In Da Club

Who doesn’t love the disco? The driving music, beautiful people littered about, and sweet libations, all vying for your much divided attention. The temptations are everywhere, imploring that you let your hair down, take a load off, and relax (and possibly purchase some of Columbian’s finest if you frequented a Peter Gatien establishment). Night clubs can be enjoyable but they also play host to a cornucopia of illicit transgressions, and like an aging prostitute with low self esteem, it’s way too easy to indulge. Anything that comes easy and feels great (except for me) should probably be avoided at all cost. Today we will examine the contributing factors of what makes the club the club and how partaking in said activities can kill you, or at least have several attempts made on your life (mostly by your significant other).

Alcohol – The club is probably the only venue where aspiring alcoholics are free to congregate without fear of retaliation. And what can be said about alcohol consumption that hasn’t already been said about Chinese Similak? It'll have your kidneys romancing stones, make you ornery in your medulla oblongata, and if not properly regulated, kill the shit out of you! Alcohol can also get your ass kicked when liquid courage starts to flow through your bloodstream and your perceived invulnerability bubbles to the surface, much like your bottom lip will once the swelling settles in. Can you count the amount of verbal / physical altercations you have witnessed or participated in directly attributed to its usage? Alcohol minimizes inhibitions and allows you to act without filter. It is also a great way to relieve stress (other than maybe making relevant changes in your life to reduce the stress that causes you to drink in the first place). After watching you drunken, belligerent assholes stagger about for the last 15 years however, I can safely say that no one should be allowed to govern without filter. Given the terrible decisions made when inebriated (drunk driving, conceiving ugly children, telling the truth, etc), I wouldn’t mind seeing the return of prohibition (right after I move to Amsterdam).

C.R.E.A.M (Pt. 1) - Have you ever tried to calculate how much money you spend when you hit up the bars and clubs? If you went out 50 times a year and spent only 20 dollars each outing, you would have spent 10,000 dollars over the last 10 years (and you also apparently have a GPS for 2 for 1 drink specials). We all go out more than that and we have all spent waaaay more than that per outing, especially when we get into a “who can buy the most bottles of Moet” competition with our boys. And yes, my cheap ass lost. Anything above 2.5 bottles is beyond my realm of fiscal responsibility. Other plausible disco infused excuses for paying Con Edison late this month are a) after work "networking" affairs b) Becky Sue gives you the eye and you may have a shot . . . tonight c) Becky Sue and her wing women also get drinks because you are definitely calling Becky a cab . . . in the morning d) you just got paid and you can't let perfectly good money go to waste on food and heat e) any sporting event f) every sporting event g) you get the point.

Fresh to Death (C.R.E.A.M Pt. 2) - Over priced, watered down, rufie infested drinks are but a fraction of the total cost associated with clubbing. There is also fashion. One must show up dressed to impress and that one of a kind, blonde mole hair sweater vest with the leather buttons where the nipples should be is a must have for the next soiree (and it’s a steal for only $450). This probably explains why we play the wall so close instead of actually dancing. Do you realize how hard it is to get Timberland prints out of purple suede shoes (which I actually bought and wore to Speed many many moons ago) I came to the club to be seen and I can’t get sweat or stains on any of my luxury items so a lackluster 2-step will have to suffice. Let me save you all some trouble. Give me half the monies spent on all this crap and I will gladly slur my speech, dress up like a clown, make a fool of myself, and vomit all over your Gordon Gartrell originals. I do it because I care.

The Forbidden Dance - The kids call it dancing these days but when I was growing up, we called it humping. If I got the type of action when I was in fifth grade that I get in the clubs, I would have been the dry humping king of Brooklyn and the envy of my peers. So let me get this straight; I can position my semi erect penis on your backside while gyrating at 56 miles per hour to the smooth sounds of Doo Doo Brown, and not get arrested? Sign me up! Ladies, can you imagine some guy coming from behind you on your way to work and humping the shit out of your back thigh? Pepper spray would most likely be the end result of that encounter. Under normal circumstances, this behavior is considered lewd and indecent, but in the club, it is protocol. Sidebar; Do you know how fucked up it looks when a guy approaches you and starts dancing but when you see his face, clearly, your demeanor changes and you act like you just came to hold your girlfriend’s purse? Then when Fonzie shows up, you gals casually but not so subtly make your way over to his area and dance around him like a cat pissing on a tree until he acknowledges your existence. As men, we learn to embrace and even laugh at rejection but it is crazy that physical attraction is a pre requisite just to dance with someone (it’s not that crazy since this is probably the reason we snuck up on you in the first place). Maybe the type of dancing going on is way too intimate if you need aesthetic clearance and an AIDS test before you can bust a move. Sidebar complete.

Now if you have a significant other and you 2 party separately or together, dancing at the club takes on a whole new light. I have had to “woosa” on several occasions after witnessing some guy’s mangina hovering above a girlfriend’s backside like a mosquito searching for an entry point. Am I the jealous type? Not really. But you are asking for a whole lot if you think men are comfortable with their girlfriend massaging foreign crotches with their ass in dark dwellings after consuming multiple apple martinis. And you ladies should be leery also. I may get my man license temporarily suspended for disclosing information but you gals probably already know this. Men go to the club for 2 reasons essentially; sex immediately and sex in the future. We can drink and listen to music at home if we wanted to so it aint Funkmaster Flex and fuzzy navels we’re after. Men will abandon all logic, obligations, and leave our crippled grandmothers in the street if the opportunity for booty arises (sorry nana). My suggestion; If you aint single, stay out of the club son! It is called a SINGLES club for a reason. And if you absolutely have to go out and dance, how about reigniting the jitterbug or the twist as alternative dance mediums? Instead of doing the Dutty Wine or the Cock Slap or whatever skin-emax inspired dance move you conjured up, why not Krump instead (especially to slow jams)? You may look like an idiot doing it but you will still have a significant other when you get home so take it easy with those pelvic thrusts.

P.S: I want to give a special DJ Clue "Do remember" to Club Speed, Q Club, Krystals, Frying Pan, Nells, The Palladium, The Tunnel, Cheetahs, Biltmore, Bentleys, and all the other venues responsible for my disco experiences. And what’s the name of that spot we all swore we would never go to because it was an indication of old age? You know the one? The place where all the people dressed like they just came from the Player Haters Ball after party? SHADOW!! I am of age now but I still ain’t going!!

PPS: Honorable mention to all the oversized, 6 foot 7, raw meat eating bouncers who graduated from the Bruise Your Nuts Institute of Frisking and Pat Downs!

P.P.P.S: What about the long ass lines just to get in? By the time you make it to the front, the price of admission sky rocketed. Inflation is a bitch! I can still smell the sulfur on you charlatan club promoter's hoofs (and I should know that smell for I was a card carrying member myself). 20 dollars before 12 am but the door won't budge until 11:59. In yah face ah!