Yes, I do have ‘nice tats’, no I dont wanna tell you who does my ‘work’.

I dont know why I even go to bars or why I even went to bars in years past.Ok, well I do kinda know why, to hang out with good friends of mine. But I can say this: I’m not a huge drinker. I’m not a huge social guy, I can barely tolerate much of the sober human population, worse yet, intoxicated jackasses. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against boozing, or celebration by means of consumption, in any way, shape, or form. I have an occasional few drinks when I play a show, or with friends, but as far as huge people-filled bars? Not for me. I’m a time-bomb waiting to go off in an ocean of socially retarded fish.

Here’s why.

Here is a list of people at that frequent such places that deserve to be rolled up in an oriental rug and cut into 7 pieces with a sawzall, starting with the feet, stitch the skin back up, letting it heal so they live, and cutting the next section of their body, so they can watch their own fate. I’m sick? probably.

Tattoo guy: you know this guy. “hey man, nice tats brother, who does your work?”. First of all, JUST BECAUSE you have a ‘tat’ and I have more and far better ones, doesn’t instantly make us friends, or part of some underground ‘social club’ giving you a reason to come over to my designated area at the bar. Hell, Im wearing socks, you wear socks, does that make us high school fucking chums? nope. neither does that fucked up yosemite sam ‘art’ you have on your pasty flabby excuse for a bicep. So stay away, tattoo guy, or the next permanent artwork you might be wearing is a dent from a lead pipe. But I digress.

“that” guy at the bar: There’s one at every bar. The fellow being excessively loud, belligerent, obnoxious, and his own mind, thinks he’s being the life of the party and god’s gift to women. He’ll come up to you, your friends, hell, anybody and have some bullshit comment or ‘witty’ line to say. This guy usually ends A)getting beat up. B) getting arrested C)both D) passed out behind the dumpster out back in his own vomit. Any of these endings is a fitting result.

Cougar with the stale breath: I dont know how many times this has happened to me. I’ll be sitting there, trying to somewhat enjoy myself, when some foul mouthed,whiskey breathed,  summer toothed (summer’ here, summer’ there) floozie in her early 40′s stands next to me and tries to strike up ‘conversation’. It’s almost like I have a neon sign constantly hanging over my head that says “please talk to me, I love engaging in dialogue with the lowest forms of human beings”.Seriously, lady………I dont know why you find me interesting. Granted, I have a mohawk and tattoos, which gives me some sort of ‘edgy’ look, or maybe im kind of a novelty. However, My beautiful wife is standing next to me or near by, whom I love, and who obviously is with me, and, who obviously has guns of steel and might inflict pain on you. Besides this fact, is that, the minute you started walking toward me, I was giving you a look just screaming “Stay away from me, as I utterly despise even your mere presence, and I will verbally incinerate you”. So please, next time, find another victim.

Quiet creepy older guy obviously staring directly at women and their anatomy: Everyone knows what you’re doing and who you are.Everyone will do something to you if you EVER try and act on any of your nasty ‘impulses’ And everyone knows what’s going to happen in your afterlife.  Enjoy!

these are but a few of the painstakingly horrendous characters I observe at drinking establishments. I’ll make this a ‘volume 1′ as Im sure i’ll remember more.

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