Any night at a club is kinda like the classic story of boy meets girl, edited down to about 10 minutes.
"Uh, cut out the introductions."
"Take out..." the director points to a section of film,"...that part, there."
"You mean an hour and fifteen minutes of the two main characters developing strong emotional ties which provide context and story momentum for arriving at the inevitable conclusion?"
"Yeah get that out of there."
I think that's more or less representative of the social phenomena occurring here.
I was drunk, and I knew this because I was pissing clear, meaning that all nutrients had been flushed from my body. I spent a few minutes trying to track down the nutritional information on the side of a bottle of lager, which aught to have been there, but apparently the only ingredients drinkers care about is percentage of alcohol.
Think of possibilities for health concerned drinkers. Get obliterated while getting 30% of your daily value in dietary fiber. Strengthen you bones with calcium fortified alcohol, so when you trip over the curb later in the night, you probably won't break anything. Or consume vital, life prolonging nutrients, which you'll end up vomiting up later on.
But thats just a pipe dream, for now the only thing we're being served is a kind of variation on poison in a bottle. Which, when you think about it, is really an amazing success story for the marketing industry. Hey everyone, drink our toxic product and you might not throw up all over your shoes. Brilliant!
If you ever get into trouble, you can always find strength in the comforting white glow of plastic cups stacked behind the bar. Making the trip back to the bartender's company for a refill is like, going back home, and seeing all your friends, lined up, on the wall, looking tempting and delicious.
Last night, on one of these trips back to the bar, I noticed one of the bartenders was wearing a pair of antennae with penises on each end; like the headwear of some barbaric, misandristic alien tribe. There was a bachelorette party going on, and a couple other girls were wearing them also, so I asked the bartender if she got them from one those girls.
"It's not often you get to wear penises on your head!" She smiled.
"Well, It could be often," I observe.
"I said on your head, not your face."
Wow. Well, I guess its really my fault for not being aware that a girl wearing penises on her head probably already has her mind in the gutter. Take note.