s end he wanted to punch you too.  But it kept me from possibly going to jail on my one night off.

Thankfully, despite your inability to hold your alcohol, it ended up being an absolutely lovely night. I got to spend time with good friends, and I had great bar service — two of my favorite things.

Now on to the next offender …

Dear Prejudiced Douche,

If you’re gonna act like a racist ass-clown, you really should pick your battles. You went out of your way to find the only black guy in the bar and pretended that he started a fight with you by hurling yourself in his direction. (I have to admit that I’m sometimes disgusted by the shit I see.) This fight turned into a flat-out melee because you douches travel in packs and probably have a jacked up 4×4 ass-clown vehicle out in the lot. So the cops were called and tasers were whipped out.

However, while you think that the tasing will not be happening to you…tonight you were (almost) mistaken. You see dumbass, if you are going to be a small-minded idiot and try to blame your pathetic behavior on the “black guy”…you should probably make sure that he doesn’t work here AND know every cop in town. Your monumental stupidity could just get ya tased…BRO.

My one regret from the weekend is that it didn’t happen. The cops were a lot more tolerant than you are.

PS — I soooo wanted to see that shit. Maybe it woulda shocked a little of that dumbass right out of ya. A girl can only hope.

Love and Liquor,
The divebardiva

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