I hate clubbing.
Each one is the same as the last and they’re all shit boxes.
Here is your guide to every club you’ve ever been to:
They’re there to piss you off before your night’s even started. They make out as if, behind the rope is a world of magical delights. You ain’t fooling me homeslice. What lies behind that rope is a bunch of drunkards, a sticky floor, several arrogant bartenders and a DJ who wouldn’t know good music if Michael Jackson himself arose from the dead and bitch slapped him seven ways to next Tuesday. The number one thing bouncers like to do is have 50 people waiting in line outside to give the impression the club is busy. When you get in there’s just a disco ball and one chick who’s clearly high as a kite, working out on the dance floor.
The Cover Charge
VIP anything can kiss my ass. So can guest lists. I hate the whole concept of exclusivity in clubbing. Once you’re in there, everyone is sweating in the same sweat box. You’re not above anyone else. Dismount from the high horse please. I’m a regular person and would much rather club with the rest of my plebs than to be with a bunch of hoity toity douchenozzles in the ‘VIP section’. And unless there’s some sort of shirtless Greek Adonis in there doling out sexual favours, aint nothing VIP about it.
The Dance Floor
If you manage to make it through the night without fantasizing about becoming Bruce Lee and kicking every last person’s ass, I commend you. There is some serious space violation going in clubs across the world and you better believe I will back it up until you back it down. I will thrown down a dance off of Rock Steady Crew in Beat Street proportions to make sure I maintain my space. Plus the dance floor is always sticky and has broken glass or toilet paper on there – it’s like an assault course.
Apart from the 10 guys you’ll meet in a club, it’s always a variation of the same people. Guaranteed there’ll be the super drunk crying girls. They’re either crying over a bitch fight with their friend or because some random dude they don’t even know rejected them. Either way, it’s highly embarrassing/amusing to watch. Then there’s the guys who want to fight (‘What? Fuck ME? No, fuck YOU! You wanna take this outside?’). There’s the people who don’t dance and the people who can’t dance but will injure themselves trying.
I’d rather inject myself with swine flu than use a club bathroom. Why do the floors always look like a drained swimming pool? How can that much water be on the floor and where is it coming from? Anyone who goes in leaves with toilet paper stuck to their shoe. More and more clubs are trying to introduce bathroom attendants now. So let me get this straight: you want me to pay you for me washing my own hands and you handing me a paper towel? Guess again amigo. And then you’ll give me a lollipop? What am I at the dentist? And why on earth would you think I’d want to suck on anything that’s been in a bathroom? No dice!
See? They’re all the same. I’m a better DJ than half these fools out here anyway. I’m gonna put a disco ball in my living room and throw bad ass parties. You’re all invited! You wanna be on the guest list?