I’m tired of bouncers handing my ID back to me like it’s a photo of their sister being gang-banged—–A Think Piece

Nobody but bouncers get a free pass for having such a dog-shit attitude. Nurses that go feces-hunting in the elderly’s hospital gowns don’t scowl like bouncers.  I’ve seen bait worms that did their job with more enthusiasm.

Reading a number off a piece of plastic, the core duty of  their profession—that’s a strong word– occupation, isn’t an injustice of eye rolling proportion. It’s like they were unaware what bouncers did when they applied for the job.

“Wait, IDs the whoollleee night!?!? Well when do I get to go home?…..WHEN THE BAR CLOSES????”

You’d think they got their jobs through the fucking Hunger Games lottery.

“Dude c’mon, they have to deal with drunk people all night….”

THAT’S A PERK FOR THESE MONSTERS! We’re marionettes to them! Bouncers absolutely adore bear-hug ejecting people who are shit-housed. They get a tummy rub as the drunkard squirms around like he’s trying to fuck his way out of quicksand.

No, not the friendly doorman at the neighborhood bar.  I’m talking about the velvet rope type of bouncers who dream of moving to Vegas…the big time. The bald angry ones who only smile with the fat on the back of their neck.

And I know why they’re pissed…

Fifty thousand years ago they’d be the alpha male in the hunter/gatherer tribe. They’d be up to their shoulders in gazelle meat. The fairest cave-sluts in the whole tribe would come beckoning with a simple 2am smoke signal, even if they hadn’t smoke signaled them once that night.

And now these prehistoric kings have been relegated to holding doors for mere peasants. Meanwhile, their primordial instincts are going berserk wondering why this checkered-shirt tech nerd is with eight girls and not out picking luscious berries and burying his  dead.

But they can’t articulate their angst so they fight back with passive-aggressive, chalupa night asshole rage. This rage shouldn’t be taken personally, it’s merely them reaching out and trying to ET touch the dominance men of their stature once had.  It’s natural. But it’s getting super fucking old.

Since absolute power corrupts absolutely, not even frail men, women, or even The Fonz can be trusted working the door at the most cracking of bars and dank-popping of night clubs.

But I have a solution…. (fuck yeah mike)

The most effective and polite bouncer would be a golden retriever puppy strapped to a guillotine.  And if anyone underage is caught in the bar, or goes into the bar when it’s clearly at capacity, or trolls in with a pack of nine dudes, or starts a lame pushing fracas NOT ONLY will the puppy be decapitated, all drinks prices will increase by $2, and the clearly hottest group of girls in the sorta defensive circle in the back trying to figure out where Karen and that group went tonight– will be kicked out.

Problem solved.

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